tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-82466346759703307542024-03-14T07:21:20.904+01:00Running for lifeShaman Daliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17946279105871836619noreply@blogger.comBlogger747125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8246634675970330754.post-73036530134080049312017-09-17T16:56:00.000+02:002017-09-17T16:56:23.616+02:00Warning: Ultrarunning may seriously damage your feet.<div style="text-align: justify;">
I don't remember
exactly when my feet started hurting during the endless agony that
was Ultravasan 90km, but I do remember I ran on feet that hurt way
longer than you should if you like avoiding pesky things like
injuries. I mean, most people stop running immediately if it starts
hurting. It's basic self-preservation, common sense, the sane thing
to do. I kept going for <i>hours.</i> I'm hoping that, since the men
in the white coats haven't shown up at my doorstep yet, they got
distracted by all the other insane things going on in the world and I
dodged a bullet this time.
</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
The bruise that
revealed itself in all its blue-black glory when I got back to
our hotel room and removed my socks healed within a couple of days.
The grotesque swelling of my feet subsided just as quickly. I wasn't
worried. My feet hurt this bad even after I ran 100 km a couple of
years ago, and back then it was nothing but a displaced bone that
caused the pain. I was going to be back in my running shoes in no
time.</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
I tried, in fact, to
run a couple of times after that. A 5km run on pavement first, and, when
that caused pain, a 6 km run in the woods that went slightly better.
Then, my right foot started hurting even when I walked. This was not
like last time. This was not a displaced bone. This was more serious.
<i>Now</i> I was worried.</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Not <i>worried</i>
worried, mind you. My running motivation has been virtually
non-existent since we bought our house, replaced by gardening
motivation, painting motivation,
lazily-looking-at-all-the-pretty-flowers motivation and so on and so
forth. So what if I couldn't get back to running right away? I did
yoga. I lifted weights at the gym. I dug holes in the garden and covered them up again. I even
went roller skiing once. I kept my fitness level relatively high.</div>
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<br />
</div>
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But now it's been
exactly four weeks, eleven hours, fifty-six minutes and thirty-three
seconds since I stood at the starting line of Ultravasan but who's
counting. I'm kinda sorta starting to miss it. Not Ultravasan.
Running, I mean. My friends go running. They plan races. They throw
up between intervals and sweat profusely and almost die doing hill
repeats and I'm jealous because I miss running even at its ugliest,
but I also miss <i>them</i>. I miss AIK. And I simply cannot fathom
another autumn without regular running, like the nightmare that was
last year's autumn.</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
I am giving it until
the end of the month. I will keep focusing on becoming the next
Terminator 2-era Sara Connor, bad-ass albeit with a grace that only yoga
can provide and a gardening-fueled pain in my lower back, until my
foot stops hurting. It's already much better and I am hopeful that
whatever the injury, it will have time to heal in the 2 weeks that
are left of this month. Then I will throw myself back into running's
arms and hug it and kiss it and have its children and never again
take it for granted.</div>
<br />Shaman Daliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17946279105871836619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8246634675970330754.post-7994989324484122862017-08-20T21:38:00.002+02:002017-08-20T21:38:42.430+02:00Ultravasan 90K
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The clock says 01:30.
I've slept less than three hours but it's time for us to get up and
eat breakfast, check our bags one more time to make sure we don't
forget anything. The bus leaves for Sälen at 03:00 and we have to
walk there. It takes us fifteen minutes or so but we're not worried
about it. We're too sleepy still.</div>
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<br /></div>
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But, when we finally
arrive in Sälen around 04:00, when we see the fog, the darkness, the
rain hanging in the air, the runners rubbing themselves with tiger
balm in the tent and walking around in bin bags to keep
themselves dry, it finally hits us: we are about to run Ultravasan 90
km. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9YxyG_i8-Ao/WZnhv6G86II/AAAAAAAADZo/anAiKs1avQ0DzsNAtmEzWNzhtj6mXpbOQCLcBGAs/s1600/blog2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="394" data-original-width="700" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9YxyG_i8-Ao/WZnhv6G86II/AAAAAAAADZo/anAiKs1avQ0DzsNAtmEzWNzhtj6mXpbOQCLcBGAs/s400/blog2.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jaYU1YM_AF4/WZnhvwSvebI/AAAAAAAADZg/mJDfsi9TH28ezOlpKooADwyUlAhqfijTwCLcBGAs/s1600/blog3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="394" data-original-width="700" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jaYU1YM_AF4/WZnhvwSvebI/AAAAAAAADZg/mJDfsi9TH28ezOlpKooADwyUlAhqfijTwCLcBGAs/s400/blog3.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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The obligatory pre-race
visit to the port-a-loo for the obligatory emptying of the bladder.
The watch looking for satellites. The speaker interviewing Jonas Buud,
one of the elite runners and poster child/ record holder for Ultravasan, who is
unfortunately injured and cannot run. The nervous anticipation, the
smoke machines tinted red, the steady drizzle a premonition of things
to come. The air vibrating with the breaths of a thousand hungry
runners. And we're off with a loud cheer.</div>
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<br />
</div>
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I only make it a couple
of metres before my Achilles tendon reminds me of its existence. As
if I'd had forgotten; it's been hurting since we ran in Boden, a
month and a half ago. I decide that ignoring an injury is the wisest
decision and keep climbing the endless hill that comes right after
the start. People have started walking already, but I feel strong. I
feel so strong, in fact, that when a guy starts talking to me, I
realise in the middle of this nice conversation we're having that I'm
running at a 5:30 min/km pace. This will most definitely not do at an
ultra, unless your name is Jonas Buud and then you're running too
slow. Still, I feel strong, the way runners who open too fast on
their first-ever race feel strong right before they run into a wall.</div>
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<br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-H6FkkP-JiXM/WZnhwigiiuI/AAAAAAAADZs/STZyCCuXlo852S3eWTLpFpE42Ap5Z3IjwCLcBGAs/s1600/blog4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="394" data-original-width="700" height="180" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-H6FkkP-JiXM/WZnhwigiiuI/AAAAAAAADZs/STZyCCuXlo852S3eWTLpFpE42Ap5Z3IjwCLcBGAs/s320/blog4.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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About 10 km or so later
is when it all becomes a blur. We enter the woods on a technical
trail. The rain starts picking up until it's so thick that there
can't possibly be any air left between the raindrops. I am drenched.
I bet if I removed by clothes now, fish would fall out. The trail is
treacherous, littered with stones and roots at places, covered by
slippery planks at others. Soon enough, whatever dirt the path, trail
or forest road we run on has turned into mud, and the mud only gets
thicker and thicker until we sink to our ankles in it. Mud that hides
rocks. Mud that is very slippery itself.</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
There's four of us from
AIK doing the 90K. There's several more doing the 45K and three teams
of 4 persons each doing the relay. I keep looking for them. I know at
least two of the 90K ultrarunners are ahead of me, the 45K ones have
not started yet, and the relay teams will fly by at some point at
what seems like the speed of light compared to my snail pace. I find
J, one of the 90K runners, we exchange a few words about how great
this weather is for our morale and then he runs on. I feel the weight
of every single drop falling on my shoulders, weighing me further and
further down. I want to stop. This is not fun. All I can think about
is how not-fun this is. I don't think about the worries of everyday
life, I don't think of fun days in the sun, I think about how I wish
<i>my</i> J was here, or that I were at home with him, where it's warm and
dry.
</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
But something keeps me
going. The guy whom I talked to earlier got me thinking about pace
and special medals and such. Everyone who finishes the race gets a
participation medal, but men who finish the race in under 9,5 hours
and women who finish it in under 11 get a special medal, because
we're so very special. This stupid medal keeps me going, because
somehow I think this is achievable. So I keep going in the
never-ending rain and I'm determined to get that stupid medal like
it's the Holy Grail.</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Endless hours pass.
When the rain keeps falling like this and everything turns grey, and
you have to keep your head down looking at the ground so you don't
trip, it's as if you're in a bubble. You have no points of reference
in your environment to pin time stamps or experiences on. The aid stations are the
only exceptions, the most notable of which is the half-way point and
largest aid-station at Evertsberg. A quick stop there to eat and go
to the loo leaves me frozen, my fingers stiff and useless, my bones
achy. The first AIK relay runner passes me, giving me a much
appreciated thumbs up. Right after, I pass this man sitting on his
porch and blaring ”Don't stop me now” by Queen, which becomes a
very appropriate soundtrack in my head for the rest of the race.</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
I follow the stream of
runners. I'm never really alone, and even less so now when we're
joined by both 45K and relay runners. More runners mean more feet on
the ground, which in its turn means more mud. There's no trail now,
only wide forest roads, otherwise lovely to run on, the ground
consisting mostly of nice, soft sand. I have already tripped once on my way to
Evertsberg, thankfully saving myself a face plant by using my hands as
collateral, so this change of surface is welcome. It's less muddy and more wet now. Still, time drags
on. I think about the stupid medal. I keep calculating in my head how
fast I have to run to make it in time. I talk to people. Everyone is
so friendly. We're in this together, ultra runners and long distance
runners alike. It's just that we who are running 90 are in this a
little longer.</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Once I've passed 50K, I
start counting down. ”Don't stop me now” gives way, quite
predictably, to ”Final Countdown”, but only for a short while
because then I realise I still have 40K left and it's a ridiculously
long way to go, too long to be counting down already. So I switch
back to ”Don't stop me now” and I almost start crying because the
next line in the lyrics is ”cause I'm having a good time” and I
most definitely am not.</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
30km left and, well,
that's better! 30km is not that much! I reset the clock in my mind. I
pretend that I haven't just run 60km, oh no. I'm just heading out for
my ordinary long run on an ordinary Saturday. It works quite well,
mentally. My legs protest, they don't think this strategy is working
quite well at all for them. I find myself walking more and more
often, and it gets harder and harder to start running again. I drink
the energy drink on offer, warm blueberry ”soup” and water, and
eat nothing but a few chips and some pickled cucumbers. Somehow
that's enough, and my stomach manages pretty well to avoid becoming a
ticking bomb.</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
20km left. Less than a
half-marathon. That's nothing! I have more than three hours left to
cover this distance. My morale is so low that I start counting how
much time I would need to get to the finish line if I walked the rest
of the way. But I refuse to give up. I only want to know I have the
option, that's all. Besides, it'd be so boring to walk for such a long time. I walk when I have to and run the rest.</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
When the 10km sign
shows up, I want to kiss it. 10km is a doable distance. By now I have
experienced so much pain, moving from my Achilles tendon in my left
foot, to my right knee, to my left shoulder, and now finally settling
in both of my feet in an almost excruciating way. But 10km is not a
distance I'm afraid of. I'm going to make it!</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
At 5km, a cyclist pulls
up next to me, keeping me company and chatting for a while, probably
looking for any signs that I might collapse, but oh no. Not today, my
friend! 5 km? I can do them with my eyes closed! Hell, I can do them
walking backwards with time to spare to that stupid medal! </div>
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<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
3 km. Time has slowed
down even more and it takes four days to run one kilometre. 2 km. I
am in Mora. I am running past buildings I recognise, the lake near
our hotel, the camping grounds by the river. I've run here before! 1
km left. The sun is out but the wind has picked up. At the bridge
right before the last little hill I have to hold on to my cap so that
it doesn't fly away. At the top of that last little hill I see a
whole AIK relay team, and they're standing there screaming my name at
the top of their lungs. I have the biggest smile on my face. I run up
the hill. Let me repeat that: I've just covered 89,5 km and I'm
running. <i>Uphill</i>. Their cheers give me strength and I keep that
smile on my lips the whole way to the finish line, almost in tears, happy tears, as
the crowd applauds and shouts encouraging words, under the arch with
the historic lines: ”In our forefathers' footsteps for the
victories of tomorrow”.
</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
I am done. I've done
it. I can stop.</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
I talk to people I
know, people I don't know. I walk back to the hotel with my friend J,
who finished the race 20 minutes before me. My feet hurt and I'm
stiff, but it feels pretty ok, all things considered. Later on, I see
that I have what looks like a bruise on my right foot and it's a bit
swollen. In the evening, all AIK-runners go out to eat and celebrate
what was a successful day for all of us, teams and ultrarunners
alike. We go to bed early. We have an early start and a long drive
home the next morning.
</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
P.S. Oh yeah. I made it
in time for the stupid medal. With time to spare.</div>
Shaman Daliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17946279105871836619noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8246634675970330754.post-56645298202163379782017-07-02T09:49:00.000+02:002017-07-02T09:49:09.203+02:00Boden Fortress 50K
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
I've never felt less
prepared for a race. No mental preparations at all. There have been
so many other things to focus on lately that, when race day finally
dawned, I was almost caught by surprise.
</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
The evening before, I
packed my things with an uncharacteristic lack of interest. I would
put one thing in the bag, then go and do something else, then come
back and put another thing in the bag (or maybe that's just my ADHD?). My right knee had been
bothering me for ages, so much so that I wondered if I was injured.
It made it hard to muster up any enthusiasm for the race. In fact, I
was convinced I would get my first DNF and be forced to cancel the
rest of my races this season. No wonder that packing felt like a
chore. No wonder a 50 km race felt like having to face the death
squad. I'd rather be at home tending to the garden and avoiding any
confrontation with my knee.</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
There were four AIK runners that drove to Boden to participate in this peculiar race, that would
take us to 5 (?) Swedish Army forts, positioned on the perimeter of the town. My running buddies echoed my feelings. All
four of us have entered the Ultravasan 90 km race in August, and this
was to be an important step towards that. Yet no one felt ready. It was a
beautiful day, already warm at 9 in the morning. When we arrived at
the National Defense Museum, just in time to listen to the
information given by the race organisers, a trail shoe-shod,
hydration pack-carrying crowd had already gathered.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Way too much time was
given to the energy drink sponsors, and I felt my attention drifting
off to other things, like the swords on the wall, the buzz of the
cafeteria fridge behind me, the faces of the other participants. The
race organisers then went through the course, but my brain was
completely shut off. I trusted that they had marked it well enough
for me to avoid getting lost; I wasn't going to be able to retain any
of this information anyway.</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Outside, the four of us
posed for a ”before” picture, to remember how insane people look
right before they throw themselves into the burning pits of hell: all manic smiles and
misplaced confidence. The starting gun was less of a gun and more of a
tank cannon, keeping in line with the military theme of the race. I
have a very strong aversion to guns, tanks and all things military,
but it <i>was </i>kind of cool to get such a deafening send-off.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TvDr9z7OsSg/WVihzlbMP5I/AAAAAAAADY8/IZDTfQ0Qs8obmR0oysuGB5ljCIpiRMIzwCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_20170701_095858.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="525" data-original-width="700" height="300" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TvDr9z7OsSg/WVihzlbMP5I/AAAAAAAADY8/IZDTfQ0Qs8obmR0oysuGB5ljCIpiRMIzwCLcBGAs/s400/IMG_20170701_095858.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i>Just before the start</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
The others opened
strong. I had no desire to try and keep up with them, partly because
I was worried about my knee and partly because 50 KILOMETRES IS A LONG WAY,
MAN, KEEP YOUR SOCKS ON. I wasn't last but I couldn't have been far ahead
of the last runners. We climbed up to the first, and perhaps most
accessible fort after just 4 km. The view was breathtaking: you could
see for miles around, over the tree tops and Boden. I drank a couple
of dl of water, filled my water bottle and negotiated the steep,
rocky trail down to the river again.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-H7WbF365Ffw/WVihzgsCfGI/AAAAAAAADY0/XC4W2PI6wh4isAJuujLPD1CJ5RxPZA68gCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_20170701_102851.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="525" data-original-width="700" height="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-H7WbF365Ffw/WVihzgsCfGI/AAAAAAAADY0/XC4W2PI6wh4isAJuujLPD1CJ5RxPZA68gCLcBGAs/s400/IMG_20170701_102851.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5tB_JxQzAkc/WVihziX2BTI/AAAAAAAADY4/oJ4t6Y4Qn0EcqbiZ5MgtzRGvMifnh4BZwCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_20170701_103022.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="525" data-original-width="700" height="300" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5tB_JxQzAkc/WVihziX2BTI/AAAAAAAADY4/oJ4t6Y4Qn0EcqbiZ5MgtzRGvMifnh4BZwCLcBGAs/s400/IMG_20170701_103022.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">The first fort</span></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
I was now running alone, no other ultra runners in sight.
Some of the 10K runners ran past me impossibly fast, too fast to
register. I trudged along in my 6:30 pace, the sun already too hot,
the surroundings having gone from soft pine forest to dilapidated
boat yard. My motivation started waning. After the second fortress,
at around 13 km, we made our way back to town. This was a part of the
course that was more populated, as we were running among what looked like Suburbia, but
it did nothing to alleviate the boredom I was feeling more and more.
Time went by so slowly, and the half-marathon distance seemed to
never come. I haven't been so bored since one hour before the bell rang on the last day of school.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vEXwM-BJY4Q/WVih0BVcMsI/AAAAAAAADZA/e2YkJqizUgQuaexZqc5GmSqGUEvojm9bwCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_20170701_112552.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="525" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vEXwM-BJY4Q/WVih0BVcMsI/AAAAAAAADZA/e2YkJqizUgQuaexZqc5GmSqGUEvojm9bwCLcBGAs/s400/IMG_20170701_112552.png" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Running to the second fort aid station</span></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6gXr8oShsi0/WVih0OO2qQI/AAAAAAAADZE/Uyl3MAuBKzIgm8JP6LhpV1rkZk6TZWP3ACLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_20170701_112605.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="525" data-original-width="700" height="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6gXr8oShsi0/WVih0OO2qQI/AAAAAAAADZE/Uyl3MAuBKzIgm8JP6LhpV1rkZk6TZWP3ACLcBGAs/s400/IMG_20170701_112605.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
After the third fort,
my mood started changing. I was running on forest roads now, having
just passed 22 km. I kept thinking that I was almost half way. It was
nice to run in the forest, in the shadow; the sun was really hot.
Unfortunately, the course turned towards town once again, and soon I
was in the town centre, giving angry looks at drivers who didn't stop
at crossings to let me pass. I spoke to J on the phone. I felt kind
of delirious because of the heat. I remember asking him to drive to
Boden and bring me cold milk. Move over, pregnant women. Your cravings are nothing compared to the cravings of a dehydrated ultra runner.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
A couple of kilometres
later, the aid station appeared before my eyes like an oasis in the
desert. Conveniently positioned by the river, in case someone wanted
to throw themselves in it to fight off the heat, they were a sight
for sore eyes. My watch said I'd ran 28,5 km, the volunteer said 31.
I wanted to believe him and not my watch. My motivation had started
waning again. I ran by the river, then up up up on soft, bark-clad
paths and technical trails, on an ascend that felt unending, like it
would take me all the way to heaven. Right before I arrived at a
fort/aid station, I ran past a couple of guys who were walking up.
”It looks easy!” they said. ”It doesn't feel easy” I replied,
really struggling now. ”How do you think it feels for us then?”
they said. </div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lNm9EsfAJ_o/WVih0BKvQuI/AAAAAAAADZI/i91fTMJq8sQsf-xJQMErpFU62Xzls-ITgCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_20170701_133538.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="525" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lNm9EsfAJ_o/WVih0BKvQuI/AAAAAAAADZI/i91fTMJq8sQsf-xJQMErpFU62Xzls-ITgCLcBGAs/s400/IMG_20170701_133538.png" width="300" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
One foot in front of
the other, I thought. Onward, upward, forward. But the course had a fantastically cruel
ace up its sleeve: The secret stairway. If you've never tried
switching from running to walking up stairs, let me tell you: it
sucks. It sucks all of your energy out of your thighs. It burns
almost as much as the sun burned my scorched shoulders. Soon enough
though I'd climbed to the top and reached the aid station. Two of my
AIK-friends were there, one of them nursing a bloody, chafed foot, the other
having just completed the obligatory run around the fort. We exchanged
a few words, drank way too much/not nearly enough water and I headed
off again.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-n9Q87YSAlFY/WVih0nZBKgI/AAAAAAAADZM/ahlGuJTF0akrIBQMn8nGMN652LqY5KNFQCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_20170701_140147.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="525" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-n9Q87YSAlFY/WVih0nZBKgI/AAAAAAAADZM/ahlGuJTF0akrIBQMn8nGMN652LqY5KNFQCLcBGAs/s400/IMG_20170701_140147.png" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i>The secret stairway</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
I had started passing
more runners now. I passed one of the walkers, who commented that it still looked easy. It's easier to run downhill, that's for sure. The race doesn't really start until you've hit 30
km; that's when all the sins of your past, all the injuries and
missed long runs, all the shoddy preparations start catching up with
you. A few of the runners I passed walked. A few lingered at aid stations
too long, but understandably so. My own sins hadn't caught up with
me yet. As I realised there were fewer than 10 km left, I started
counting down, a countdown that was slow. I didn't mind, because I
was going to make it in under 6 hours and my knee hadn't complained
once.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
The course had one last
nasty surprise left for us: we had to make our way up a slalom hill. A
sun-exposed slalom hill. Slalom hills are very steep, and they
magically become even steeper when you've just run a marathon. One
foot in front of the other, I thought once again. Onward, upward,
forward. I looked down at my feet, looked up at the top of the hill.
Neither helped. I just had to fight it, just had to make it to the
top, even if I had to crawl there.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
After that particular
trial, a nice trail down to a camping site, some paved roads, a
beautiful path by the river, and less heat. I remember thinking that
it wouldn't add up to 50 km. I remember thinking that it couldn't be
possible that I was still running and the finish line was nowhere in
sight. I remember looking at signs and hoping I'd see ”National
Defense Museum” on one of them. </div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-J2xEg5i7JN4/WVih0nFn0YI/AAAAAAAADZQ/dYOaYOrjhssEEio3ip2F0bSSWOVGKdeEwCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_20170701_153255.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="525" data-original-width="700" height="300" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-J2xEg5i7JN4/WVih0nFn0YI/AAAAAAAADZQ/dYOaYOrjhssEEio3ip2F0bSSWOVGKdeEwCLcBGAs/s400/IMG_20170701_153255.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i>A couple of kilometres left</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
And I remember finally
seeing the finish line, among the tanks and the people and the shade.
Oh, the shade.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
My feet hurt. I crossed
the finish line and immediately took my shoes off, lay on the grass, happy to do
nothing and having nothing to do. My AIK-friend who'd finished first
of the four of us snapped photos and got us coffee and ice-cream, once the other two also
finished their race. We sat there chatting for a long time, all of us
thinking about Ultravasan 90K in August with considerable
trepidation.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
After a wonderful
shower and a meal, we headed home. It was quiet in the car, an almost
contemplative mood having taken over us. This was one of the races
I've enjoyed the least, mostly because of the heat but I think also
because I wasn't in the right head space for a race. Usually I look
forward to spending a day out on the trail. Relaxing into the
knowledge I have nowhere else to be, just enjoying my surroundings
and the fact that I have a pair of healthy, working legs that make it
possible for me to see all these new places. But this time, I
couldn't relax. I felt that I<i> did </i>have somewhere else to be,
although I don't know where. It was a stressful race, both for my
body and my mind. Hopefully I will be more enthusiastic when it's
time for Ultravasan.</div>
Shaman Daliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17946279105871836619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8246634675970330754.post-85064401865195416052017-02-28T17:21:00.003+01:002017-02-28T17:21:50.072+01:00Appreciative af
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
I did an online test
the other day that was supposed to help you find out more about your
best personality traits. Number three: humour (not sure J would
agree, as he doesn't seem to appreciate my running commentary about
how funny certain foreign names are during skiing competitions on TV. I don't get it. I think I'm hilarious). Number two: honesty (selective honesty, I swear. You can still
come to me with your ”Does my butt look big in this” type of
questions. Also: The dog ate my homework).
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Number one?
Appreciation of beauty and excellence.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Normally I would nod my
head wisely at this and exclaim that Finally! Internet tests <i>get
</i>me! but after my close call with death by prolonged exposure to
the elements yesterday I'm not sure I agree completely. There might
be exceptions to my appreciation of beauty is what I'm saying.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
It started off well
enough. I had decided to run home from work, because that's the kind
of running I could fit into my schedule. I glanced out the window a
couple of times as the clock hands crept slowly towards 6 pm and freedom,
which was a mistake because it did absolutely nothing for my
motivation. It was snowing. It was windy. It was dark. But,
once I stepped outside, my Appreciation Of Beauty And
Excellence kicked in. I noticed how big fat snowflakes made small
craters in the ground upon impact. How trees gracefully bent in half in a magical ballet. How passing car drivers could tell that I was thirsty and
drove close to the edge of the road, shooting off snow in my
direction to quench my thirst. I gratefully flashed them a huge smile with teeth turned brown from tire-tainted slush.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Unfortunately, things
took a turn for the worse after a while. Three seconds into my run, I
realised that no one had gotten the memo that I was running home from
work, and the sidewalk was <i>still</i> covered in 10 centimetres of snow.
Sure, I could run on the road, which was relatively clear of snow,
but I had forgotten my reflective vest at home and I wasn't quite
feeling suicidal just yet. So I moved through the white stuff like a
hippo through a puddle of molasses, only not as elegantly.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
After three kilometres
of torture, my Appreciation of Beauty And Excellence was still going
strong. I was appreciating the beauty of suddenly running parallel to
the bus route and thought it was really excellent that it was so
close by. In case I needed to take the bus the rest of the way home.
Which I didn't. Because one personality trait that didn't come up on
the Internet test was never throwing in the towel, not even when it's
really wet and useless and, frankly, getting a bit smelly. So,
instead of doing the smart thing, I did the other thing, which was
putting one foot in front of the other several times in a row.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
A few kilometres later,
I was running through the village of Bergsbyn. Saying that I was
running is, of course, a gross misuse of the word. Snow was thick on
the ground and the wind was slapping me around like someone had told
it that corporal punishment was about to be outlawed and it was
trying to get in a few good hits before it had to stop. I waded, I
swam, I sent prayers to all known gods that I don't believe in. And
that's when I, driven to despair by weather conditions and unresponsive imaginary entities, finally
started feeling suicidal and decided to brave the road.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Ah, the road. Pavement
with only a light dusting of snow on it. Hard, unrelenting, dependable. I
felt the minor aches I had developed around my knees dissolve into
nothing, aches that can only be attributed to the softness and
instability of fresh snow. But you know who else likes the road?
Car drivers. 7 pm on a Monday is apparently rush hour in Bergsbyn, because I
could only run on the road a few seconds at a time before I was
forced to jump back onto the sidewalk. Playing chicken with cars is not
a game a runner can win.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
The last few kilometres
home were slightly uphill, because I wasn't miserable enough already.
My ears were frozen and my eyelashes were stuck together. My throat
hurt because I had inhaled all that ice-cold air. But, in the end, after an hour and a half,
after taking it one step at a time, one foot in front of the other
several times in a row, I got home. As I stood in the hallway peeling
off wet clothes, I looked out the window at the snow falling outside
and appreciated the beauty and excellence of being in a nice, warm
house.</div>
Shaman Daliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17946279105871836619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8246634675970330754.post-52388182149957373752016-12-08T18:15:00.000+01:002016-12-08T18:15:53.272+01:00Periscope up
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
OH HAI.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nHUXSyuzDvM/WEmUgyg5vAI/AAAAAAAADYU/PhjQNKG93DM4Occ7rtiVWe76OU-eM3foACLcB/s1600/Tidus%2Bin%2Bthe%2Bbox%2B011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nHUXSyuzDvM/WEmUgyg5vAI/AAAAAAAADYU/PhjQNKG93DM4Occ7rtiVWe76OU-eM3foACLcB/s400/Tidus%2Bin%2Bthe%2Bbox%2B011.jpg" width="287" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Remember me? Hilarious
blogger who's kind into running? Yeah. I don't remember me either.
It's been ages since I've written anything here. How are things with
you? Good? Yeah, I'm great too, thanks for asking.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Well, I'm great <i>now</i>.
I wasn't doing so great there for a while. I must have stumbled
during one of my runs straight down a rabbit hole, and landed in
Wonderland. The less wonderful kind of Wonderland. The kind where you
try to remember how much you love running but all you end up doing is
finding amazing and imaginative excuses to get out of doing it. Like,
”These dishes won't do themselves” (yes they will, we have a
dishwasher), ”the cats are tripping over themselves to get my
attention, I should give them it” (they spend most of the day
sleeping, eating and pooping, and they manage all that completely
without my help) and ”there is a surplus of chocolate in the
cupboard, I should really eat it to make some space for all the
kale, spirulina and chia seeds I am totally going to buy next time
I'm at the store” (yeah).</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
As amusing as it was
watching my own waistline expand to a level where it should be attracting
its own moon (any day now) or at least a falling apple or two, the underlying cause of it was less so. A
couple of really tough months at work (which poked the sleeping bear that is my doubts about my career choices in life), at the end of what was an
endless, stressful period getting things fixed around the house,
coincided with November. My least favourite month of all the -mbers.
Pitch dark most of the time, grey and miserable the couple of minutes
the sun manages to drag its arse over the horizon, it doesn't exactly
make anyone happy. But this year November was being even more of a gigantic
a-hole. Global events made sure of that. Yeah, you know what I'm
talking about.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
So I crawled back home
each day after work and hid under the covers, the thing that would
most definitely make me feel better looming above me like the most
intimidating monster: running. I found no motivation to get out there,
no matter how hard I tried. And the harder I tried, the less
motivated I felt. The few times I <i>did</i> get out there were
great, but not great enough to convince me that sticking my head in
the sand for a few hours every day wasn't the best idea <i>ever</i>.
If I waited this month out – no, strike that, this <i>year</i>
out, then things would once again get sunny and beautiful and I'd go
back to having my characteristic permasmile tattooed on my face.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Needless to say, this
tactic didn't work. Avoiding running leads, shockingly, to even
less running. I forced myself to get out there instead. <i>That</i>
worked, in so far as I collected a few measly kilometres per week that I
might have otherwise skipped, but I didn't enjoy them.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
I was worried. I was
getting to a point where running was the last thing I wanted to do.
The realisation was terrifying. I mean, I'm a runner. I love running. What kind of
a runner am I if I never want to go running? And if that means I'm
not a runner, then who the hell am I?</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
That's why you keep
coming back to this blog, people. It's all about the deep,
philosophical questions.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
It's too soon to say
that I'm out of that particular black hole (and you can never, ever really escape
black holes, because SCIENCE) but a few things have
helped me peek over its edge. First of all, the last couple of weeks
at work have been a stroll through the park compared
to the previous 2 months. I've even had time to go to the loo! Second of all, I've opened up to friends
about this and they have been tremendously supportive. The mountain
of stress, depression and general dysphoria has been shrinking and is
now currently a hill. I've been climbing upwards for days now, with
renewed energy and determination.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Yesterday, I ran my
first long run in over a month, right after I joined the gym. I'll
also be doing the <a href="https://cannonballread.com/">Cannonball Read</a> again next year, and I have a
couple of other little projects I'm going to be working on. All very
exciting stuff. Watch this space.</div>
Shaman Daliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17946279105871836619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8246634675970330754.post-13952206799869307742016-09-29T10:31:00.000+02:002016-09-29T10:31:12.775+02:00Setting my priorities straight
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
If my roller skis had
eyes, they would be looking at me accusingly right now. I haven't
touched them in weeks (except for when I moved them from the hallway
to the boiler room last Saturday, so that they wouldn't burn holes in my back with
their accusing, non-existent eyes every time I picked my running
shoes over them). A few weeks ago, I was in great shape and had just
found some of my long-lost motivation. Then, I went to this amazing
party. The party was so
amazing, it took me two weeks to recover.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
I almost never drink,
and on those rare occasions that I do, I drink maybe a glass or two.
Even a glass or two can leave me feeling shattered the day after (the
main reason I never drink anymore). That was <i>not</i> one of those
occasions. That was one of the occasions when you have such good fun,
you lose track of time, forget your own name and wake up with a tattoo on
your forehead swearing eternal love and devotion to someone called
Chi Chi.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
The price I had to pay
for this particular little indulgence was a compromised immune system and a subsequent, very stubborn cold that
lasted for two weeks. During those two weeks I ate my own weight in
chocolate, moved as little as possible to keep my heart from racing (maybe the chocolate had something to do with it racing? Nah, that can't be it)
and watched an entire season of Braindead (had there been more seasons, I would have watched them too). I turned into a mushy
heap of laziness and apathy.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Being sick sucks.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Once my throat cleared
up, I went for a run. Everything ached. Old injuries that I thought
had healed woke from their deep slumber and launched repeated attacks
on my body. Although I was running on a gorgeous forest road,
surrounded by autumn-clad birches and grandiose spruce trees, I
longed to get home and rest. I logged 25 difficult kilometres that
day. My legs had obviously forgotten how to run.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
The next day, I thought
about going roller skiing, then changed my mind.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
The day after, I
thought about going roller skiing, then changed my mind.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
The day after <i>that</i>, I
went for a long run instead.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />Today, in spite of a gorgeous sun
painting the trees all shades of orange, red and yellow, I once
again find myself choosing other things to do. Autumn is the time for
books and crocheting and watching films. Slowly winding down after the frenetic activities of summer and before
the long hibernation of winter.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-u5iaOhBWOpU/V-zPUghudQI/AAAAAAAADXc/ejKhcHkXVH8xDctyzSWd6VQ4IhWw3y8aACLcB/s1600/books.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-u5iaOhBWOpU/V-zPUghudQI/AAAAAAAADXc/ejKhcHkXVH8xDctyzSWd6VQ4IhWw3y8aACLcB/s400/books.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i>They're not going to read themselves.</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
The accusing,
non-existent eyes of my roller skis are boring a hole through the
walls.</div>
Shaman Daliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17946279105871836619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8246634675970330754.post-25435336150179935202016-09-08T16:55:00.000+02:002016-09-08T16:55:06.189+02:00Babel
<div class="western" lang="sv-SE" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
There is
no poetry left in the world. There is poetry in my heart, but when I
open my mouth to let the words fly away and make a nest in someone
else's tree, they have no wings to fly with. The sounds I make are
rusty, frustrated attempts at a whale song in a feline world.</div>
<div class="western" lang="sv-SE" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" lang="sv-SE" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
There <i>is</i>
poetry in the world. The skittish deer disappearing into the woods as
I ran past it on my long run last night told me so. The fleeting
clouds in the sky told me so. The dirt I gathered underneath my
fingernails while gardening told me so. I dig and plant seeds, so
that next year there will be even more poetry in my world. Is it
poetry if the words you speak are in a different language than everyone else's?
</div>
<div class="western" lang="sv-SE" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" lang="sv-SE" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
If no one
hears, maybe they'll see. I use my hands to turn wool into leaves and
flowers, structures and abstracts. I use my hands to turn stone into
Eden. I use my hands to turn clay into screenshots of my mind. My
heart speaks through my hands.</div>
<div class="western" lang="sv-SE" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" lang="sv-SE" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
”Beautiful”,
they might say. Yes, but do you see? Do you see beyond me and that
which I make? Don't look at me! Do you see that I'm pointing at my heart and the poetry
that longs to find others who speak the same language? Do you see the
almost infinite amount of stars, the intricate details of a butterfly
wing, the laughter of the one I love, all huddled up in there? Do you
speak my language?</div>
<div class="western" lang="sv-SE" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1y3Z5UGOj30/V9F5w-T87AI/AAAAAAAADXI/O2LAsljLkbo6uBwjqCkhqAB2Sy2dE5S5QCLcB/s1600/DSC_0004.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1y3Z5UGOj30/V9F5w-T87AI/AAAAAAAADXI/O2LAsljLkbo6uBwjqCkhqAB2Sy2dE5S5QCLcB/s400/DSC_0004.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="western" lang="sv-SE" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
Shaman Daliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17946279105871836619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8246634675970330754.post-88820584607768060432016-08-25T11:25:00.000+02:002016-08-25T11:25:52.227+02:00A little long run can go a long way
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
I'm complete rubbish at
maths. Especially when I run. So, while I intended on running 20 km
yesterday evening, I did 30 instead. Oops! Oh well. It could happen
to anyone.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
I started by leaving
the car a few kilometers away from the AIK meeting place and then
tried to run there with a little detour over what strongly resembled
the impact crater of a medium-sized meteorite. They are taking huge
bites out of our beloved Vitberget, you see, to build expensive
houses. Where there used to be dark corridors of pine and fir forest,
there are now mud and tall fences and cranes and men in reflective
gear working these premium lots until they look like every single
other premium lot in the country. Our beloved white mountain is
bleeding, its open wounds not only an eyesore but an ugly indication
of where our society is headed.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YfToVRbXMUI/VVdZvAAqavI/AAAAAAAADOA/EBMEGo28xaIoyWWzDuvHoXP8l84Sxte6ACPcB/s1600/vit2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YfToVRbXMUI/VVdZvAAqavI/AAAAAAAADOA/EBMEGo28xaIoyWWzDuvHoXP8l84Sxte6ACPcB/s400/vit2.png" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i>In memoriam</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Put off by the sight of
dead trees thrown unceremoniously across what used to be a forest
path, I tried to find other ways to get to my destination. More
fences, more strict warnings of planned explosions in the area to
level the ground from a mountain to an ant hill. I tried to
concentrate on the podcast I was listening to. Managed to leave this
so-called progress behind and get to a less civilised trail. The
clock was ticking and I had to get to my running buddies. </div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
The debate among us
lasted all but a second: we would skip our usual Wednesday run on
Vitberget and try Kraftloppet's route. Kraftloppet is an 11 or 20 km-
trail race, and this year it is scheduled for this Saturday. No one
seemed too keen on negotiating, or facing for that matter, a deeply
scarred environment. So Kraftloppet's route it was.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Some of us did the 11
km-version, but most of us picked the longer one – myself included.
That was when bad maths came into play. I had already run 6 km. My
brain somehow succeeded in translating 11 + 6 km to a little over 10
km and decided the short route was way too short for my intentions,
therefore I had to run the 20 km one, which would obviously bring me
closer to my goal of running a total of 20 km. Yeah. I told you I was
rubbish at this.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Hey, I'm good at other
things. Like procrastinating, or pretending to be bad at maths so
that I can run further than I had planned.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Not once during those
couple of hours I spent running with these guys and girls through the
woods did I regret my decision. Not once did I feel bored or tired. I
<i>did</i> start recalculating how long my run would turn out to be
and got it (almost) right this time (when it was – conveniently -
too late to turn back), and then wondered briefly if my light,
wholesome dinner consisting of a piece of nectarine pie and ice cream
an hour earlier would suffice to see me through it. I skipped with
energy, chatted away, looked forward to my watch showing those double
digits that would make this a <i>really</i> long run instead of just
an ordinary long run. Those double digits are, of course, completely
arbitrary, as what a really long run is is vastly different from one
person to another. I've had friends log ultra runs as distance
dittos. I'm not quite there yet. Don't think I'll ever be.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
I took an extra detour
on the way back to the car, despite the fact that I suddenly felt
really tired, as soon as I left my friends. Is it a little crazy to
want to round up the numbers to that magical limit of 30 km? Then I'm
bonkers. I <i>may</i> have been dropped on my head as a baby. I
collapsed into the car with all the elegance of a drunken one-legged
pirate. A really satisfied drunken one-legged pirate.</div>
Shaman Daliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17946279105871836619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8246634675970330754.post-23076089708394415142016-08-16T18:15:00.000+02:002016-08-16T18:15:02.704+02:00Running through my head
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
I came home to an empty
house. J was still at work, and I had dropped my mom off at the
airport earlier after her two-week visit here. Even the otherwise
very talkative cats were quiet. It was eerie.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
I have the kind of job
where I have to actively interact with lots of different people in a
loud environment all day, every day. By the time I finish work I am
usually mentally exhausted. This kind of job will do that to you, if
you're an introvert like I am. Silence is a welcome change, solitude
a respite. But today, the same silence I usually seek in order to
recharge after work felt strange, unfamiliar.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
I went looking for a
different kind of silence, the kind you find running in the woods, thinking
it would help me get my thoughts in order. As the jingle of the
ice-cream truck faded away in the distance, the voices in my head got
louder. Conversations with family, friends, acquaintances, colleagues
I'd had earlier today, conversations from days ago, older
conversations still made my head buzz. I pressed pause, rewound,
replayed them. I tried out different answers, different outcomes. I
said something nice instead of something mean, I shouted in anger
instead of keeping quiet, I kept quiet instead of saying something
stupid. Nothing changed. The things I hadn't said remained unsaid,
the things that I had said remained etched in memory. All that
brooding did was give me temporary relief from keeping my thoughts
bottled up for so long.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
The technical trail
demanded my attention. I skipped between stones and roots, lost in my
thoughts. I almost twisted my ankle, distracted and unobservant as I
was. When I got home, J was back. The silence that had haunted the
house earlier was gone. We don't always need to speak to communicate
what we want and how we're feeling. We're so in tune with each other,
we just know. But with others, it's not as easy to say the right
thing at the right time.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
I wish I could be
clearer, make my voice speak as loudly and eloquently as it does in
my head while I'm running. Maybe then I wouldn't need to risk
twisting an ankle.</div>
Shaman Daliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17946279105871836619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8246634675970330754.post-52933288679597812702016-08-01T16:24:00.000+02:002016-08-01T16:24:49.276+02:00Intermission
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Once upon a time, there
was a runner who liked to do <strike>stupid</strike> <strike>crazy
</strike>exciting things, like run ultras and such. A couple of years
after she started running, when she was still young and easily influenced by her peers, she
participated in something called Ultra Intervals. Starting at
midnight one cold November night, this runner and six friends of hers
<a href="http://shaman-dalie.blogspot.se/2011/11/ultra-intervals-story.html">ran 10 km every three hours</a> until nine the next evening, to a total
of 80 km. Even though the experience was definitely exciting, and,
yes, even a little bit stupid and crazy, she swore to never do it
again. Like she always did after each stupid, crazy thing she ever
did, right before she did it again.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Then she made a
mistake. A big mistake. A few years later, she happened to mention
Ultra Intervals to some other friends, who obviously mistook her
advice to ”never do this” to mean ”absolutely! Drop everything else and
do it NOW”. They planned it and invited her and then, although she'd
told them she'd rather <a href="http://www.ibtimes.co.uk/cockroach-milk-new-superfood-1573220">drink cockroach milk</a> or have Donald Trump's
baby, kidnapped her, threw her in a car, drove her to one of their
rank's summer cottages and made her eat great food, have an amazing
time and, oh, run 80 km or so.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
That runner was me. A
tired house owner who, despite just having had 4 weeks off work,
almost felt like she had worked so much on the house that she'd
rather be at work (almost).</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
The not-even-48-hours I
spent at that summer cottage more than made up for those weeks spent
scraping peeling paint off walls. They felt like at least a week's
worth of vacation, because my mind was so full of beautiful memories
by the end of it.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
After an amazing dinner
of (vegetarian) halloumi and quinoa burgers on delicious home-baked
bread on Friday night, the six of us prepared ourselves mentally for
the challenge ahead. By the time we set out on the first interval, a
thick mist covered both tree tops and, at places, the way ahead. It
wasn't completely dark here up North. It was eerie. We had lots of
energy and chatted away the first 10 km. When we got home, we all
went to bed (<i>not</i> the same bed. Surely I don't have to clarify
that it wasn't <i>that</i> kind of get-together).</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
We had all managed to
sleep an hour or so when we were rudely awaken by six buzzing, very
loud phones. The roads were still shrouded in mist but there was much
more light in the sky already. We ran the same route as before, this
time a little more tired and drowsy despite (or because of) the hour
of sleep we had gotten. The third interval was almost mist-free, and
we had breakfast to look forward to. Our legs were getting stiff.
Some of us jumped in the nearby lake afterwards, only some of us
with clothes on (still not <i>that</i> kind of get-together).</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6LsVNMbmFrE/V59aRMHOlrI/AAAAAAAADWw/TRGQUPbA8REqUe1_g0zOBfaEFBIFfASGgCLcB/s1600/lake.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6LsVNMbmFrE/V59aRMHOlrI/AAAAAAAADWw/TRGQUPbA8REqUe1_g0zOBfaEFBIFfASGgCLcB/s400/lake.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i>The lake in the distance</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
By that time, we had
slept a grand total of 2 hours and were fresh enough to want to skip
sleep for the rest of the day. Our fourth interval was on a new
route, past cows and horses and fields and houses, always with a view
of the lake. After our fifth interval, most of us jumped back into
the lake, but this time to swim to a raft where we then ate lunch.
The sun was warm enough to bake us while we ran, but out there on the
raft, with the wind blowing and our skin wet, it was nice to have a
towel or bathrobe wrapped around our bodies. The swim back was
invigorating and helped our tired muscles recover somewhat. We spent
the time that was left to the sixth interval lying in the sun and
chatting about books and films and what to do on our next adventure.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
What I found strange
was that, as the hours passed, it got easier and easier to run.
Perhaps not mentally; it was so relaxing and pleasant to sit on the
patio and shoot the breeze that I found the thought of having to get
up and run again less appealing. I cherished those moments between
intervals, getting to know my friends better, eating good food and
being so profoundly at peace with myself and the world, I never
wanted it to end.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />During the
second-to-last interval, I picked up some speed and left most of my
friends behind, because I felt my slow twitch muscle fibers grow more
and more tired. I needed to shift gears to let them rest. One of my
friends followed my lead, caught up. We ran mostly in silence; it
suited me fine. It gave me time to concentrate on breathing, soak in
the knowledge that the difficult part would soon be over and think
back to all the memorable moments I had already collected during this
trip.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
After a dinner
consisting of heavenly spicy lentil soup, home-baked sourdough bread
and fresh blueberry juice, we got ready for the last interval. My
upper body was knackered, my ribs felt bruised and my shoulder
crooked. My legs were fine though, so I decided to follow the example
I had set the previous time and ran a little faster again. Again, my
friend followed suit, but this time, when we didn't have to worry
about saving our breath and our energy, we spent the whole time
talking about everything under the sun. We completed the last
interval and celebrated with a high-five.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Everyone completed the
intervals. Some of us set new personal distance records. We sat in
the sauna to soften up our tight muscles and then sat down for an hour or
two to talk again, tired but satisfied. I think I speak for all of us
when I say that we slept well that night.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
The morning after, we
ate breakfast and lunch, and talked some more. I thought about how we jelled as a group, how the conversation flowed freely, how this
experience had brought us closer together. I thought about my own
achievement, maybe not a new personal record for me but the feeling
that I could do this comfortably, which meant that I was in much
better form than I was the first time I participated in the Ultra
Intervals five years ago. And yes, I even thought about whether I wanted to do this
again.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
The answer? Absolutely.
If I get to do it in this kind of company.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></i>
</div>
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">
</span></i><div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">My good friend Edith
was our wonderful hostess. She has just started her company
Kvastresor, which organises health- and exercise related trips. I
cannot recommend her enough. Go and have a look at her<a href="http://kvastresor.se/"> website</a>.</span></i></div>
Shaman Daliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17946279105871836619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8246634675970330754.post-3234738065994980482016-07-07T16:32:00.001+02:002016-07-07T16:32:53.184+02:00Get lost
<div style="text-align: justify;">
NOW THAT'S WHAT I'M
TALKING ABOUT.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Enough with complaining
about how I can't find the motivation to go running. Sometimes you
have to kick your own arse into action (although, anatomically
speaking, that might be hard to achieve, at least if you want to kick
your own arse hard enough to accomplish such action). So what if there
are a thousand things to do around the house? They'll still be there
when I get back.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
On one of my morning
walks, I had stumbled upon a promising trail not too far from here.
Have I mentioned that the trail head is 300 metres from our doorstep?
With beautiful single-track stretching out in every direction? No?
The trail head is 300 metres from our doorstep! With beautiful
single-track stretching out in every direction!</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KPwlj8-gJvw/V35mv6philI/AAAAAAAADWc/8EBvNoCpruwuNRVCYYrYD-RJBqDiqlj9QCLcB/s1600/1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KPwlj8-gJvw/V35mv6philI/AAAAAAAADWc/8EBvNoCpruwuNRVCYYrYD-RJBqDiqlj9QCLcB/s400/1.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">300 metres, folks.</span></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Now, after many ifs and
buts, worrying about the weather and whether it would be too good to
waste on running (I promise you'll never hear me utter such
blasphemous words ever again) instead of painting the house, I
decided to find out if I had read the map right and that that trail led where I
thought it led. Before I had time to hesitate, I threw
on some clothes and got out the door.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
It didn't lead where I
thought it led. It led to an Olympic-sized swimming pool infested
with blood-thirsty mosquitoes. As I wasn't in the mood to wade
through waist-deep, ice-cold, who-knows-what-horrors-hide-within
(probably leeches, definitely sharks) water, I turned back. The
single-track was so narrow it was almost invisible, my feet danced
between jugged stones and gnarly roots in a desperate attempt to hit
dirt, a fleeting side-glance informed me that something big had
sharpened its claws on an ancient, moss-covered tree. The forest
seemed to be untouched by human hands. I hoped I got a good signal on
my phone in case I fell and hit my head, and, I don't know, accidentally butt-dialed
J while unconscious? I don't
know why I thought having a good signal would be useful in that case. I was still
shocked from the bear-mauled tree. I wasn't thinking straight.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Back on tamer grounds,
I picked a new trail to follow. It was perfect. Just enough roots to
make the soft ground interesting and keep me on my toes. Fir trees
and pines on each side hid a somber sky that was laden with rain.
The trail was short and ended up at a forest road. Lovely, I thought,
and ran even further, determined to explore every little corner of
this part of the world (or at least my neighbourhood).
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HO8RDcJV5UE/V35mv6_Xe-I/AAAAAAAADWg/cn6ZOyYvW8EzHIjRMYW85yYkUXptq7VOQCLcB/s1600/2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HO8RDcJV5UE/V35mv6_Xe-I/AAAAAAAADWg/cn6ZOyYvW8EzHIjRMYW85yYkUXptq7VOQCLcB/s400/2.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Eerie.</span></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
This part of the world
was a dead end, and not a very pretty one. There was a huge gaping
wound in the forest where its owner had felled countless trees. I
turned back once again, and this time I followed the forest road to
the south, aiming to get back to civilisation. My legs were feeling
great but my heart kept playing hopscotch, so I didn't want to push
it. Still, when a new trail appeared to my left, I didn't even falter. I left the road. I knew that this trail led back home.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
After a while, I got to a crossroads
of trails. To my left, the trail I had originally followed. To my
right, the trail home. Straight ahead, who knew? Not me. And I
wouldn't find out unless I followed it, so I did. What seemed like a
broad path at first quickly deteriorated into almost nothing (unless
you're a snail, and then I guess that nothing looked like the autobahn to
you). I took wild turns trying to follow the sharp corners of the
trail, tree branches and needles piercing my arms and legs as I
squeezed myself through their narrow corridors. I stopped abruptly,
the trail disappearing completely all of a sudden. To my right,
something resembling a trail dissolved into the shadows. I turned to
follow it and--</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
I got attacked. By a
thin, pointy, murderous, fence-sword tree branch that tried to bore a
hole into the side of my head. My fingers massaged my head, looking for blood.
Surprisingly, there was none. But I took the warning seriously.
I turned back yet again and looked for another trail. </div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HYfdtVF7Xbc/V35mv0dDX9I/AAAAAAAADWY/jwYmnrJ96l0jMBquSuwwR-kEtrUXtYYZACLcB/s1600/3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HYfdtVF7Xbc/V35mv0dDX9I/AAAAAAAADWY/jwYmnrJ96l0jMBquSuwwR-kEtrUXtYYZACLcB/s400/3.png" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i>This one was better, but still an obstacle course</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
A minute later, I found
one, and it led me back to the beaten path. I ran the last few
hundred metres with such joy in my heart that my legs picked up the pace.
I hadn't even run 10km, yet I had seen so much and experienced the kind of
adventure only running can offer.
</div>
<br />
Shaman Daliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17946279105871836619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8246634675970330754.post-10758827301661015952016-07-06T08:31:00.000+02:002016-07-06T08:31:38.292+02:00Rainy day woman
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
I've been in a weird
place when it comes to running ever since I did those 100 km last
September. My motivation has been shaky at best; at times I've been
as enthusiastic to go for a run as a dog is before a trip to the vet.
Some runs just felt uninspired, others like crossing items off a
”to do”- list I made in preparation for some unspecified, distant goal.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Easy runs. Check.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Intervals. Check.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Long runs. Check.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Those gems of
a beautiful, magical run you get when you're in a flow, on a pair of
fresh legs, maybe on a smooth, pine needle covered single track
through the woods, were few and far between. I missed them, but not
badly enough to put on my running shoes and get out there.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Da0ebhzoHtM/Ucr3-bskf6I/AAAAAAAACyE/mYo9-C8ZHncWuKvJl1ImwKYXXnD3OT5ggCKgB/s1600/b.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Da0ebhzoHtM/Ucr3-bskf6I/AAAAAAAACyE/mYo9-C8ZHncWuKvJl1ImwKYXXnD3OT5ggCKgB/s400/b.png" width="301" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
I ransacked myself for
answers. Part of the reason for my reluctance to go running was not wanting to leave the house when
there's so much to do. I don't like unfinished business, plus it is kind of awesome to work on an old house and watch it transform into something
beautiful. Another reason was not wanting to add another must in my
life. Running for me is about freedom. It's not an obligation –
but, for a while there, it got very close to becoming one.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
A realisation hit me.
Running - my therapy, my shelter, one of my dearest friends - was
drifting away from me because I didn't nurture it. I only saw the
demands it placed on me and forgot about the good times we had had. I
let other things come between us, foolishly believing that, while
running can (and does) affect my life, life cannot affect my running.
Whenever I've felt down, running has lifted my spirits. Whenever I've
had important decisions to make, running has helped me clear my head.
But it's not a magic wand you can just wave and fix everything.
Someone flipped a switch somewhere and now the water is gushing in the opposite
direction, and my running is getting flooded by life and it's just not cool, man. Not cool.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Back to the drawing
board for me. I needed to make time for running. I needed to get back
to what made it fun. I asked some friends if they wanted to join me
for a 50K run. I dreamed about a warm, sunny day by the coast,
stopping for ice-cream, chatting and laughing for hours while getting
to see new places. My first day of vacation.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BYIU3uMCqRc/U2ZhVauQSJI/AAAAAAAADAY/j6ITlphLYoQJE7D0Cea9fEuoFo4aNiCMACKgB/s1600/DSC01699%2B%25282%2529.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BYIU3uMCqRc/U2ZhVauQSJI/AAAAAAAADAY/j6ITlphLYoQJE7D0Cea9fEuoFo4aNiCMACKgB/s400/DSC01699%2B%25282%2529.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
What we got was a
slightly modified version of it. We did chat and laugh, we did see
new places, we did stop for ice-cream, but we also got drenched by a
persistent summer drizzle that turned the sky grey and the forest
dark. Close enough.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
While this was a
much-needed run that took me one step closer to getting my motivation
back, I'm not there yet. As long as life is upside down to the extent
that it is, running will have to settle for being ”that thing you
do to keep in shape” instead of a lifestyle, a lifeline.</div>
Shaman Daliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17946279105871836619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8246634675970330754.post-63654952057444838502016-06-22T20:22:00.000+02:002016-06-22T20:22:03.144+02:00Endings and new beginnings
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Sometimes, while you're
busy trying to do things you like, like writing on your blog, life
pulls gently on your sleeve to get your attention. Other times, it
rips your arm right off.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Three months ago, we
bought a house. Oh, I have fond memories of the time before that,
when I could go for a whole minute without having something to do.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Buying an old house and
having to renovate it by yourself takes time, and effort, and an
emotional investment unlike anything I've experienced before. Our
decisions matter, because this is our home now and the decisions we
make – which colours we pick for our walls, which furniture we
choose for the extra room we suddenly have, which trees, bushes and
flowers will reshape our flat, uninspired garden – reflect who we are.
And because we're not millionaires who can throw money at problems
until someone else fixes them, we're stuck with the mistakes that we
make, at least for a while.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Life has been trying to rip
my arm off to get my attention to the house, while I've been looking
for my running shoes, my crochet hook, my book. I paid attention and
worked 12-13 hour days until I was too tired to think, to exercise,
to function. I lost touch with friends – but thankfully, the good
ones always stick around no matter how much of a shitty friend you've
been. The other ones? They were probably not your friend to begin with.
Some doors were closed forever.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
All this is small
potatoes, of course, in the grand scheme of things. It's a stressful
period in our lives that will soon fade into a hopefully less
stressful period, when we actually have time to reap what we sow.
Because a home does not actually become a home, no matter how amazing
the furniture and the wall colour and the garden, if you don't
actually live and laugh in it. If you don't bake those cookies so the
walls and floors and ceilings become saturated with the smell of
them. If you don't accidentally make a dent in the upholstery while
you're carrying a chair to the dining room so your dinner guests will
have something to sit on. If you don't have time to go through the
whole house, room by room, and discover all its hidden flaws and
treasures.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
So I wash the paint off
my arms for the umpteenth time. Try to find some much needed balance
between work and play. I picked up my crochet
hook again last night for the first time in three months. My fingers
remembered the drill, even if the pattern to the particular piece I
was working on was hiding in a much more obscure part of my brain and
I had to coax it into materialising.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
My book was in a box
with a pile of other books, some of them new and exciting, some of them old and
beloved. I decided to make time for at least a couple of pages every
day.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Running then? After a
couple of months where little to no training took place, I stood on
the starting line for this year's Rovön 6H with considerable
apprehension. I had made up my mind to shoot for 33 km, no more. I
hadn't put in the miles for more. But then, as I ran with some
friends from AIK and the hours just passed, I found myself aching for
those longer distances. I was tired but I didn't want to stop. I was
still hungry for ultras when I finally did, after 44 km. It was a
relief to get my mojo back after months of routine, unexciting runs.
I started planning my next adventure within minutes. I now have two
concrete plans, and that's just in July.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uilI05VVGhM/V2rVBxs_i-I/AAAAAAAADWI/-UsrcEHlC2gf60bKLb2mVVS5xg6E-UmuACLcB/s1600/IMG_20140728_130617.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uilI05VVGhM/V2rVBxs_i-I/AAAAAAAADWI/-UsrcEHlC2gf60bKLb2mVVS5xg6E-UmuACLcB/s400/IMG_20140728_130617.png" width="300" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Summer is going to be
intensive, with lots of work that still needs to be done on the
house. But at least life isn't pulling on my arm quite so hard this
time. And with all my running-related plans? I'll be playing as hard
as I'll be working.</div>
Shaman Daliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17946279105871836619noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8246634675970330754.post-86360142408216200692016-02-26T21:30:00.000+01:002016-02-26T21:30:37.087+01:00Odyssey
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
A friend and I were
talking the other day about training and he asked me if I have a
goal. He was referring to my running. I think.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
I replied that, for me,
the journey is far more important than the destination. Lots of great
minds agree with me – the Greek poet <a href="http://www.cavafy.com/poems/content.asp?cat=1&id=74">Cavafy</a> the most notable among
them, with the American poets Aerosmith a <i>very </i>close second – so I must be right:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<i>As you set out for
Ithaca<br />hope the voyage is a long one,<br />full of adventure, full
of discovery.</i><br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
[…]</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<i><br />Hope the voyage
is a long one.<br />May there be many a summer morning when,<br />with
what pleasure, what joy,<br />you come into harbors seen for the first
time;</i></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
My friend then asked me
what happens if we get lost on our way to our destination. Too caught up
island-hopping like a modern-day Ulysses to remember we once had
Ithaca to get to. I asked him, thinking about this year's running goal of <i>not</i> having a running goal, what happens if we don't even have an
Ithaca to get to.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
The conversation may
have been training-related but my mind wandered off to other things.
Sometimes it feels like I've been on the move my whole life. I've
switched schools and moved house so many times I've lost track. I've
lived in three different countries, 4 different cities, 10 different
places. I was almost always the last one in, in groups of friends,
work places, you name it. And, because I moved so often, I was often
the first one out.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
It was hard work to
start over all the time. New friends. New colleagues. New challenges.
The older you get, the harder it is to start over. But I didn't mind. I got to see so much of this part of the world,
met so many wonderful people, even though I sometimes wish I didn't
always have to leave them.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
In April, after many
years of house-hunting, we will be moving into our new house. Our own
house this time, not a rental that we can just move out of whenever
we want, but our own place that we hope will be our permanent home.
The sense of commitment, after a lifetime of being on the move, is
almost overwhelming. I am sprouting roots and I just don't know –
is this my Ithaca? Or just another island on the way there? Do I <i>want</i>
it to be my Ithaca? Or, like I (only half-jokingly) asked J when it
became clear that the plan was for us to live in Sweden for the rest of our
lives: But what about Canada? Are we never going to try living there? So many places we'll never spend time in.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
This
moving-all-the-time business became a way of life and turned into a
wanderlust that can only be satisfied by regular long runs. How will
it feel to finally settle down for real?</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
My motivation to get
out and exercise has been less than exemplary lately. I am sure there
are many reasons for that, perhaps mainly because I'm currently
juggling work, studies and the imminent move which all leave me
mentally exhausted. It takes a will of steel to get myself out the
door, but once I'm out there, it's always worth it. Take yesterday,
for example: the sun was low on the horizon when I finally decided to
get out and run. It was a gorgeous winter day and the sun cast a warm
light. I ran in the forest, on snowmobile tracks. It was quiet but
for my footsteps. The sky was torn in two by a passing airplane and
painted in all shades of orange. I had only planned on running 10,
maybe 15 km, but I got home after 20. This was a journey worth going
on, but it did get me thinking about my lack of a running-related
Ithaca. Could this be what is causing my lack of motivation? That I
don't have a goal to train for?</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-g7qxcU9e9zc/VtCzJzQQNaI/AAAAAAAADVs/k_E3sMsHRoo/s1600/skotersp%25C3%25A5r1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-g7qxcU9e9zc/VtCzJzQQNaI/AAAAAAAADVs/k_E3sMsHRoo/s400/skotersp%25C3%25A5r1.png" width="300" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Last Wednesday, AIK
awarded me the title of ”Leader of the Year”. It was an honour
that meant so much to me, for several reasons but mainly because I
wasn't the last one in anymore, and I certainly don't plan on being
the first one out. From the first time I trained with the group I
felt like I belonged there, mostly thanks to our coach, but even my
fellow runners, who all embraced me immediately. Many of them have become my friends. <br /> </div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
[…]</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /><i>Keep Ithaca
always in your mind.<br />Arriving there is what you are destined
for.<br />But do not hurry the journey at all.<br />Better if it lasts
for years,<br />so you are old by the time you reach the
island,<br />wealthy with all you have gained on the way,<br />not
expecting Ithaca to make you rich.<br /><br />Ithaca gave you the
marvelous journey.<br />Without her you would not have set out.<br />She
has nothing left to give you now.<br /><br />And if you find her poor,
Ithaca won’t have fooled you.<br />Wise as you will have become, so
full of experience,<br />you will have understood by then what these
Ithacas mean. </i>
</div>
Shaman Daliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17946279105871836619noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8246634675970330754.post-77800066830221644752016-02-01T14:47:00.000+01:002016-02-01T14:47:10.463+01:00Halcyon days
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
There are winter days
when the sun paints the treetops gold and you suddenly realise it's
the first time you've seen that golden light in months. Those winter
days when the cold still grabs hold of you with its icy claws, but then you
hear a bird singing and you wonder if you're mistaken, maybe you fell
asleep and woke up two or three months later and it's spring.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Those winter days you
want to lie down on your back somewhere where that golden light can
reach you. You want to climb up high, maybe on a hill, because the
sun is already so low when you finally leave work. You want to lie
down and look up, and pretend that the world is upside down and that
the sky is an ocean and the clouds are ships. You think about going
running, the perfect way to enjoy a beautiful day such as this, but
then your mind wanders off to other days, days when you were a kid, being lazy in
the sun. You remember your head leaning against the window of a warm car on such a sunny winter afternoon, on your way back home from a day trip with your parents. The sun caressing your face as your hands cradle a mug of hot chocolate during a snack break to a Sunday hike up the mountains. Reading your favourite book by the window. And
then all you want to do is curl up like a cat and get lost in the
memories. There will be time for running later. This light is only fleeting still, anyway.</div>
Shaman Daliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17946279105871836619noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8246634675970330754.post-54368958691423549192016-01-07T07:51:00.000+01:002016-01-07T07:51:59.749+01:00Mad about running
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
So, I put up this photo
on Facebook, after my 21 km run in -23 degrees (-31 chill factor)
last night:</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4kKyr_bVhFE/Vo4IM8qEu8I/AAAAAAAADVc/EDYBGtZinhs/s1600/kallt.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="234" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4kKyr_bVhFE/Vo4IM8qEu8I/AAAAAAAADVc/EDYBGtZinhs/s320/kallt.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Everyone was like
”you're mad” and ”did you forget to take your medications again”
but I prefer to think of myself as a dedicated person. Because if you love running as
much as I do, you don't let a little thing like arctic temperatures,
frostbite and pneumonia stop you! You don't choose a warm,
comfortable sofa over the gentle, pickax touches of the
Northern wind on your face! No! You get out there and you play
chicken with the lorries that drive 70 kph through the industrial
backside of Skellefteå, throwing a whirlwind of snow all over you as
they pass. You run blindly through a dark forest on snow-heavy paths
because you didn't think to bring your head torch and your field of
vision has shrunk to a pinhole because your eyelashes are covered in
ice. You take the detour up the hill, because that's what you had
decided you would do beforehand and, besides, you're kind of curious
to see if it's just as windy up there as it's down here.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Numbers have the power
to intimidate us. Standing at the starting line of our longest race
yet, we feel unsure if we can make it, so we take it really easy.
Glancing at our clocks during our fastest race, we realise we're
running faster than ever before and we slow down just a little
because surely it won't hold all the way to the finish line? All the
time, we put up arbitrary boundaries for ourselves, be that speed,
distance or temperature. Boundaries are good. They keep us safe. We
decide where to draw the line, what we can overcome and what will
defeat us. Only thing is, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Central_governor">we usually err on the side of caution</a> and
we sometimes, unnecessarily, end up defeating ourselves.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Our boundaries stand firmly where we put them, if we never challenge them. And that's ok. We don't need to challenge them. In the end, it's all about the eternal
struggle between motivation and fear that takes place inside of us.
Do I want this badly enough to take risks? Did I want to go running
badly enough? I put on approximately every item of clothing I owned
and stepped out into the cold. For me, motivation won over my fear of
-what? Freezing out there, lying helpless in some back alley and
getting devoured by wolves? What was <i>really </i>the worst that
could happen? As it turned out, the worst thing that <i>did</i>
happen was that condense formed on the inside of my ski mask, made
the chin area all soggy and turned it into an icecube. Not what I
need to have on my chin when it's -23 outside, but was it that big of
a deal?
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
I took a detour on my
way home, too. I was having so much fun, under the stars, on soft
snow, watching steam rise from the river, the night sky painted dark
pink by the city lights.</div>
Shaman Daliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17946279105871836619noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8246634675970330754.post-21152946175433528832015-12-29T12:38:00.000+01:002015-12-29T12:38:15.608+01:00My 2015
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
So here it is, what
you’ve all been waiting for, the thing you’ve written letters to
Santa for but he only gave you an ugly sweater (that fat bastard),
the <b>Annual Summary Of The Year That Has Gone By</b> ( or ASOTYTHGB <strong><sup>®</sup></strong>
as it's more widely known).</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
A million hungry reader
voices exclaim in relief: FINALLY. Well, my friends, you have to wait
no longer!</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
It was a strange year.
A surreal year. A life-changing year in many ways. A couple of tough
months that I'd love to go all Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
on. A couple of wonderful months, reuniting with dear old friends who
helped me cope with the tough months, and making some pretty cool
new ones who have helped me look <i>ahead</i> instead of <i>back</i>. Life skidded
off to one direction only to swerve at the last moment and head off
into the opposite one. You know, like life usually does. Sometimes
you can bury your head in the sand and wait for it to pass, but this
year I faced all challenges head on and I want to believe that I came
out of it a stronger person. With a little help from my amazing
friends and family.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Hey, Karma, that’s
not to say that I want you to throw even bigger challenges my way.
I’ve had enough drama to last a lifetime lately, thank you very much.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Running-wise it was
perhaps my best year yet. I started off strong after an injury,
increasing my mileage carefully until I could run 30-odd kilometres
on any Wednesday evening unscathed and put in double long runs in a
week. <a href="http://shaman-dalie.blogspot.se/2015/06/rovon-6h-2015-edition.html">Rovön 6H</a> in the beginning of June served as my last long run
before the year’s main, 75 km- goal at the end of the month, High
Coast Ultra. I took it relatively easy, ”only” covering 50 km
during the six hours I had on me. I recovered unbelievably quickly. I
was right on track to meet my goal.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://shaman-dalie.blogspot.se/2015/06/high-coast-ultra-75km.html">High Coast Ultra</a> was an
event I won’t soon forget. A race so beautiful, so tough, the hours
seemed to fly by and drag on at the same time. I was in a great mood
throughout the almost 12 hours I was out there and I made it to the
finish line exhausted but happy. It was a race that taught me a lot about myself and how resilient I can be if I need to, both physically and mentally. I'm pretty kick-ass, really. And modest, too.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sMfUkz7dvLo/VZEYZHcxGcI/AAAAAAAADTY/BSWENYsOmaw/s1600/hcu_62.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sMfUkz7dvLo/VZEYZHcxGcI/AAAAAAAADTY/BSWENYsOmaw/s400/hcu_62.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a>Making
it to the finish line of HCU made me swear off races despite having
enjoyed the experience, only to start thinking about my next goal
approximately 3,4 seconds later. I talked to a friend about doing
Black River Run in September together, a 80km race, and extending it
on my own to shoot for 100km. I had done the training for it and I
felt ready. You never know if you’ll ever be as well-trained as you
are right at that moment, especially with an injury history like
mine. As the weeks passed, however, I felt less and less motivated to
travel the 800 km to the town the race took place in considering it was only
an unofficial 100. So I ran them on my own, <a href="http://shaman-dalie.blogspot.se/2015/09/a-hundred-kilometres-later.html">right here in Skellefteå</a>.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
That was it. I had
achieved what I had always dreamed of. I ran 100 km confidently, like
I knew I had it in me. It was great fun at times, boring at other
times when the landscape consisted of grey tarmac and fast cars. </div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MxJ1C_p_xlw/VfGtG1oZlGI/AAAAAAAADUQ/qRDVTc4EvFU/s1600/IMG_20150905_183716.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MxJ1C_p_xlw/VfGtG1oZlGI/AAAAAAAADUQ/qRDVTc4EvFU/s400/IMG_20150905_183716.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
And then I realised that somewhere along those 100 km I got injured.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
My feet were destroyed.
My hip fell off and hopped away on its own as far away from me as
possible. It took me several weeks to convince my body parts to
cooperate with me again and help me run. My whole autumn was one long
comeback. I finish the year with an average of 200 km per month, my
strongest year since I started running.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
And now, while we are
standing on the ledge waiting to leap blindly into the new year, I
wonder – not without considerable apprehension – what 2016 will
bring. Some BIG changes are on the way. When it comes to running, I
want to become completely injury-free so that I can run far again.
The mountains are calling. They are always calling.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
Shaman Daliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17946279105871836619noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8246634675970330754.post-89875335915355783942015-12-14T20:44:00.001+01:002015-12-14T20:44:42.030+01:00Aurora runner
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
What a show the
universe put on tonight. In an impulsive move that will go down in history as
one of my best ideas ever, I skipped training with AIK to embark instead on
a solo run by the river. I took my headlight with me, thinking I was
going to need it on the southern side path where there are no street
lamps.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
I didn't need the
headlight. I ran on snow that many feet had trodden on, even, smooth,
perfect. The trees around me almost formed a canopy, barren but for
their white winter dress, sparse enough to allow glimpses of the
Northern river bank. There, there were street lamps, casting an
orange light on the thin layer of ice that lay in patches on the
river.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
But I spent little time
looking around me. My head was turned up towards the sky.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
I am completely
convinced that, if people spent more time looking at the sky, there
would be a lot less fighting in the world. For how can anyone hate
when something that is so much bigger than us, eternal, beautiful,
takes place all around us, all the time? How can anyone care about
pride and power and material possessions when the real magic, the kind
of magic we believed in when we were children, is not fairy tales but
within reach, if you only put on a pair of shoes and go for a run on
a dark, cold winter night and look up?</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
A quiet dance, a breeze
stroking a curtain on a summer day, a rainbow, soundless fireworks
interrupted by falling stars. One, two, three, four <a href="http://www.universetoday.com/123582/viewing-guide-to-the-2015-geminid-meteor-shower/">Geminids</a>. The spruce trees
laden with snow, orange light from the street lamps across the
river, the sky above an undulating green. My footsteps light on the
snow, I am alone, I laugh with tears of joy, I am a child again. I am
comforted by the presence of something so magnificent in the face of so much despair in the world. I stop, I look
up again, my neck already stiff and I'm wondering how I have managed
to avoid falling into the river. Northern lights swirl so rapidly
now, their tentacles forming a spiral so tight that it's like a solid
ceiling over my head and I can't believe my eyes. I have seen them
before, but never like this. You can almost see the particles hitting the magnetic field, like iron chips gathering around a magnet, and you
see the pulleys and levers behind the magician's curtain, as if
you've seen through the magic. Yet, when you look again, you see only
beauty, and you're willing to accept the fact that you'll never
understand it all, you are too small, and that's what makes it magic.</div>
Shaman Daliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17946279105871836619noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8246634675970330754.post-80550959553820043032015-12-12T15:17:00.000+01:002015-12-12T15:17:42.715+01:00Fluctuations
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
I stepped out into a
white world yesterday after work. Snow on the ground and fog closing
in around me made me feel like I was crawling inside a cotton ball.
It was almost otherworldly, the backdrop to a tense scene in an
old-school horror movie, escalating towards a particularly gruesome
murder or the revelation of a horribly deformed villain. I ran with
my stomach trying to climb up my throat, a sensation I always get
when I go running directly after work, as if the day's worries are a
physical entity that I can just expel out my mouth like spoiled food.
It went well, despite all that. I covered 10 km and could relax after
an extraordinarily long week.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-o1v2or_dGbA/Vmwq5DHEvRI/AAAAAAAADVE/oUjPHHERJLE/s1600/sn%25C3%25B61.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-o1v2or_dGbA/Vmwq5DHEvRI/AAAAAAAADVE/oUjPHHERJLE/s400/sn%25C3%25B61.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
This morning, I stepped
out into a completely different world. A pale sun struggling to rise
above the horizon turned blue snow into orange, and you could almost
feel the heat bouncing off the few scattered clouds above. A mean
feat when the temperature was as low as -10 degrees. I tried to
listen to a podcast on my way to meet AIK and managed instead to push
play on one of my most favourite songs, Sad Captains by Elbow.
Poetry. Magic. Love. Also, sadness. I've been thinking about a dear
friend of mine a lot lately who seems to be struggling, and about how
sometimes it's hard to help those that refuse to open up and choose
to create their own personal hell and live in it alone. I sang along
quietly, letting the words reach my heart and letting my heart mourn
what feels lost.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Our coach had asked me
to pace the group today, as he had a little surprise for us later on.
We were 20 strong, plus two dogs. My sadness took a back step to
leave room for other things, discussions about everything under the
sun and even a lovely 15 minutes or so of singing Christmas songs
while we ran. Well, it was lovely for the three of us who actually
sang. Some of the others suddenly seemed to have trouble keeping up
with us and lagged behind.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Halfway through the
run, we were stopped by Santa and his little helpers. Our coach had
warmed glögg (mulled wine), which he served together with
gingerbread cookies and candy. The glögg tasted like the sweetest
nectar and felt like the warmest blanket. </div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6rrCwYYU4yo/Vmwq5Oh5G7I/AAAAAAAADVI/BaDoe-ZnVdY/s1600/sn%25C3%25B62.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6rrCwYYU4yo/Vmwq5Oh5G7I/AAAAAAAADVI/BaDoe-ZnVdY/s400/sn%25C3%25B62.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
We didn't stay long, as the
cold was a mighty adversary even for the glögg and found its way
into our very bones. We ran back to the hockey arena where we had
started and parted ways.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
I ran home, my spirits high once again. 23 km will do that for you.</div>
Shaman Daliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17946279105871836619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8246634675970330754.post-60670804349936080062015-12-05T16:43:00.000+01:002015-12-05T16:43:04.735+01:00Swedish beauty
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Just when you think
your running motivation is at its lowest, an amazing almost-long run
makes you want to stay outside and cover kilometre after kilometre
until the sun sets. Which, in Northern Sweden, is about 5 seconds
after it rises. But you get my drift.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
I don't know if it was
wise of me to go running today, considering that hills made me gasp
for breath and old ladies pushing walkers overtook me, but I haven't
needed to get hospitalized yet, which I take to mean that I am now
completely, 100% healthy after my suspected tonsillitis. I will
continue to hold that position until pneumonia hits me. What I <i>do</i>
know is that I didn't regret it. </div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
The light in the sky on my way up
to our meeting place with AIK was surreal, more dusk than dawn, with
flames of pink and red slashing the dark blue of early morning.
Buildings were on fire.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s-yAl27saPQ/VmMEmemJf-I/AAAAAAAADUw/wLKNDJcJ1LQ/s1600/aik-i-sn%25C3%25B6n2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s-yAl27saPQ/VmMEmemJf-I/AAAAAAAADUw/wLKNDJcJ1LQ/s400/aik-i-sn%25C3%25B6n2.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
I knew we would run up
to Vitberget and the forest, and was a bit apprehensive. Despite its
name, Vitberget (White mountain) is only a hill, but it offers some
steep climbs if you know where to look. These, combined with the 10
cm snow covering the rocks and roots that litter all smaller paths there,
made for some tricky, demanding terrain.</div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
But oh, the <i>beauty</i>. The
tunnels of weary tree branches, white and heavy with snow. The views towards
Kåge and the sea, under stripes of grey and orange sky. The trails,
asking way too much of my injury-weakened feet and ankles but more
than making up for it by offering such great exercise in return. I
was ecstatic. </div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GgJTmI_F9CY/VmMEmaZa2-I/AAAAAAAADUs/iCNBU_xAFoA/s1600/aik-i-sn%25C3%25B6n.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GgJTmI_F9CY/VmMEmaZa2-I/AAAAAAAADUs/iCNBU_xAFoA/s400/aik-i-sn%25C3%25B6n.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
On my way home, I took
a little detour but still decided to be happy with ”only” 19 km.
I had somewhere to be afterwards, and besides, the weather had taken
a turn for the worse with icy raindrops slowly working their way into
the soft snow and turning it into ice.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
This. This kind of
running is what makes me want to sing. Or at least – to everyone's
relief – blog about it.</div>
Shaman Daliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17946279105871836619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8246634675970330754.post-64349115769604120502015-12-03T08:47:00.000+01:002015-12-03T08:47:00.590+01:00Ramblings of a sick woman
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
This blog is updated
about as often as Halley's comet does a drive-by these days. Last
updated: 15<sup>th</sup> October. Wow. Not much has happened
running-wise since then. I have been trying to revive my running
career, albeit halfheartedly because of icy pavements and a
deep-seated hatred of spikes, only to suffer setbacks every other
week.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Take last week, for
example. I managed a whopping 24 km long run, bringing the week total
up to an astounding 50 km. Yes, I am being ironic, but that was my
longest run since September and my hip injury, so I'm happy. And
then? Two days later? My motivation to go running is replaced by a
pressing desire to lie on the couch and nurse my tonsillitis.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
With Saturday – long
run day – fast approaching, I am trying to get a sense of how this
disease is progressing and if I'll be well enough to run by then. I have obviously gobbled down a golf ball at
some point, or more likely a curled-up hedgehog judging by how much
it hurts every time I swallow. But does it hurt as much as yesterday?
The fever is down and I only get light-headed when I overexert
myself, like by crocheting or turning the pages of my book. I am
probably good to go!
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
There are many
downsides to not putting in the miles. Restlessness and starting to
resemble a Buddha statue are only two of them. Hey! Just because you
can't go running doesn't mean you have to stop eating like a runner.
When traumatic events, like injuries, occur, it is important that you
continue living your life as if nothing has happened. Otherwise the
injury wins. But, to be fair, there are upsides as well. There is
more time to make pretty things. With Christmas around the corner,
making pretty things is such a relaxing activity, as far from the
shopping hysteria and stress as you can get. </div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ldfT8aOtZZk/Vl_yrox091I/AAAAAAAADUg/mrQF1pdUTzc/s1600/throw2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ldfT8aOtZZk/Vl_yrox091I/AAAAAAAADUg/mrQF1pdUTzc/s400/throw2.png" width="267" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
With the end of the
year less than a month away, I wonder if I should be making plans for
2016. I have only one goal when it comes to running, and that is our
annual Rovön 6H. I don't plan on entering any other races, nor on
embarking on extravagant own adventures. As the years go by and my legs tolerate
more and more of the abuse I put them through, it becomes less and
less important to put them through abuse. That's not to say I won't;
just that it has become some sort of habit, as natural as the cup of
coffee I drink in the morning. I don't have to plan for it, I don't
have to give it any thought, but I still have to have it or I will
wander around like a zombie with a wicked headache. It doesn't define
who I am any more than any of my other interests, but it is an intrinsic part of who I am in a way my other interests will never be.
I just don't have to shout it from the rooftops anymore.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Does any of this make
sense? Because I think my fever is coming back. Dammit! </div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
Shaman Daliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17946279105871836619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8246634675970330754.post-87070124329024665362015-10-15T16:10:00.000+02:002015-10-15T16:10:11.330+02:00Filling the void
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Children love building
towers of blocks. Some of them enjoy looking at them for a couple of
seconds and then swiftly knocking them over. They find that
hilarious. The power to construct something only to tear it down
makes them drunk with excitement. As they get older, they start
wanting to save what they've created. Savour it. Show everyone,
beaming with pride.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
By the time kids grow
up to become adults, most of them have gotten over the phase when
knocking things over is fun. The rest of them? They become demolition men
or the main income source for the local shrink. Some of them become
runners. I guess.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
See, when you are a
runner with a long history of injuries and you finally get a
long injury-free streak, you don't think ”Hey, maybe I
should cherish this injury-free streak and not do anything stupid”.
You don't think ”I spent months getting to the great shape I am in
today, maybe I should just be happy I am able to run without pain
regularly”. No no <i>no</i>. You think ”Gee, I wonder what would happen if I took
this here hand and swatted at this great tower of blocks. What if I ran 100K?”</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
And that's what I did.
I took a big swing at my poor old defenseless tower of blocks. Good
thing I am a runner and not the main income source for the local
shrink or I'd be seriously broke and/or in jail.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Unlike the child that
never grew up to appreciate the work it took to build the tower of
blocks, I found no joy in destroying what I had built. I had
succeeded in my goal to run 100km, yes. But now I was injured again.
And that's no fun!</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
My chiropractor set my
foot bones back in their right place and the pain faded away. Only to
be replaced by pain in my hip instead.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
I took all this in my
stride. I rested for 3 weeks. I found new hobbies. Strangely
coinciding with the fact that I had decided to work part-time and
have Thursdays off, an avalanche of new extracurricular responsibilities landed on my lap to fill this new void in my life. Weekends were busy with family
and friends, both old and new. I didn't miss running.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
What scared me most
about this was how it wasn't scary at all. I was okay with reading
for hours on end. I felt great working on a crocheted
throw. I had a blast going to the movies and trying to stop myself
from eating all the popcorn before the film started. And I guess it
was kind of entertaining trying to stave off that drunk guy who said my
hair looked like ”falling stars” at the bar the other night. He
wasn't referring to hair loss. I think.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
All of this was great.
This was who I was. A creative woman who loves reading and watching
films. I had time to pursue my hobbies, hobbies that I had neglected
what with spending all my free time either running or too tired to move.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
But...</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
But there was one
crucial puzzle piece missing. I did not feel <i>entirely </i>like
myself. I grew increasingly restless. My body was stiff and ached,
suddenly in a state of disrepair and neglect. My thought patterns
were altered. For example, I briefly considered switching to shorter
distances next running season. Fortunately, this was only a momentary
lapse of sanity and not, like I feared at first, the result of a forgotten blow to the head from the fall I took in the woods a few months
ago.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
I started jogging again. Apprehensive and loathing running because it held the possibility that my hip would act up, I
tentatively began building a new tower of blocks. The first couple of
blocks kept tumbling down but I didn't give up. After a few days,
they stuck. So I added some more. And then some more. I am up to
running 10 km with no more than a niggle in my hip and currently
content with the way my tower is shaping up. I do not intend to knock
anything over in the foreseeable future, even though I do wish I had
more time to devote to my other hobbies. This running lark is taking
up so much of my free time already.</div>
Shaman Daliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17946279105871836619noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8246634675970330754.post-61783819122361550022015-09-10T18:53:00.002+02:002015-09-10T18:53:54.917+02:00A hundred kilometres later
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Last Saturday, I ran
100 km.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
I ran from six in the
morning to seven in the afternoon, alone, with only a couple of
visits by J, who helped me keep my water bottles filled. </div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r_GSLapGmGc/VfGtHcjG0FI/AAAAAAAADUE/IRqeju19Xzo/s1600/%25C3%25A4lv.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r_GSLapGmGc/VfGtHcjG0FI/AAAAAAAADUE/IRqeju19Xzo/s400/%25C3%25A4lv.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
I ran because I had put
in the training hours and it was now or never. I ran because 100 km
had been my dream almost ever since I started running. I ran because
I could.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
My thoughts drifted to
all sorts of things during the thirteen hours I was out there, only
occasionally to how mind-numbingly boring (and dangerous) running on
roads was. Like the proficient introvert that I am, I kept myself
decent company. With no one else there to dictate the pace, I ran
when I wanted to and walked when I wanted to. I ate when I needed to
and drank when I needed to.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VMs47EX_87o/VfGtGxgexDI/AAAAAAAADT4/6bRuNAmHibM/s1600/IMG_20150905_071524.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VMs47EX_87o/VfGtGxgexDI/AAAAAAAADT4/6bRuNAmHibM/s400/IMG_20150905_071524.png" width="300" /></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Upon hearing what I had
done, a colleague of mine said I was a machine. I suppose that
wasn't too far from the truth. That is sort of what ultrarunning is
about. Putting one foot in front of the other until you reach the
finish line. Even when it hurts. You push the pain aside, you observe
it from a distance and you keep going until you're done.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MxJ1C_p_xlw/VfGtG1oZlGI/AAAAAAAADT8/AtS7xFwLC7c/s1600/IMG_20150905_183716.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MxJ1C_p_xlw/VfGtG1oZlGI/AAAAAAAADT8/AtS7xFwLC7c/s400/IMG_20150905_183716.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i>From dusk til dawn</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
And it hurt. Almost
from the get go, it hurt. My feet took a pounding and I don't know
how long it will be before they heal.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
A brief smile as I was
covering the last hundred metres to round up to 100 km was all the
happiness and satisfaction I felt. I've heard people talk about
the post-race blues, the emptiness you feel when you've finally
achieved something you've been fighting for, but I'm not depressed
about it. On a cognitive level, I am satisfied. I recognise that
running 100 km is a big deal. I just don't feel it in my <i>gut</i>. It was
this exact absence of exaltation after High Coast Ultra as well,
only then I had already set my sights on running a hundred. Mentally, I was
already moving to my next goal. This time I have no other
goals. I don't intend on running any further than that.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vwmjYdh8TZc/VfGtG7Lx7UI/AAAAAAAADUA/x_JtL0C2Dio/s1600/IMG_20150905_160405.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vwmjYdh8TZc/VfGtG7Lx7UI/AAAAAAAADUA/x_JtL0C2Dio/s400/IMG_20150905_160405.png" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i>With 20 km left to go</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
It's not easy figuring
out where this almost flippant attitude comes from. But I think a
clue might lie within the first thoughts that crossed my mind,
regarding future plans. I really want to keep doing ultras. It's who I am. However I don't
want to have to shoot for a certain distance. Perhaps what happened was that achieving my goal deflated the importance I place on numbers. After all, they are not what running is really about for me. I want to experience
things. Discover new places. Explore. Learn. Grow as a person. Watch the sun rise and set in my running shoes. That's the kind of running that makes me happy, the kind that makes my heart swell with a sense of wonder for life. </div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
If there is one gift
running a hundred kilometres has given me, it is the confidence to
know that I can. So was it worth it? You betcha.</div>
Shaman Daliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17946279105871836619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8246634675970330754.post-22542717049878433282015-07-10T10:08:00.000+02:002015-07-10T10:08:41.132+02:00Pause for thought<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Recovery after a race
should be all about basking in the glory of your achievement, taking
it easy and letting your body rebuild itself. My recovery time
coincided with a trip back home, giving me ample opportunity to take
it easy and recharge my batteries. But it has also meant I've been
living out of a suitcase. I haven't stopped to think about High Coast
Ultra. About what it taught me. About the experiences I gained. About
how it affected me and the way I see myself as a runner.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Sure, I talked about it
with any friend who would ask me, but I did it in a detached way,
like I was describing a movie I had seen or something I had read about
in the paper. I told them about the demanding terrain and the weather
and the people I'd met, and they nodded and made appropriate noises.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
I told a good friend of
mine about the race and she answered emphatically: ”Yeah, but
that's a <i>lot</i> of kilometres”. Right there. That's when the
penny dropped for me. She must have sensed in a way that I hadn't
realised what I had done. She must have felt my detachment when I was
telling her the story.
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
When I got back, I
didn't rest. I immediately started thinking about my planned
adventure to run on the King's trail in the mountains a day or two
later. Onwards, forwards, ever moving, never stopping. Then, reports
from the cabins in the area spoke of way too much snow left on the
trail, rendering it impossible to run. My plans would have to wait for
another year. All dressed up and nowhere to go.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-afcxvwnL3UY/UfF32L1RojI/AAAAAAAAC3Y/QRojFG-MMEM/s1600/c.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="268" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-afcxvwnL3UY/UfF32L1RojI/AAAAAAAAC3Y/QRojFG-MMEM/s400/c.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i>Yearning</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
I sat at home, watching
the seemingly never-ending rain turn paths into rivers, and made new
plans. I spoke to an ultrarunner friend about what my next (bigger,
badder) ultra challenge should be. He suggested I join him for a race
in September. I started looking at ways to get there. Reading about
recovery between ultras. Wanting to take on a new goal with my whole
heart.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
But High Coast Ultra?
Does that achievement not deserve any pause for thought on my part? And
what about Rovön 6H three weeks before, when I ran 50K? Shouldn't
now be the time to stop and enjoy the fact that all the hard work I
put in last spring paid off, instead of instantly setting higher,
tougher goals for myself? Is this really personal growth or is it
number fixation?</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
Running in general and
ultra running in particular has always been, for me, more about the
journey and not the destination. The journey was a lot of fun but it
stopped the minute I crossed the finish line, when it really should
have gone on for days afterwards. I don't need confirmation that I
can race a certain distance (although it's nice). I need reflection.
I do it to find out more about myself. I do it to get out there and
feel more in touch with nature. So what is it that makes those race
sirens so seductive?</div>
Shaman Daliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17946279105871836619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8246634675970330754.post-61751617059074807492015-06-29T12:29:00.000+02:002015-06-29T12:30:09.680+02:00High Coast Ultra 75km<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<i>No one said it would
be easy<br>But no one said it'd be this hard<br>No one said it would
be easy<br>No one thought we'd come this far</i></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<i>Oh, and look we've
come this far </i>
</div>
<span style="font-style: normal;">- Sheryl
Crow</span>
<br>
<br>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">6
months. 6 months of focused training, of worrying about injuries,
illness and earthquakes, floods and meteorites devastating the
planet. I had finally made it to the start of High Coast Ultra 75 km
healthy and strong, and the planet was still as intact as it had been
6 months earlier.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">7
AIK runners had driven down the day before, arriving at the Nordvik
hostel/student residence hours before the scheduled pre-race pasta
dinner. We unpacked, then re-packed our drop bags. Looked at the
weather forecast, chose clothes, then changed our minds 2 seconds
later. Talked strategy, hydration and food intake, shoes. I wandered
around the hostel, taking photos, admiring the open fields and trying
to pet unwilling horses. I felt calm and composed. We ate dinner at
the hostel restaurant, a delicious mushroom sauce over pasta for us
vegetarians. Then, more strategy talking and looking at maps before
it was time for bed.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7mMkOdWndzM/VZEYUiH61wI/AAAAAAAADRs/ntfimNibgyY/s1600/DSC_0019.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7mMkOdWndzM/VZEYUiH61wI/AAAAAAAADRs/ntfimNibgyY/s400/DSC_0019.png" width="400"></a></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">My
bed was crooked. My matress wavy. The room was too bright, too warm,
too cold. My pillow flat. I was overtired, getting nervous, tossing
and turning. I slept a grand total of 3 hours, 3 very restless hours,
and woke up with a headache, too tired to even register what that
could mean for my race.</span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9psXT0_mcOc/VZEYUnnb1FI/AAAAAAAADRw/gjYhRUqHJ_o/s1600/DSC_0029.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9psXT0_mcOc/VZEYUnnb1FI/AAAAAAAADRw/gjYhRUqHJ_o/s400/DSC_0029.png" width="400"></a></div>
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<span style="font-style: normal;">After
a big breakfast, we got our things and climbed onboard the bus that
would take us to the start at the foot of Skuleberget. We got there
an hour and a half before we were due to start. Rain was hanging in
the air and we sought shelter inside the visitors' centre. We used
this time to get the final details in order: attaching the bib to our
clothes, re-tying our shoelaces, eating and scrawling mantras on our
arms. Getting ready for what was to be -for all of us- our longest
race yet.</span><br>
</div><a href="http://shaman-dalie.blogspot.com/2015/06/high-coast-ultra-75km.html#more">Read more »</a>Shaman Daliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17946279105871836619noreply@blogger.com1