Running for life

The bleeding hearts and artists make their stand

2012-02-29T09:56:00.000+01:00

After all it's not easy

banging yourheart against some mad bugger's wall

(The Wall – Pink Floyd)

It's survival of the cruellest outthere, folks. If you, like me, care about anyone else but yourself,you are deemed irrational. A relic. You should be put in a museum forobsolete, quaint ideologies.

I was determined to have a difficultconversation with a person that I have no love for on my terms. Iwasn't going to let this person get away with their injustices, notwithout saying what I had to say. And I cared little what theconsequences were. So I poured my heart out, fought for what Ibelieved in. And lost.

I spent yesterday afternoon seethingwith anger, but feeling powerless at the same time. You can't make achange in this world any more, not by protesting and not by defendingthose who can't defend themselves. When I feel so powerless, my firstreaction is to give up. Quit. Find some undemanding job to do, maybea desk job where I can mindlessly shuffle papers all day. But the sad thingis that there aren't many bleeding hearts left in this world any more.Soon there won't be anyone left to put up a fight. All that will beleft will be robot-like bureaucratic psychopaths that quote laws andregulations and fail to see that it's a human being in front of them.And it makes me want to fight even more. It's just that I feel soalone sometimes.

I put all my anger into my running thismorning. I averaged a 5:10min/km for the 5-odd km to the swimmingpool. Once there, I swam 700 metres, and then I ran home again. Ithelps. For a while.

Better to burn out than to fade away

2012-02-28T06:57:00.000+01:00

After finishing my 650-page long book,I picked up ”Relentless Forward Progress: A guide to runningultramarathons” by Bryon Powell and was relieved to be readingsomething different. Needless to say, my reading speed suddenlyimproved and I've already read a third of the book.

Among all the other interesting bits ofinformation it contains, there was a section on FOMO: Fear Of MissingOut. It's the section right before the one on burning out andovertraining. D' ya think the author is trying to tell us something?

I am hereby making a public confession:I suffer from the above-mentioned condition. Although suffer is thewrong word. Enjoy is more like it; there's nothing negative aboutwanting to experience new things, wanting to absorb as much aspossible and participate in exciting races (already my spring”schedule” is full – I use quote marks because nothing is set instone and I hate making long term plans, the fickle soul that I am).Except one thing: overtraining. Pushing yourself further than youshould and causing an injury or burnout.

I think that most people who areserious about their running are very good at making sure they put inthe mileage. The difficulty is in knowing when you should stay athome instead, and then letting go of this fear of missing out. Yes,that the world keeps turning even when you're at home sick or injuredis a painful fact that we've all had to acknowledge at some point oranother. We're not the centre of the universe. We're missing out allthe time. But agonising about it is no good. Pushing ourselves evenfurther is only bound to lead to prolonged illness, chronic injuriesand being forced to miss out on even more. When it's time to rest,it's time to rest.

Well, doesn't that sound awfullypreachy. In a minute I'll start my run commute to work on a foot that's been feelingtense the past few days. Take my own advice? Bah! That's for smartpeople.

Cannonball Read #07: The Corrections by Jonathan Franzén

2012-02-26T18:34:00.000+01:00

I started reading this monster of abook over a month ago. I read through it reluctantly, slowly,frequently casting lusty glances at therest of books I'd bought for Cannonball Read. Easy books. Fun books.Books about my greatest passion, running, that I could probably readin one sitting.

My first impression, a page into ”TheCorrections”, was that, yes! This is how you're supposed to write.Adjectives, metaphors, strong characters, Franzéns writing style isimpeccable. But as I read on, my motivation to continue waned. Thebook felt more like a study in linguistics, self-conscious andextreme in its eloquence, and less like a novel. The plot jumped fromone character to another, one awkward situation to the next, and I had difficulty keeping up. Where wasthis going? And did it always need to be so wordy? What had impressed me so much at first was becoming tiresome. Fast.

As secondary characters not only gotintroduced but got sub plots that spanned several pages, Franzén lostme for paragraphs at a time, and I glazed over these detaileddescriptions that had made such a great first impression. It would beunfair to blame my lack of interest solely on the book; I was goingthrough a period when my motivation to read was low. Or maybe it wasthe book itself that left me drained of inspiration. Yet I kept reading, acouple of pages at a time, resenting the book for being so long andmyself for being too stubborn to give it up, until a few hours'reading marathon earlier today finally brought the book to asatisfying and unexpectedly exciting conclusion.

Would I have liked the book more if I'dbeen more in the mood for reading? Maybe. After all, there wereplenty of interesting themes in it: Alfred's downward spiral,Denise's journey towards self-awareness, Gary's desperate attempts togain control over something. But the book could have benefited fromsome aggressive editing that would have cut down the number of pagesby, say, 200. Unfortunately, what will stay with me after havingfinished ”The Corrections” will not be the brilliant writingstyle. It will be how long it was.

The woods are calling

2012-02-26T14:38:00.000+01:00

Sundays may be one of my leastfavourite days of the week. Having put Saturday behind me, with allthe careless running fun that it entails, there's usually little to lookforward to. Trying to fill the day with equally fun activities toforget the dreary fact that Monday is just around the corner feelsstressful, forced, hurried, like checking a box to make sure you'veSeized The Day. What can I say? I love my weekends. Workdays, eh...not so much.

This week is not one I'm lookingforward to. Some less-pleasant things have been taking place at workthe last few days. Meetings that will probably turn ugly and a highburden of things that need to get done make me want to abscond to atropical country and spend the rest of my life sipping cocktails withmy bare feet buried in the sand. Run away. Fast.

Though with my snail-like speed they'dcatch me before I even left our building.

So it was even more important today toSeize The Day. We usually go climbing on Sundays, but with the sunshining and the ice all but gone, I longed for a run in the woods. Toclear my thoughts and to distract myself, to turn this Sunday intoone of my beloved Saturdays, to try and pretend that I don't have acare in the world, I made for the forest.

I ran in my VFF, partly because I needto get used to them again and partly because I run even more slowly than usualin them, and that's what I needed to do on my fifth consecutive day running. Slow down. Take it easy. My legs were tired, so not even my goodold VFF could help with my running technique; I had to make aconscious effort to quickly lift my legs from the frozen, hard ground, leanforwards, take light steps. But my mind just wasn't into it.

It looked as if the trees were dancing on an ice-rink

The solitude I was seeking in the woodswas impossible to find. The path was littered with orienteerers andother Sunday excursionists. There were two teenagers walking with popmusic coming out of the speakers of their telephone. This spring'sfirst run in the woods was far from the idyllic revelation I hadimagined and hoped it would be. It was like wading through the crowdsat a mall during sale season.

Still, I ran on and my legs got lighterand lighter. I left the woods and headed home, leaning forward theway I was supposed to. 6,5 km later I was back. A different kind ofdistraction awaited me. The mammoth of a novel I started over a month ago is slowly creepingtowards its final conclusion. Only a hundred pages left out of 650.Maybe I'll finish it before my hair turns grey after all.

25,5 sunny kilometres

2012-02-25T15:26:00.000+01:00

I'm in denial. Despite what the weatherforecast says (snow on Monday, sub-zero temperatures tomorrow),spring IS here. The ice has melted in most places and soon I'll beable to run in the woods. My body could do with a change of surface.

Yesterday I failed to think like anintelligent person in possession of common sense and went for a 10 kmrun in my Mirage, the third run in 3 days. My calves were stillaching from Wednesday's VFF excursion, but I paid them no mind. Mystupidity strangely paid off. My knee didn't exactly complain,although it did seem slightly unhappy with the whole situation. It was kind enough to let me complete my run without collapsing. Andno inflammation followed. Another unexpected benefit of this run wasthat my calves felt better afterwards.

So there was nothing to stop me fromgoing for a long run with the group today. Certainly not thebeautiful weather. I chose my Kayano for it, not wanting to push myluck by running so many kilometres in new shoes. There were 7 of usthat met up in Skatås. It hasn't escaped my notice that once again Iwas the only girl. Where are all the female runners?!

We ran over the Götaälv bridge anddown by the water on the Hisingen side. I really like that place.It's yuppie paradise there and I'm definitely no yuppie, but there's somethingabout the pier by the water, a summery feeling that I can't resist.Well, maybe in the winter.

Älvsborgs bridge was much easier torun over, because we had the (strong) wind on our backs. When wereached the highest point and started descending on the other side,my knee started feeling like it was running a fever (ha! A pun. I crackmyself up). It obviously didn't like downward slopes. We wererunning at a pretty fast pace, for a long run, and averaged a 5.15min/km for 10 km. It was going too fast for me and I was gettingtired, and as a result my technique was rapidly becoming horrendous.

We took a break by the Gothenburg Operato stretch and I asked the guys to slow down a bit for the rest ofthe run. They obliged, because they're nice like that. My knee feltbetter now, and I could run the rest of the way back to Skatås.Still, I thought I'd spare my knee the agony of running up the finalhill and walk instead.

It was really soothing to take a showerand then a dip in the outdoors pool afterwards. The temperature inthe water was 9 degrees and I only lowered myself down to my stomachbefore I reminded myself that going into cardiac arrest was probablynot the best outcome to this great day. I tried to stay in the waterfor a while to cool my legs off, but only managed a few seconds. Still, that was enoughto make my legs feel much more refreshed. My knee probablyappreciated the treatment too.

Afterwards we grabbed some coffee andsomething to eat, and talked about our plans. We have exciting racesthat we're planning on running together, at least some of us, and itwas really fun talking about them. The combination of endorphins,coffee and good company was the perfect end to this run.

Maiden voyage

2012-02-23T19:23:00.002+01:00

Encouraged by yesterday's pain-freerun, I took my new Saucony Mirage 2 out on a test drive. I ran home fromwork, carrying a backpack that might otherwise not feel so heavy, butwhich after a long and tiresome work day felt like a ton of bricks.

My legs felt equally heavy.Non-responsive. I struggled for breath. I listened for signals thatmy knee might be sending, but luckily it kept quiet. The shoes feltstiff, with little shock absorption, closer to my VFF but still heavyenough to feel like ”real” shoes. The major advantage was, ofcourse, that the heel-to-toe drop is much lower (4mm) than in myKayano, which helps with my landing technique.

I don't think I did the shoes anyjustice by taking them out on their maiden voyage on tired legs. SoI'm withholding judgement until I've had a proper run in them. But Ican already tell that I'll never fall in love with a shoe as quicklyas I did with my VFF.

Reunion

2012-02-22T10:19:00.000+01:00

One less-known beneficial aspect ofrunning is that it turns you into a normal human being. It makes younicer towards people. It should be made into a public serviceannouncement: ”Running – it's not just good for you; it's goodfor others, too”.

Having worked almost 20 hours withintwo days, I was tired and cranky when I got home last night. I hadforgotten to do things I was supposed to do and just walked aroundlike a zombie, marinating in a blend of misery and misanthropy, andmumbling under my breath about all the injustices in the world. Icouldn't attribute my tiredness to anything; after all, I hadn't runsince Saturday. But I had reached this important insight whiletalking to colleagues: I had turned into Scrooge because I hadn't runin days.

I remembered how energised every runleaves me, even when my bones ache and my muscles refuse to bear myweight. My mind is sharp and my heart swells with happiness, and I'mwilling to forgive people for all those tiny irritating flaws thatotherwise grate on my nerves so much.

What can I say. It's hard being perfectin an imperfect world.

This morning I couldn't wait anylonger. My knee has not complained since Sunday, and I had this crazytheory that if I ran in my VFF, then I'd be able to run pain-free.Outside it was windy and the skies were heavy with clouds, so Iexpected a downpour as soon as I stepped out the door. Still, Icouldn't wait to go for a run. I was longing for it, missing it,loving it, warts and all, despite the weather, despite the patches ofice that were still clinging on to the pavement, despite the factthat I was only planning on running a ”short” 5km (oh, shortdistance, how I took you for granted).

VFF stands, of course, for Very F!#%ingFantastic. It stands for Love. It stands for Light Steps. I floated afew centimetres above the ground, hips propelling me forward insteadof my feet. Every muscle below the knees was as relaxed as a wetnoodle. I was ecstatic and a little surprised that I could keep thisgood running posture and technique for so long. I didn't think I hadthe strength for it.

I'm still crossing my fingers that thisis not just a fluke, and that my knee is ok now. Please hold, pleaseplease hold.

Knee update

2012-02-21T06:41:00.001+01:00

I've been icing my knee and applyingdiclofenac gel on it. The usual daily movements leave it unaffected,and right now there is no pain or inflammation except perhaps aslight discomfort if I press it with my finger.

I don't let the absence of pain foolme, however. No running for a few days. I'm continuing this”treatment” until Friday, when I'm planning a short run in my VFFto see how my knee feels. If all goes well then, I'm going for a long runwith the group on Saturday. I'm keeping all fingers crossed that myknee heals quickly.

Finding hope

2012-02-19T18:03:00.000+01:00

This day can be summarised as follows:

Googling my injury and sinking further and further into despair.
Googling Saucony's Mirage 2, believing a lighter shoe will help me run with better technique.
Dragging myself out of this paralysing self-pity and driving down to the sports store.
Trying to concentrate on how the Mirage 2 feel on my feet while I'm running on the store's treadmill.
Failing to concentrate on how the Mirage 2 feel on my feet and to ignore the ever increasing pain in my knee.
Getting off the treadmill after one minute, buying the shoes without much thought, just so that I can get home and rest my knee.
Feeling stupid for impulse-buying.
Wallowing in self-pity again.
Watching a documentary about Danelle Ballengee, an American adventure runner who fell off an overhang while out running alone in a Utah canyon and broke her pelvis, having to spend 3 days trying to survive dehydration, freezing nights and internal bleeding. She not only survived the ordeal and the operation that followed, but was able to get back to running the trails 6 months later.
Finding hope.

Seriously, what the f¤#%?

2012-02-19T07:32:00.000+01:00

I don't know what past sins I'm payingfor, what cosmic retribution this is, what I've done to piss off theuniverse.

You know that strange feeling Idescribed yesterday, that the inside of my left knee felt swollen? Assoon as I stopped running, it disappeared, so I hardly gave it anythought. A few hours later, however, it started feeling tender to thetouch. And this morning I woke up because I couldn't turn in bed orbend it without it hurting.

Since last summer, when I enjoyed acouple of injury-free months (I still had plantar fasciitis but itwas under control), I don't think I've had a single week where Ieither haven't been ill (I've been ill three times this year alone,and it's only February) or had a body part complain. The back of mythigh, the front of my thigh, my lower back, my shoulder/neck, myfoot and now my knee have all bothered me at one time or another. Ifeel like I'm falling apart. I can't even begin to describe howincredibly frustrated and fed up with this constant onslaught ofobstacles I am right now.

I realise I run a lot. But I can'timagine myself running shorter distances. Heading out for a long run,taking in the scenery, chatting with friends, exploring new places,that is such an integral part of the sport for me that, without it, Imight as well stay at home. Running makes me happy. Quitting runningis not an option. Sometimes it feels like these injuries are part ofthe deal, an initiation test if you like, a trial that's meant tosort out the men (and women) from the boys (and girls). Only the strongest survive. Maybe after a couple ofyears' suffering, Sisyphus-like, I will be rewarded by the deity ofrunning. Maybe, if I survive this test, I can spend the rest of my life running without injuries. Or perhaps not everything happens for a reason and my body will continue to fall apartuntil I have to sit in a wheelchair.

The prospect of running 6H in Skövde onthe 10^th of March feels more and more distant, with lessthan three weeks left.

Winter

2012-02-18T15:27:00.001+01:00

This long-awaited comeback was souninspiring that, no matter how long I stare at this empty document,the only words that I can find for it in my mind's dictionary quiverare dry descriptions of the wintry weather conditions. And that wouldmake for a very boring blog entry. A route that is so beautiful inthe summer was clad in a grey, tattered dress and framed bybare-branched trees, a Cinderella full of potential yet so cruellyoppressed by ice and rain.

A grey view from the bus

J had lent me his removable shoe studsand helped me screw them on in my old Kayanos. I ran down to the busstop, while a light drizzle slowly worked its way through the fibresof my jacket. With almost 2 km in my legs already, I met the othersat Kungsbacka train station 50 minutes later. There were 5 of us thathad ignored the weather forecast that had predicted a downpour ofrain. If we let such weather scare us, we'd never run in Gothenburg.What did almost make us reconsider was the fact that the cycle pathsleaving Kungsbacka were covered in ice. The others didn't have spikesor studs on their shoes and glided down the slopes. The studs on myshoes provided enough traction but my body was still tense.

Love these

The strong wind that accompanied us wasluckily mostly on our backs, like a helping hand. The conversationflowed freely, as it always does on these long runs with the group,and that was the redeeming highlight of the run. We talked races,shoes, life, and how hungry we all were to hit the trails as soon asthe ice melts. We forged plans for future long runs in the forest. Iforgot the weather conditions, dreamed of those long runs and hadfun, despite the colourless stage this play was taking place in. Thepeople I run with are an amazing source of inspiration and alwayshelp me find my inner strength to push my limits. Thank you.

The inside of my knee has been feelingsomehow inflamed the last two times I've run. This, coupled with thefact that my pulse was higher than usual and I'd been sick (and alsothat I was soaked to my bones) made me abandon any vague ideas I'dhad about following the others all the way to town and then takingthe bus home, and I left them as we neared home. I was satisfied tohave covered a total of 30km and to not have lost too much enduranceor strength after my illness. Still, I long for the sunny summerdays, the scent of flowers and the kaleidoscope of colours that thewarmer months bring with them. This winter can kindly shove off now.

Comeback

2012-02-17T15:27:00.004+01:00

I've been planning my running comebackall week (or, at least, ever since my unintentional suicide attemptlast Monday). I've been a good girl, sipping my hotpeppermint-and-honey tea, gargling with salt water and not exertingmyself too much, the only physical activity being a half-arsed crack at climbing last Wednesday. Only the ghost of my sore throatremains.

How shall I be rewarded for mysuperhuman patience and enormous self discipline? I hear you ask.Well, since you want to know, let me tell you! The weather forecast for tomorrow, the day of myplanned comeback, promises such delights as a downpour of wet snow and strong winds, withtemperatures staying just above zero, so that said snow can turn toslush (at best) or ice (most likely).

Good thing I'm tough as nails and notafraid of doomsday weather conditions or unimportant, minor, silly little injurieslike broken bones.

To be a rock and not to roll

2012-02-15T07:12:00.003+01:00

I'm not at all discouraged by the factthat I've only managed to gather 80 pitiful kilometres so far inFebruary. I'm not at all tempted to go out today and run a halfmarathon just to round it up to the more respectable 100. I am a living,breathing pillar of self restraint, resolve and discipline. Rockhard. Not at all swayed by fickle number addictions and running obsessions.

I had a couple of anxious messages frommy parents waiting for me when I got home yesterday, after a 12-hourlong work day that involved no running whatsoever. They had read myblog the other day and wanted to know exactly when I'd lost mymarbles. What caused this erratic behaviour? Hadn't they hugged me enoughwhen I was a child? Was that why I was suicidal?!

Successfully reading your body signalstakes practice. With time, you learn when that strange feeling inyour knee will sort itself out after a couple of kilometres and whenyou have to stop running because it's about to get injured. When itcomes to colds and the flu, it's more difficult. There are some rulesof thumb (don't run if you have a fever) but mostly it's different for each person when it's ok to run and when it's better to take an extraday's rest. Some people don't run at all. Some people run if it'sonly a head cold and avoid it if it's in the throat and chest. Somepeople don't care even if they cough up blood, and run anyway. Predictably, many of the latter develop very serioushealth problems as a result.

But the truth is that only we know howwe feel. How can you describe how you feel so the person you'retelling understands? How can we even tell if this cough is differentto the one before, the one the doctor said it was safe to run with?(True story: I had a cough the summer of '10 that just wouldn't getbetter. The doctor who examined me told me that my lungs were justtrying to get rid of the remains of some old illness, and that it was safeto go running, because I wasn't ill any more. Go figure)

I made the decision to run last Mondaymorning based on the fact that I'd felt fine all day Sunday. Of course,as my mother pointed out, one day's rest is not nearly enough to get over acold. On the other hand, I don't even know what it was I had lastSaturday, except that I was under the weather and my throat was sore.What I'm trying to say is that I tried to read my body signals andmissed the fine print. So now I'm punishing myself by staring at mymonth totals and fretting over how woefully unprepared I'm going to be inSkövde.

Today I am taking that extra day's rest(from running, that is. We're probably going climbing later). Themost observant of you might have noticed that I haven't posted abook review for ages. I have been struggling to get through a mammothof a book and it has held me up for weeks. I'm hoping to makeprogress today, because I'm not even halfway. That didn't stop mefrom buying more books, of course. I'm hoping that my readingmotivation will come back soon.

I'm looking forward to reading these ugly-looking yet very promising ultra books

Any deeper blue and you'll be playing in your grave

2012-02-14T05:29:00.004+01:00

I spent half of Sunday night coughing.There was this little bit of dust that had lodged itself in my throatthat I was paradoxically trying to eject forcefully, yet very quietlyas not to wake J. It didn't work. I had to get up and drink somewater.

Despite my coughing fit, I wanted totest my health by running my completely normal, not at all stupid 10km to work. I was going to take it ”easy”. A half moon was lowbehind the trees and the quietness of 6 o'clock enveloped me. Mypulse shot up to 180 immediately. It usually does in the beginning ofa run, only to settle to 150-155 later on. This time, it stayed at180 for quite a while, but it did go down later. Breathing through myLungplus was like a massage on my throat. The air felt warm andhumid, and my throat was happy. My mp3 was playing some sad songsthat were clashing with my high spirits. I was overjoyed that I wasrunning, overjoyed that my mp3 player worked, overjoyed that the icewas almost gone.

I got at work less than an hour later,having taken it slightly less ”easy” than I'd planned. A hotshower later I was sipping on hot tea. My throat had apparentlystarted swelling up and had reached the proportions of a ping-pongball. During the day it grew and grew until I had to get past a beachball in order to swallow.

Some terrible planning meant that I hadleft my bus card at home and had no other way of getting there exceptby walking. By then, big, heavy snowflakes had started descending fromthe sky, turning everything white again. I hadn't brought any warmclothes with me to work, no warm jacket as I wanted to run home aswell, so I soldiered on in the cold headwind. I got home feelingfeverish, and slowly started thawing.

This morning the only reminder of myill health is a splitting headache. My throat is almost back to itsusual dimensions. I got off easy this time. But I could have paiddearly for my eagerness to get back to running. Don't make rookiemistakes like I did, folks. Nothing is worth risking your health. Noteven running.

It's getting better every day

2012-02-12T07:52:00.000+01:00

Aggressive treatment with tea, honey,orange juice and whiskey (bleh) meant an improvement of the throatsituation. Today I feel better. Not well yet, but at least I don'tfeel like my head's on fire. I spent yesterday on jogg.se, readingabout the amazing feats performed by runners around the country thatbraved the Swedish winter and ran this edition of the UltraIntervals. Otherwise, I was mostly lying on my back resting andreading my book.

My friends from the group, on the otherhand, were performing an amazing feat of their own. Having to facefreezing headwinds and getting lost, they still managed to cover30-odd kilometres and get to Lerum, where they finally decided tothrow in the towel and enjoy a hot cup of coffee while they waitedfor the train to come and take them home.

My illness did the trick. I can't waitto go running. My motivation is definitely back, freezing headwindsnotwithstanding.

Murphy's law

2012-02-11T07:47:00.000+01:00

”Anything that can go wrong will gowrong”

I'm not usually a superstitious person.I can walk under ladders, pet black cats and celebrate Friday the13^th because, hey, it's Friday! But I've kept plans aboutreally long runs quiet in the past, because I didn't want to jinxthem.

And then I remembered that I'm notusually a superstitious person, and I announced today's ultra fromAlingsås to Gothenburg on this very blog, even being cocky enough tosuggest I'd run a couple of ultra intervals on top of that (I was onlyjoking, but I obviously provoked the wrath of the universe and got aslap from Jante law anyway). And see what happened!

Headache.

Sleeping terribly last night, withreally strange dreams.

Sore throat.

37,3 (which is by no means a fever, butit is a higher temperature than my normal one – and it feels likeit's about to get higher).

Lots of people have been sick with theflu at work, so it was really a question of time before I got sick. Imean, how long can you avoid it when you're floating in a cloud ofsnot particles for 8 hours every day? It's just that I had foolishlythought that I was done with all flu-related illnesses for this year,as I've pre-emptively already had a cold in January. Na-huh. Turnsout you can pretty much have a new cold every month! Just like somepeople have new boyfriends! Oh the indulgence. You're spoiling me.

So, of course, there won't be anyrunning for me today. Funny thing is that I've been saving my legsfor this day, when I could have been training. No, wait, that's notfunny. Not funny at all, missing two weeks of training with a racecoming up in a month (did I just jinx that? Oh crap). What is funny(as in weird) is that rest has made my legs stiff, and all minorannoyances have suddenly become much more prominent. It's as ifrunning has kept all this at bay, and now that I haven't been runningfor days I suddenly feel like a ship wreck.

The world is asleep

2012-02-10T06:19:00.000+01:00

I woke up at 4.30 and couldn't go backto sleep. I've been getting up at the same time almost every day thisweek because I've had to be in at work early, but this morning Ididn't have any reason to get up before 6. And still I did.

I'm suspecting that my body is inshock. With only 8 measly kilometres in this week's total so far,it's probably wondering what it's supposed to be doing with all that extra energy that's suddenly been piling up instead ofrunning. Itried to use it up by going climbing yesterday, but that's hardly anendurance sport and I just destroyed my arm muscles.

The first time I ran from Alingsås to Gothenburg November 2010, the world was covered in snow

Tomorrow means ultra. Alingsås –Gothenburg, 50km, on roads and cycle paths that are probably stillicy (but hopefully only at places. Can you imagine the frustration ifwe have to skate around for 50 km?). Tonight at midnight is also thekick-off for this edition of the Ultra Intervals. Right now, a funnyconversation is taking place on Facebook between me and this ultraguy I know. He's not joining us, preferring to run the intervals,because ”they're longer”. True, I answered. But then again, if westart at 10 and run pretty fast, then we can cover the 50 km and bejust in time to run the 6^th interval at 15:00. Then we gohome and rest, and finally run the last two intervals at 18:00 and 21:00respectively. Done!

I'm kidding.

Or...am I?

Motivation?

2012-02-07T18:39:00.001+01:00

”How do I get my motivation back?”is a question that I often see come up on internet running forums.Helpful runners always reply with great suggestions, such as listento some music while you're running, find a friend to run with, set upa new goal etc. Really good tips, and they've worked for me in thepast. Not so much lately.

As I wrote the other day, I've beenfinding it hard to enjoy running on the icy pavements, and my motivation was waned as a result. No matterwhat the weather, if it's cold or not, if it's grey skies or glorioussunshine. My mp3 player doesn't seem to like the low temperatures andgives up after a couple of minutes. I have goals for this season, butthey are vague and at times pretty daunting, so they tend to have acounter-effect on my motivation. And my friends just can't keep up withme.

Just kidding. But how easy is it tofind someone to run all my runs with? "Hey, man, can you come by and pick me up after work and then we'll run to my place? Then you can bugger off"

I was going to post a photo update onmy bruised knee, because I showed it to some people at work and boywas I ever proud to show off my medal of honour. Talk about being a bad ass who not only goes out running when it's -14, not only fallsdown, but promptly gets up and keeps running (I didn't mention mylittle..ahem...tantrum incident. I hope they're not reading my blog).If it's not motivating to see yourself as superhuman, and have othersadmire you for your ~~stupidity~~ bravery, then I don't know what is. Maybe I should use the same tactics on the blog? Butthen I took pity on you lot. It's ghastly. The bruise has turned thelower half of my knee black. I'll wear that bruise with pride. Quietly and in the privacy of my own home.

When my work day was over, Iwas faced with the prospect of running home. The sun was shining butI was certain it'd be cold outside. Seeing as I'm saving my legs forSaturday's ultra, I didn't have any specific amount of kilometres Iwanted to run, although I usually run 10 on my way home. So I improvised. It wasmuch warmer than I thought, and soon enough I was prancing along,soaking up the sun, actually enjoying my run for the first time inweeks.

How can you not want to go out running when it looks like this?

It wasn't long before I hit aparticularly difficult and long stretch of ice, though. It was almost asblack as my knee. I felt how I started getting irritated again, andstopped myself. I didn't have to chase the perfect 10 today, so whatdifference did it make if I walked the hardest parts? It's not worthit breaking a leg, just so that I can run an even number ofkilometres. Get a grip, kilometre junkie.

The sea surface

When I finally got home, 8,68 km later(take that, even-number addiction!), I was rewarded with thefantastic sensation that I wanted to keep going. I wasn't tired, butI had gotten just enough sunshine and endorphins to make me wish Ihad stayed outside a little bit longer. So, here's my tip to all youunmotivated runners out there: force yourself to run a shorter round than planned.It'll make you long for your next session. And, if all else fails,subscribe to Trail Runner. That always does it for me.

"Is a vegetarian diet optimal for runners?" Yep! It's great for vegetarian runners.

Sometimes it just clicks

2012-02-05T10:59:00.000+01:00

While I ran yesterday, and right beforeI fell, my thoughts revolved around the ambitious runner's bogeyman: over-training. Lacking motivation, feeling that I was about to end upin a rut with my running and finding little joy on the repetitive nature of my solo runs, Iworried that I was about to crash headlong into the over-trainingwall. The group has a long run planned on Saturday, the now-classicAlingsås - Gothenburg (50 km) and I thought about how I should take aneasy week and rest so that I can cover the distance. I thought thiseasy week would give me a chance to get some of my motivation back. Achance to miss running.

Today was supposed to be a run-freeday. But I felt like running. And when the motivation finally isthere, knocking at your door, you don't turn it down. Overcast skies,empty streets, even some bird song put me in a weird mood. Goodweird. Kind of in a trance. I even ran a couple of fast kilometreswhere the ground was bare.

Maybe the motivation was knocking at mydoor because I wasn't out there looking for it. The run wasunplanned. It was fun and easy and spontaneous. I have set a weeklygoal of 60 km, but the way my legs felt this morning I couldn't helpshooting for 70. Sometimes it just clicks.

Temporary insanity

2012-02-04T15:05:00.000+01:00

After a lot of internal turmoil abouthow I would spend this sunny day (grocery shopping and then climbing?Running and then climbing? Running to the climbing gym? No running atall?) I decided to head out for my usual Saturday run. What can Isay? I'm a creature of habit.

The usual round. Rinse and repeat.Motivation was low, despite the sun's valiant efforts to lift myspirits. I'm just sick of running the same round. Sick of running on ice.

Fortunately, about halfway I realised Iwas keeping a pretty speedy pace, although the ground was icy. Thatgave me the kick that I needed, and I covered a few kilometres at a 5min/km pace. But then I was by the sea, and everyone andtheir mother was out for a stroll in the sunshine. And everyone wasstaring at me, some even with a grin on their faces. The circus was intown and I was the main attraction.

Could be the fact that I'm sostunningly beautiful. Or could be my drooling Lungplus. Nah, it'sdefinitely my beauty.

The condensation on the lens is of course a conscious choice, an artistic intervention to highlight the uncertainty of a blurry existence.

I glared back and pushed on. I glancedat my Garmin, wondering if I'd manage the half-marathon in under1:50, then wondering if I even cared. I now had the sun on my back,and my face was freezing so badly it hurt. I wanted to get home,have a cup of tea and let a hot shower warm up my bones.

Then I ran over a pedestrian crossing a little too fast,making eye contact with an oncoming driver, and I slipped on a curve,falling down on my right side.

1 second later, I was pausing myGarmin. Yeah, I'm a living stereotype. If you see me collapse, pause my Garmin, and everything.

2 seconds later, I was getting up,doing a mental check to see if anything was broken. Nothing was. Thecar had driven by slowly without stopping, trying to avoid my body asit lay across the crossing, presumably because he didn't want to get any bloody bits on his car. And then a wave of emotions hitme.

I started crying with shock and fury. Iwas a living, breathing ball of rage. Stupid driver that didn't askif I was ok. Stupid cars that drive over the nice, soft snow and turnit into icy death traps. Stupid Gothenburg weather, stupid shoes,stupid me. It was so unfair that this should happen to me. I was likea spoiled little child who didn't get what she wanted for Christmas,and was now jumping up and down, shaking her fists at the sky andswearing through her clenched teeth that the universe could go shovesomething sharp up where the sun doesn't shine.

When I came to my senses again, I shookthe snow off my clothes and pressed my hand against my thigh andknee. They felt ok, so I started running again. It could have beenmuch worse, I pondered. I could have broken something. I could havegotten a concussion. Or worse: my Garmin could have broken!Thankfully it was only my pride that was wounded.

The out-of-focus effect is a purposeful comment on the fleeting nature of- oh, f*ck it. I have a shitty mobile.

Once at home, I saw the beginnings of ahuge bruise on my thigh and some scratches on my knee. Nothing that aglass of wine can't fix. I think I deserve it.

Look at me, being all positive

2012-02-03T18:14:00.000+01:00

As I walked through the door, icy tearsdown my frostbitten cheeks, drooling from my Lungplus and with myjacket covered in snot icicles, I looked sheepishly at J and hopedthat I wouldn't have to cite the clause in our marriage contract thatsaid ”for better or for worse”.

It's getting very tiresome, this icebusiness. Not only do I have to negotiate freezing headwinds when thetemperature is -10, but I also risk either breaking a leg or twistingmy ankle on the bumpy icy surfaces. The few people who were around towitness this Friday afternoon miracle saw a black-clad ninjatiptoeing on a mirror-like pool of dark ice, while sounding like DarthVader. Without slipping. Much. And without swearing. Much.

Luckily, for my extraordinary patienceand elegant ice-skating display, I was rewarded with a spectacularsunset. The sun was just sinking behind Näset as I ran by theseaside. Heavenly.

The road to hell...

2012-02-02T08:06:00.001+01:00

I occasionally get these great ideaslate in the evening, that I can go swimming in the morning. While Ilook out my window at the frozen world outside, I imagine how warmand relaxing the pool will be and get really excited about theprospect of spending an hour splashing around in it. And how gracious and strong I'll look in my swimsuit.

Then the morning comes, I hear J'salarm, open my eyes and see nothing because it's still so bloodydark, and -the strangest thing!- remember all those things aboutswimming pools that I hate. All the people. The kicks in the face. The burning sensation ofchlorinated water in my nose. And the knowledge that someone alwayspees in the pool. Bleh.

So, despite my good intentions lastnight, there was no swimming this morning. Instead, I did somestrength exercises: core, legs and the upper side of my body, that isso tragically weak that, were it any weaker, it'd be needing awheelchair.

I hear swimming is good for that?

Miss Shaman's feeling for snow

2012-02-01T11:24:00.000+01:00

Tired to the core, tired to my bonesand tired of the ice that's spread like a parasite over the wholearea, I reluctantly went out for a long run. I waited until the sunstarted coming up and took my mp3 player with me, trying to find somemotivation to hit the same old route I run every Wednesday.

I headed off to run it in the otherdirection for a change. With the sun on my face, good music in myears, singing along under my breath and taking in the beautifulscenery by the sea (completely mesmerized by the patterns made on thesea surface by ice patches), I started enjoying it. Then suddenly mymp3-player died, 3 km into the run.

Dreamy

I really tried to see the fun side. Thefleeting warmth on my black clothes when the sun, still low on thehorizon, managed to break through the trees. The pastel sky coloursreflected on the sea. The cool, crispy ai- oh, wait. That's right. Itwas -8 degrees and I had forgotten to take my Lungplus with me,making each breath a struggle. My throat doesn't seem to like it whenit gets colder than -5 or so. Especially when I have to breathe thatcool, crispy air for 21 km.

Couple that with the uneven bumps ofice on the pavement and with not being able to run on the ice-freeroads because, you know, I'm deathly allergic to getting run over bycars, and you can probably understand why I couldn't wait to gethome. Oh how I long for a warm, fragrant spring day on soft forestpaths.

Yesterday's resolution to focus on thegood things didn't last long, did it?

Patience, young Skywalker

2012-01-31T19:39:00.001+01:00

I might have been just a tad melodramatic yesterday. Just because I wasn't born with fantasticgenes that allow me to go from 0 to 100 km within a week doesn't meanI can't build up to 100 km at all. Just because I can't runback-to-back marathons right now, doesn't mean that I won't be ableto someday. So, instead of marinating in self pity, from now on I'lltry to concentrate on what I can actually do right now. Like run amarathon without my legs falling off. Like run ultra intervals. Thatkind of thing. And be patient, of course.

Boy do I sound like a wise old cow withall that kumbaya, new age-y crap.

Ok, I'll 'fess up. This change of mooddid not come about after hours spent in the lotus position meditatingon the virtues of patience, nor after a sudden revelation that it doesn't matter since we'reall going to die anyway; it came about thismorning when I, on eager legs and icy pavements, high on endorphins, ran the 10 km towork and felt well rested enough afterwards to want to go for a long runtomorrow.

Suddenly, I could. Suddenly, my musclesweren't sore any more. Suddenly, anything was possible. The Force isstrong with this one.

Just your average Monday morning

2012-01-30T08:09:00.000+01:00

Yeah, ok, so I ran a marathon lastSaturday, but did I do it comfortably? Am I strong enough to do itand then recover quickly? Nope. My muscles are still wonderfully soretwo days later, so the run commute to work will have to wait untiltomorrow. I did some core exercises instead.

January has been a good month. Despitea cold that made me miss a few days' running, and despite our holidayin the North that ”forced” me to replace some running sessionswith skiing, I still managed to put together a month quantity that'smy second best ever (the first being November, with the ultraintervals). But it does kind of bug me that things aren'tmoving...faster, somehow. I realise I'm being impatient, and maybe abit too careful, (not to mention that this is a first world problem,and did you know children in Africa are starving?) but planning forultras means gradually increasing your long run distances (or,rather, your time on the go) considerably. How can I do that if I canhardly walk down the stairs the day after?

Sometimes I torture myself by lookingat training programmes and despairing at the huge amounts of timethey crave on the weekends (with long runs both on Saturday andSunday). Other times I get all gung-ho and confident, and don't careat all about what they say, I'm still preparing for this in my ownway. Sometimes the ultra looms over me like a mountain, other times Ijust break it down into segments and see it as a fun adventure. Andthen I think that I must be the only person in the whole world whogets sore muscles after a marathon.

Yep, that's the kind of things I thinkabout on a Monday morning, right before my work week starts. Prettynormal, really.

Saturday means loooong run

2012-01-28T15:56:00.002+01:00

It hurts just about everywhere in mybody right now. Except my hair. One toenail is threatening to presscharges and my butt claims that the bruises I got skiing were like agentle massage by comparison.

It all started when I met up with thegroup in Skatås. Most of today's participants were long standingmembers (a few from the Skatås Seven) but there were a couple of newfaces, too. The plan was to run to Jonsered and back, approximately25 km. The pavements were covered in ice, but I refused to usespikes. It's not a matter of principle, but rather a question ofbalance: I hate the way they feel on my feet and I'm afraid I'lltwist my ankle when I put them on.

Old pic. But that's what the pavements looked like today. Only with more ice.

The road to Jonsered is pretty dull,with lots of traffic and not much else to look at, but chatting withthe others in the group never let me notice that. We took the longway back to Skatås. Once we got there, some went in for a shower andsauna, some went home. I ran on, slowing down a bit after the crazyfast pace we've been running at. My Garmin showed 30 km at thispoint, and I figured I could at least run to the bus stop and bringthe total up to 35. Running through the city was a nuisance. Peopleeverywhere, talking on their mobiles, completely oblivious of theirsurroundings or, as was the case with one dad, pushing their babyprams in a zigzag pattern, making it impossible for me to run pastthem. The zombie apocalypse is here, guys. It's already happening.We're surrounded.

When I passed 35 km, I checked how mylegs were doing and made a new deal with myself. I'd run toLinneplatsen and see if I felt like continuing from there. And so itwent on: I kept telling myself I'd run just a bit further, andthinking how few kilometres there were left to 40, and then to themarathon; and then when I'd run the marathon I was almost home, so Ithought I might as well keep running.

43,6 km later I crawled up the stairsand into our flat. With a new marathon ”record” to boot. I canthink of worse ways to spend my Saturday.

Cannonball read #06: Catching fire by Suzanne Collins

2012-01-27T06:18:00.000+01:00

Catching fire is the second part in theHunger Games trilogy. It is a young adult novel, although youwouldn't know it but for the age of its protagonist, Katniss.

The books take place in a futuresociety, where the privileged citizens of Panem live in luxury whilethe citizens of the 12 Districts live in misery, forced to work forPanem. Every year, every District has to send two of its (young)citizens to the Hunger Games, a brutal fight to the death, untilthere is only one person left. This is a punishment to remind theDistricts not to revolt against Panem, and a way to keep them inslavery and crush their spirits.

For those of you who haven't read thefirst book, SPOILERS AHEAD.

Katniss and Peeta won the Hunger Gamesbut they cannot rest in their laurels. Before long, President Snowshows up threatening Katniss that her loved ones will suffer if shedoesn't diffuse the uprisings that are taking place in some of theother Districts. Unbeknownst to her, Katniss has become an icon forthe imminent revolution. And things are only about to get even worse.

The first book in the trilogy was easyto read, entertaining and fun, but left me wanting more. It had somuch potential for political commentary, but I thought that this wasdownplayed in favour of the ”love” story. I realise now that itmight have been building up to the events of the second book, whichwas much stronger in its message. Of course, we see things throughthe eyes of an unwilling 17-year old, that is too caught up in herown problems to care about the world around her at first; but it isexciting to awaken along with her, to become more politically activeas she does and watch her grow.

Collins created a fast-paced book withcomplicated characters. Motives and feelings are never simple, andthey are even less so when life keeps throwing new challenges to thecentral characters. Loyalty, self sacrifice, love are importantfactors that lead Katniss and Peeta into conflict with themselves,each other and the people that are closest to them. I couldn't putthe book down.

A surprisingly good follow-up. I can'twait to read the trilogy's third book, Mockingjay.

Home is wherever I'm with you

2012-01-26T19:08:00.000+01:00

J and I were hit by a wall of noise, traffic and fashion minded people as soon as we stepped outside Gothenburg's train station, having left the Northern wilderness behind. It was like stepping out on another planet. Immediately I felt a pang in my heart, one of longing for the quietness and simpleness of life in the North. For having family close by. It's an ache that's hard to explain, and even harder to subdue.

Life does not stand by and wait until you've recovered from the culture shock, however. I was back at work this morning, no matter how hard I wished that my dream last night (one where I was running on country roads past spring-green meadows with friends) would last forever. Still tired after the long train journey, I didn't decide until the last minute if I'd run today. And when I got off work, I couldn't wait to get out in the rare sunshine that graced the city and run. Run with a million thoughts buzzing in my head. Important things that have been lying dormant for years, waiting for the final drop to force them to run over and flood the universe, my universe. Yet, no answers come to me. My heart and my head are not seeing eye to eye right now, and it's hard to know which one to listen to.

The ache. Not even running can subdue it.

If at first you don't succeed

2012-01-23T13:45:00.000+01:00

Try, try again.

I told J there was no way I would ski down that slope where I so spectacularly somersaulted last Saturday, getting covered in snow from top to toe. But I did want to go skiing. So we headed for a flat area where I thought I could ski round and round, perfecting my, well, standing on two feet and propelling myself forward with the ski poles. Living on the edge. That's me.

But once we got there, we saw a very appealing slope that ended in an open field. Perfect to practice on, in other words. I could fall all I wanted without any risk of close encounters with trees and such. Try one failed. The tracks were broken and I lost my balance, rolling around in the snow. I was becoming an expert at rolling around in the snow at this point. But then, try two went well. Really well. As I felt the wind screaming in my ears, I let gravity do its part. I focused on keeping my shoulders relaxed, rested my elbows on my knees with my ski poles behind me and, before I knew it, I was on flat ground. To prove that it wasn't a fluke, I did it once more. Success.

Then we were off into the woods. It went better and better, and even though it wasn't perfect, I found a good rhythm. I lost my balance now and then, but it was going much, much better than the first time. And then, we were suddenly at the slope where I'd fallen the first time, the slope that almost scared me off skiing for good. It didn't look as scary any more. I glided down it smoothly, feeling as if I was going at 100 km/h but probably only going at 20. I whooped and threw my arms in the air when I reached the bottom.

I think that running has given me guts that I didn't use to have. The attitude that I can do it if I hang on and keep trying. Just one more gift among the many others that running has given me.

Cannonball Read #05: The Marriage Plot by Jeffrey Eugenides

2012-01-22T21:36:00.000+01:00

I loved Middlesex. It offered a mix of humour and drama that appealed to me and kept me turning the pages. So Eugenides' new book was eagerly anticipated.

Madeleine, Leonard and Mitchell are the three corners of a love triangle that's spiced up by mental illness, religious self-discovery and existential agony. We follow these characters through their journey to find happiness. It's a painful, difficult journey, both for the characters and for the reader.

Eugenides' descriptions of places and people leaves little to be desired. Apart from Madeleine, whom I found a bit flat (but maybe that was the whole point?), everything and everyone else was vivid. But where he truly excels is in his descriptions of Leonard's mental illness. He conveys the torment Leonard goes through and the consequences on the people who love him so wonderfully that my heart was breaking for him at the same time as I despised him for the pain he inflicted on others.

So, lots of drama, but what about humour? Not so much of it in this book. It was a long book, with certain passages feeling out of context, like this book was supposed to be a love story but suddenly it was about something else entirely. I suppose that was my only issue with The Marriage Plot: I had trouble figuring out what the book was about, especially with the parts about Mitchell's journey. Especially after the abrupt ending.

Was it a good book? Yes. Would I recommend it to a friend? Probably not. I would loan them Middlesex instead.

Contrasts

2012-01-22T14:56:00.000+01:00

Red cheeks, icicles on my eyelashes and frozen drops of sweat on my forehead. That was what my reflection in the bathroom mirror looked like when I got back from a 10km run in -10 degrees (-15 in the freezing headwind I was met with occasionally) and on unploughed, snow-covered cycle paths. The sky was a shade of pink, almost implying that there was, indeed, a sun hidden somewhere behind the thin layer of clouds. I get this. This is my thing. This is who I am, what I do.

Yesterday I switched my running shoes for a pair of skis, for the first Nordic skiing session of my life. It resulted in a few falls, one of which a spectacular somersault of America's funniest home videos proportions. I suspect I will never become a true Nordic skier. There's too much equipment to master, ski poles and skis that all get entangled whenever I try to move sideways, resulting in even more hilarious falls. No; I'm much more comfortable (and elegant) in my running shoes. But I'm willing to give skiing another try. Tomorrow. Falls notwithstanding, it was kind of fun.

Running around in circles

2012-01-20T12:25:00.000+01:00

After a long train journey north, we finally arrived in J's hometown. It looked festive and Christmassy, all dressed in white. I couldn't wait to put on my running shoes and head out for a run. And so I did, that same afternoon. A short run later, having discovered new cycle paths and cozy residential areas, I was back and sported a clogged nose. Oh yeah. My cold is definitely back.

I didn't let that stop me this morning. I woke up with the thought of a long run by the frozen river, and drew a route on jogg.se. It looked simple enough on the computer screen. J tried to convince me to use Endomondo and Google maps, in case I got lost, but me? Get lost? Never. I just have to take a quick look at a map and I got it memorised for all eternity.

8 km later, finding myself in the middle of nowhere, I had to consult Google maps for the second time. Stupid Endomondo wouldn't let me look at the map for some reason, and a growl of frustration left my throat more than once. I was this close to throwing my phone in one of the snow heaps by the road.

Let me make this clear: I was most definitely NOT lost. But having got to a crossroads and seen that the street I was supposed to be following continued to my right, instead of in front of me, kind of threw me off. Later on I would realise that some mischievous troll had turned the road sign around so that it was pointing in the wrong direction.

A postman drove by looking at me jumping up and down on my phone. Then, a police van did the same, probably wondering what I was doing doing jumping jacks in the middle of a deserted industrial area. Unfortunately for me, who was looking at them pleadingly, neither one stopped to ask if I needed any help.

My irritation was replaced by elation as soon as I found the cycle path I had been looking for. The path was surrounded by spruces with limbs hanging low under the weight of the snow. It was magical. I now thought I knew where I was. Over the bridge and towards the river again, after a couple of wrong turns (well, I write wrong, but that's in the eye of the beholder. Right? I mean, for someone that wanted to run in precisely that direction, they would have been the right turns).

..and then I wouldn't have seen this.

Then I got confused yet again. I was exactly where I had planned to run when I drew my route, yet that long stretch of road towards the town centre was much longer than I had anticipated. I ran for days and nights, and still, the only thing I could see around me were trees and a few scattered houses. I started getting nervous. Would I have to eat my words and ring J, asking him to come and get me? Never! I pushed on, on packed snow, slipping a couple of times, staring longingly at the distant goal that I hoped was ahead of me.

Finally, one of the city's landmarks rose above the trees: the church tower! It was still a few kilometres away, but now I knew I wasn't half way to China. Soon, I was running past traffic lights and shoppers. With almost 21 km behind me, I was back where I started. I shook my feet to get rid of the excess snow and stepped through the door.

- Endomondo isn't working, said J. We haven't been able to keep track of where you ran.

That could only mean one thing. I would never have to admit to J that I got lost.

You know you're a runner when...

2012-01-18T09:14:00.001+01:00

...the first thing you pack for a trip in cold, snow-covered Northern Sweden is your running gear.

...and that's just half of it.

...you pack your Lungplus breathing aid and spikes before you pack your sweaters.

...your running gear takes up half the backpack, leaving very little space for such unimportant things as going-out clothes, scarves, personal hygiene products.

...you can't wait to run in -15.

On a roll

2012-01-17T08:08:00.001+01:00

Having just registered some strength exercises in my diary, I noticed that the last time I had a whole day's rest was January 3rd, exactly two weeks ago. Oops. I have been alternating running with strength exercises and climbing, of course, so it's not like I'm using the same muscles every time; my legs do get to rest sometimes (let's ignore the fact that my legs are included in the strength exercise regime).

On some level, I guess I see strength training as a rest day from running, so it doesn't count. Only, it does. And when I ride my bicycle to work, my legs don't get any rest then either (even if I don't register short bike rides in my diary). If that's not an injury waiting to happen, I don't know what is. My right hamstring has been acting funny since last summer, and I don't mean putting on a clown nose and telling jokes. Maybe a day's rest would do it good.

My cold is coming back, which might necessitate an obligatory rest day. Tomorrow's planned long run might have to be postponed. Besides, tomorrow in the afternoon, J and I are taking the train north for a week's break from Gothenburg's grey weather. Better save those legs (and lungs) for the Nordic skiing I'm hoping to do up there.

Cannoball read #04: Prosperity without growth by Tim Jackson

2012-01-15T19:09:00.000+01:00

I don't know how to review this book without sounding like I'm stupid.

Ok, let me start over: I'm no expert on economics, and at least half of this book went right over my head.

I picked it up because I wanted to read something different to what I usually read, and because of the book's premise: is it possible for humankind to thrive without economic growth? The older I get, the more fed up I get with things. Mindless consumption. Gadgets and clothes and decorative porcelain figurines or whatever. Things like television sets that break down after a couple of years, forcing you to buy new ones (if your peers haven't talked you into it first). Things that do nothing to enrich our lives, despite the promise of a better life they "make" in the commercials.

Tim Jackson discusses prosperity in his book. What does it really mean? Is it having all those things? Or is it fundamental values, like human connections, having a job, being healthy instead? And how does our society's endless striving towards economic growth help us to achieve such prosperity?

According to Jackson, it doesn't. Our society is ”trapped” in an economical model that chases after continuous growth, which has very bad consequences indeed for humankind. Not only because this model is based on consumption and the unequal distribution of goods, that does nothing for prosperity as defined above; it also has a catastrophic effect on our already-burdened planet. Nature's resources are quickly running out, and we have to do something to stop that.

Jackson proposes a different model, one that is based on the exchange of human services and on the investment in green alternatives. He presents arguments against the growth model and in favour of his greener one, most of them sound. But he does so in a language I had trouble following. The book reads like a economy textbook (maybe it is?) and it is littered with jargon. But here and there are small breadcrumbs of wisdom, simple and logical statements that even I could follow. And these breadcrumbs led me to the final chapter, one that summarised the book in an understandable way and which was a bit more ”social commentary” in nature. In the end, I was convinced.

I was relieved when I finally finished the book, but to say that it was a bad book would not be accurate. You can't say a book is bad just because you don't get it. The parts I did get were very interesting and put into words a lot of the thoughts I've had in my mind for some time.

Procrastination suddenly sounds like a great idea

2012-01-15T15:33:00.001+01:00

After a short run in the woods dressed like a ninja (black tights, black jacket, black VFF, bla- eh, blue buff. Ok, like a colourful ninja), I took on the challenge of sorting through old photographs and putting them in albums. We keep the old, printed ones in a box, all heaped up in a pile, and never look at them precisely because they're in a pile. We're talking hundreds of photos here. I bought a couple of photo albums and fished out some glue, and got started.

Santorini '98. I love that place.

Hours later I emerged out of a cloud of glue, my head spinning with memories but mostly with low blood sugar. And glue fumes. But I'm not finished, oh no. I'm not even half way. After I tried to sort the photos and divide them into smaller, thematic piles, I realised this would be a task that was going to take weeks. It wasn't just that they were disorganised, the ones from England together with the ones from Sweden, together with old ones that neither J or I recognise; there were doubles as well. Try finding those ones among the hundreds of others.

Santorini '98.

And then, suddenly, I ran out of glue. You can imagine my disappointment.

Oh the places you'll go!

2012-01-14T14:58:00.000+01:00

I'm warning you. Words are failing me right now, and I have to use photos to convey how wonderful, how absolutely perfect this morning's run was. I loved it so much, I could write a song about it. I could buy it flowers and take it out to dinner. I could watch it while it sleeps.

But...Sweden's NOT in NATO

I left home around 10 and headed towards the city centre. As promised, the sun was shining, but the wind hadn't let up that much, so I was met with a headwind. Still, it wasn't too bad, and my mood was so good that it didn't matter.

I ran through Kungsladugård. A part of Göteborgsvarvet goes through here (the world's biggest half-marathon, for those of you that haven't heard of it). I'm running it in May, but as I ran the streets that get worn down by almost 60.000 running shoes every year, it seemed like a lifetime away.

I pressed on further towards Röda Sten and the river. Ferry boats, factories and the smell of tar were unmistakable signs that I was close to Gothenburg's port, but I could turn my gaze towards the west and the open sea, a much better sight.

Further on, the cycle path that I had been following disappeared among the expensive-looking villas of Käringberget and Långedrag. Here and there, a tall pine tree or stone cliff were visible among the houses. Not that there was any monotony; every house was a different style, each beautiful in its own way.

I was almost at Saltholmen when I noticed the cycle path sign pointing south. That's where the adventure started, that's where I was entering an unknown territory. I followed the signs, but there was some cognitive dissonance between the memory I had in my head from the map I had studied before I left, and what the signs pointed to. I wanted to follow the coastline, but the signs wanted to take me through neighbourhoods. So I ignored them.

This was one of my favourite parts. Hinsholmen marina was like a ghost town, with seemingly abandoned boats covered in tarpaulin. The road that led through it came to a sudden stop. Only the sea lay beyond. At that moment, I wanted to sit there on a stone and just stare at the sea for hours, the sun warming my face. It felt like the end of the world.

Luckily it wasn't. A path continued along the seaside towards Fiskebäck, through the woods. I climbed up a steepish slope and, as I reached the top, I was rewarded with a glimpse of the sparkling sea among the trees. It was downhill all the way to the water.

I was back in civilisation. And got lost almost immediately. Again, it was a matter of signs pointing in a direction I didn't want to go, so I asked a kind man which way Näset was. He gave me the right answer. How I knew it was the right answer? Because it meant I would be running by the sea once more.

My legs were not complaining, unlike my stomach. I wanted to get home now, and my head was so filled with all the wonderful new memories that I was content. I found my bearings and soldiered on, past even more villas, joggers and dog walkers. I was running in familiar surroundings. It had been exciting to see new places, and what better way to see them than on my own two feet?

25 km was the grand total of today. I will be running there again.

Plans for the weekend

2012-01-13T19:11:00.002+01:00

Number one priority this weekend will be to finish the book I'm currently reading, so that I can review it for Cannonball Read and then proceed to forget all about it. I'm so fed up with it. I wanted to expand my literary horizons, so I picked up a book about economy. To say that half the book went over my head would be an understatement; it was at least three quarters of it. The rest of it was interesting. No, really. Keep an eye out for the exciting review sometime this weekend. Not that I'm making any promises. I might, after all, fall asleep halfway through reading the charts on absolute decoupling.

Look at all those lovely books waiting for me.

All work and no play makes Shaman a very dull girl indeed. So I'm planning a little adventure as well, right before I dive into the boring, economy-textbook stuff. Last week Marcus from the group and I ran, pretty randomly, around western Gothenburg, on a day so beautiful (and cold) it made my heart (and my lungs) ache. We didn't run as far as the sea, though. Tomorrow, the sun is said to make a guest appearance again, the second of only four booked this winter here in Gothenburg, and there are still parts of the coast that I haven't explored. I've drawn a route that takes me to the seaside, along what looks like paths and through what looks like forests (or maybe it's just shrubbery), as well as through some more urban areas. Let's hope that this wind eases off.

Cannonball read #03: The walking dead by Robert Kirkman

2012-01-12T06:53:00.000+01:00

I got it all backwards. I watched the series first and then read the book. Maybe that was the problem?

I am one of the seemingly very few people who have loved every single episode of the TV series ”The walking dead”, despite its slow pace (or maybe because of it). I was aware that it was only loosely based on the graphic novel of the same name, but I wasn't prepared as to just how loosely that was.

The central characters are the same. There are zombies. There are guns. The central characters shoot zombies. And that's where the similarities end.

The first mistake that almost anyone talking about a film based on a book ever makes is comparing the film to the book. And yet I walked right into that one. But I think it's relevant, so bear with me.

I'm by no means an avid graphic novel reader. As an adult I've read maybe 3-4, and I've been an adult for almost two decades. Still, I have nothing against them. But I couldn't help wishing that this one had been...more, somehow. It could be that I'm used to reading fat, wordy novels that over analyse and describe in minute detail, but I found it compressed and lacking in emotion. I didn't care about the characters, and I certainly did not feel the imminent threat from the zombies. I suppose that when you try to fit into 144 pages what has the potential to be such a huge story (having, despite that fact, made bold claims in the introduction of the book that it will be powerful, with strong character development etc), then you're bound to have to leave stuff out.

Of course, ”The Walking dead” is a series of graphic novels, and should perhaps be judged in its entirety. Problem is, I don't feel so inclined to buy the rest of them after reading the first one. It was entertaining and easy enough to make me want to read it in one sitting, and I wouldn't say it's bad, exactly, but I think I'll stick to the television series to get my zombie fix.

At least the sun is shining

2012-01-11T12:05:00.000+01:00

Two gargantuan work days in a row, with the first one finishing at 9 at night, made me worry: would I be able to find my way home? Recognise J after having been away for so long? And what about the culture shock of switching from work mode to free time mode? Would I even know what to do with myself after the second day was over?

Reality hit me hard when I walked through the door at approximately 10 o'clock Monday night. One of our cats had pissed on the sofa and the whole place smelled of ammoniac. Talk about crash landing. Talk about my fingers twitching spasmodically with felinecidal urges.

This morning was an improvement. I went for a long run around the neighbourhood, and darkness slowly gave way to sunshine as I put kilometre after kilometre behind me. It wasn't a good run, despite the sunshine; my cold is not completely gone yet, and a persistent headwind hit me mercilessly for at least half the distance.

My pace was -as is becoming the norm- higher than it should be. I keep running my long runs at 5.30 min/km, and then struggle through my easy ones. I'd love to say that there are benefits to doing things backwards and going against what pretty much every training programme says I should be doing, but I'd be lying. I run the way I feel like running and at a pace that feels comfortable. There's no thought behind it. I'll probably pay for it one day.

Mind over matter

2012-01-08T13:24:00.000+01:00

The evening after my loooong run I felt like I had been run over by a herd of stampeding elephants. My body was not so much aching; it was going on a strike against its employer (me). Making any movements took will power, walking took miracles. But once I got over the threshold of rearranging my body parts, the stiffness was gone and my body did as it was told without protest.

Still, I wondered how it would feel the following day. Aches and strained muscles usually feel worse the day after hard training. And if my body was so stiff now, how bad would it be a day later? I feared the worst. I imagined myself paralysed, unable to even speak, having to get nutrition through a tube. I needn't have worried. The next day, my body's stiffness was pretty much gone and I was able to go climbing and conquer new routes.

This morning was a different issue. I had spent ten hours in bed, but how many of them I actually spent sleeping I cannot say. I remember one of our cats sprinting through the flat several times during the early hours and then jumping on the bed, waking me. I remember the other one purring in my ear. I remember wanting to strangle them. I remember my throat feeling irritated again and the struggle between the part of me that wanted to get up and drink some water, and the part that didn't want to leave the warmth of the bed. And I remember floating in a half dream, not sleeping but not really awake either. For what was probably several hours.

When I finally got up at the late hour of 8 o'clock and looked at myself in the mirror, I looked like death warmed over. I was supposed to meet some complete strangers for a social run later on, but I doubted I could even drive the car there. As my morning cup of coffee made its way to my veins, so did life, and things started looking a bit rosier. I thought about my plans for the day and had to rearrange them a bit, because I didn't think my legs would carry me up any hills today. And besides, I had some errands to run. So instead of meeting these strangers and sabotaging their run, I headed out on a solo run of 11 km. It was tough at first, but my legs soon got the idea and found some hidden reserves to pull a couple of 5.05 min/km kilometres.

I can crack the whip if I have to. Show 'em legs who's the boss.

Looong run

2012-01-06T14:32:00.001+01:00

This is running just the way I like it. Spontaneous, adventurous, exploring new places, with the sun warming your frozen body and with some nice company to chat away the hours with.

I ran to Linneplatsen to meet Marcus from the group, and we headed towards the port. There is something about sunny days that make me want to seek open water. The streets were pretty quiet, as it is a bank holiday, but people were outside walking or running. The biting cold made them dress up warmly in snug coats and woolly hats, but I still clung onto my t-shirt and running jacket combo. Anything else and it gets too warm, even at a couple degrees below zero.

We continued along the river and towards the sea, although the water was hidden somewhere behind the villas of Långedrag. We discussed briefly the possibility to run all the way around the peninsula, but it would have meant a much longer run for Marcus, that had to get home. So we cut through towards Mölndal instead, past multi-storey buildings and shopping centres. Traffic here was a bit heavier, but never so heavy that we noticed it.

I left Marcus and headed home after about 23 km, thinking I'd round it up to 25 km and then stop. But Gothenburg doesn't see such beautiful winter days that often; so I kept on running, planning on running around the neighbourhood to get up to 30. But then I got to 30 and I still didn't want to go home. I knew J was out too, and really, what better way to enjoy this weather than letting your body soak up all the D-vitamin it can get? I turned towards the sea again.

I was getting seriously hungry at this point. I had an energy bar with me, but A) I didn't want to stop except to take a couple of pictures and B) I suspected it was frozen and I didn't want to break a tooth. My energy was now waning, and the few sips of water from my bottle did nothing to quench my thirst. Only 5 km to go, I figured. I might as well eat when I get home. I was starting to get tired, but I managed to keep a decent enough posture.

The world through my sunglasses is a warm shade of orange

35 km brought me a few hundred metres from my door, and I walked the rest briskly. It felt great to know that, even though this run left me with a pair of stiff legs, I could still go through it at a faster pace than I'm used to (had I gone on like this I would have run the marathon distance in under 4 hours) and on an empty stomach to boot. It feels even greater that the first long run of the year was a pretty long one. It bodes well for my ultra training.

Cannonball read #02: In defence of food by Michael Pollan

2012-01-06T07:48:00.000+01:00

My mum taught me to avoid processed food. With the exception of pasta and rice, which we didn't eat that much of when I was growing up, everything else on our table was cooked from scratch and with in-season ingredients that were usually bought at the local street market.

Since I moved away, processed food has slowly gained more and more space in our fridge and pantry. Not that J and I buy take-away and frozen pizzas that often; but carbs are a staple of our diet, a common ground that he (an omnivore) and I (a vegetarian) can agree on, so that we can eat our meals together.

Michael Pollan's book was an important reminder of what my mum taught me all those years ago: eat food (real food). Not too much. Mainly plants. It's a simple lesson, one that should be obvious – humankind survived by following these rules for thousands of years. Yet, the past few decades, heart related and other diseases have increased dramatically in the Western World. Pollan thinks that processed food is to blame, partly because of the amount of junk that it contains, and partly because of all the nutrients that it doesn't contain, thanks to processing and bad science. He supports this thesis by providing research evidence of indigenous populations with a previously clean bill of health getting sick as soon as they abandon their traditional diets and replace them with bad Western habits.

Although I found him repetitive at times, Pollan really drives his point across. He writes in a manner that is easy to understand, and his Don Quixotic crusade against the food industry giants makes him sympathetic to the reader. You wouldn't exactly call him objective on the matter, but then again he's not trying to be. Unlike his ”Omnivore's dilemma”, where he succeeded in advocating for a more plant-based diet without coming across like a rabid environmentalist, ”In defence of food” can at times feel like a personal vendetta. Not that it's a bad thing; the ideal world according to Pollan is a world where families gather around for a healthy meal every day to form strong bonds and bodies. And that's not a bad world to live in.

The devil makes work for idle hands

2012-01-03T16:03:00.000+01:00

You know what I do when I can't run? I think about running. I read about running. I dream about running (yeah, ok, so I sleep too, and I work and I read books and I do other sports. YOU'RE MISSING THE POINT).

So when I'm kind of ill, like I am now, I miss running and, like an alcoholic that doesn't have access to a real drink and has to resort to sucking on hand antiseptics to get his fix, I make do with reading about other people's running. Big mistake. Because, while I'm busy being kind of ill, people everywhere are busy logging kilometres and getting better and better. And some people are really good.

Quite obviously, while I slept or worked or did any of those other things last year, those people were out running. You know, those people. Those ultra running types. The real ultra runners, not the fake wannabes like me wasting time on trivial things like sleep. Those people logged crazy distances in 2011. Some had run 5000, others 6000, and some over 7000 km. I wonder when they even have time to actually log these kilometres in their diaries. Do they do it while they're actually running?

Memories of August's ultra session

I'm trying really hard not to compare myself with others here. Because, after all, I love running no matter what the distance, even if I prefer the longer ones. It doesn't really matter what the total adds up to at the end of the year, as long as there is a progress from one year to the next. But I can't help wondering if that's what it takes to run ultras. Is that how much work you have to put in to become good? And by good I don't mean win events, of course. I mean just being able to survive an ultra without inflicting permanent damage to your body. Is that how many kilometres you have to put in in order to be able to call yourself an ultra runner in good conscience?

As much as I love running, I have no intention of spending all my free time doing it. So where does that leave a wannabe ultra runner like myself? Is it a question of patiently climbing the ultra distance ladder? Or can I only ever run ”shorter” ultras?

I really need to stop reading about running and go for a run instead.

Cannonball read #01: Snuff by Terry Pratchet

2012-01-02T17:26:00.001+01:00

I haven't run a single metre since 2011. I've been feeling feverish and had a sore throat since yesterday. So, in lieu of running-related material, here is my first review for the Cannonball read:

Terry Pratchett's ”Snuff” is his 39th Discworld novel. You'd expect that he would have run out of ideas by now. He hasn't. Despite the fact that he has Alzheimer's, he's still going strong.

I've been a faithful reader of Pratchett's since the late '90s, when I first discovered his books. The quality that I found most attractive about them to begin with was not how good his writing is. It is good, but it's not great. In fact, he manages to lose me at least once with every book, when I'm reading a paragraph and suddenly haven't got the slightest idea what he's on about. No; what I found so attractive were his sense of humour and his unparalleled ability to discuss difficult subjects in a humorous way. While using nerd words like ”troll” and ”vampire” and ”magic”.

In his latest book, the difficult subject he tackles is racism. There's been a murder, and commander Vimes will try to figure out whodunit. Only, is it a murder when you don't regard the creature in question (in this case, a goblin) as, well, a person?

Pratchett deftly creates a world that is permeated with the old values. Aristocracy and working class live side by side, and everyone knows their place. It's the countryside, where things have been like this for centuries, and crimes have been committed in the quiet without anyone raising an eyebrow, because no one thinks it's a crime if it's vermin you're disposing of. Until now; Vimes is forced by his wife, Sybil, to take a vacation in her aristocratic family's home, and, like the true policeman he is, he can sniff out a crime if there is one.

What follows is a murder mystery that would fit right in as a Midsomer Murders episode. It has all the necessary ingredients: the murder, the pub, the local troublemakers, and snobs with money. Pratchett manages to combine all that with social commentary on racial issues, slavery and changing the world one person at a time. The conclusion being that not all Nobs are snobs, and not all yobs are knobs.

Pratchett kept me turning the pages up until the last third of the book. As soon as the murderer was introduced, he lost me; the murderer being quite a bland character and revealed way too early. The chase to catch him took up too much space in the book, that I believe could otherwise been dedicated to learning more about goblin society and their plight, to make them more sympathetic to the reader. A side story about another policeman's illness was a distraction. The fact that he seems to imply that taking justice into your own hands is ok when the law fails didn't win him any points in my book either. His humour is becoming predicable for someone who has read all 39 Discworld novels.

Still, despite these relatively minor flaws, Pratchett manages to end the book on a high note: a hope for the future, that the world can become a better place. It just takes time. And, despite these flaws, it was a good book, albeit not a great book.

2012

2012-01-01T09:24:00.000+01:00

I was woken by the sound of the rain drumming on our windows early this morning. So that's how the new year starts, I thought. With a downpour. I had had a vague plan to go on a long run this morning, to set the tone for the rest of the year, so to speak. Looking out, it doesn't seem like a good idea any more.

But then there is this:

In a way it is so symbolic, this emptiness in my training diary. The year ahead is an empty slate, a tabula rasa. I get to fill it with whatever I want. This thought is both exciting and scary. The possibilities are endless and the road is long; but on the other hand, shit does and always will happen.

So, as I watched the fireworks last night, my hopes and dreams for this year were tempered by realism. I don't want to aim too high, but nor do I want to waddle in disillusionment and pessimism. I am wary and guarded as a result of everything that 2011 threw at me, but what good does that do? Life goes on regardless of whether I'm prepared for it or not. I might as well enjoy the ride.

A 2011 retro-/ introspective

2011-12-30T18:30:00.001+01:00

2011 started with an injury and continued along the same lines until its conclusion. I've been injured the whole year: plantar fasciitis, a strained thigh muscle, and the mysterious pain in my foot that comes and goes, but never goes completely. One or all of them have accompanied me every single day of the past year.

It was the year where a black cloud came into my life and firmly established itself over my head. I've managed to ignore it for the best part of the year. I don't have to look up, after all. But it's there. Oh, it's there. It's casting a shadow and blocking out the sun. I wish I could say that it hadn't affected me, but it has, and it will continue to do so in the months to come. The work situation didn't help, either; stress has been a constant issue, especially last autumn.

But it was also the year where new milestones were reached. New personal records were set. New boundaries were crossed and new goals suddenly became realistic. I ran two half-marathons in the spring, on a still-injured foot, after having spent the entire winter with ”long runs” of 12-15 km. The first one was run on an empty stomach – now that was an experience I wouldn't recommend to anyone. In the summer, I had a taste of trail running in the mountains and fell head over heels in love with it. I built endurance and perseverance by running a few 30 km- runs solo. Last August, I covered a distance of over 60 km on foot, 51 while running. In the autumn, I ran my first marathon race. And, finally, last November I tested my limits and came out on the other side unscathed: the Ultra Intervals, 8x10km in one day, and one of the most bizarre and most wonderful experiences of my life.

Races, group runs, mud, mountains and many, many kilometres...this year had them all

It was the year I ran over 2200 km, which is 800 km more than last year and an average of approximately 185 km per month and 6 km per day. Despite all my injuries. Or maybe my injuries were a result of these 2200 km? Last New Year's Eve, as I was saying goodbye to my dream of running Stockholm marathon because of my raging plantar fasciitis, one of my resolutions was to listen to my body more. I think that I have done that, despite the obvious evidence to the contrary. I have gotten better at telling when that pain I'm feeling is just a passing one and I can keep running, and when it's the kind that can lead to injury. Better; not great. I'm still learning. I've also gotten better at prehab, building up strength in my body so that it can cope with what I put it through. Let's hope that it pays off in 2012 and that I can spend the year injury free.

Thanks for the memories, 2011. You've been a nasty piece of excrement at times. But I kind of loved you anyway.

Don't dream it, be it

2011-12-29T17:07:00.000+01:00

If I let a little tornado stop me from running, I'd never go running here in Gothenburg. So despite the fact that the Apocalypse seemed to be taking place outside our flat this morning, I still braved the elements and ran the 10 km to work. It wasn't as bad as it looked from the inside of the flat, and, for most of it, the sudden gusts of strong wind hit me on the back. It almost never is as bad as it looks. Except as I'm writing these lines. It is exactly as bad as it looks, and I think I saw a Russian submarine fly past our balcony just a minute ago.

While I ran in this morning's relatively tame hurricane (relatively by current standards), my thoughts drifted to more pleasant things. To different weather conditions and other geographical coordinates. I dreamt of mosquitoes, and moose, and wilderness, and running many, many kilometres under the warm light of the midnight sun. Was it just a dream, or will it become reality one day?

Running blind

2011-12-28T11:58:00.001+01:00

I made a compromise with myself this morning. I didn't feel like running the 20-odd kilometres that seemed so appealing last night. In fact, I didn't feel like doing anything. The prospect of sitting on my butt all day staring at the wall seemed like the best idea in the world.

I didn't even want to leave my bed. It was cold, I had a headache, and my mouth was so dry that I was certain I had caught a cold. I wasn't exactly in a great mood, either. A few weeks ago I applied for a very exciting distance course in Sports Psychology; yesterday I found out that I was on the waiting list. Number 30. What are the chances of 30 applicants dropping out? Not that great. I was really disappointed. But really, what did I expect, applying for a course almost two months after the deadline?

I know for a fact that sitting on my butt all day staring at the wall doesn't make me feel better. So the deal I made with myself was that I'd put on my running clothes and I'd head outside for a shorter run. The goal was 10 km. Once I set my mind on it, it wasn't difficult to leave the flat. The sun had hardly shed any light on this part of the world. It still hasn't. A light drizzle accompanied me all the way, irritatingly fogging up my glasses and distorting my view into a kaleidoscope of greys. I ran blind.

After the first couple of rounds, my previously inexplicably tired legs woke up and started doing their thing. You know, moving willingly and propelling me forward. I pushed myself to run a little more, a little further. And when I reached 10 km, I set a new goal. I'd run 15 km. So I did. It felt great, and it felt even better once I got out of the rain, into the flat and into some warm clothes. Now I kind of wish I'd gone for the 20-odd kilometres.

Priorities

2011-12-27T09:00:00.001+01:00

This ”work” concept is seriously flawed. I mean, what if you have better things to do? Like go for a run? Or finish your book? Or clean the toilet? Or emigrate to North Korea? What if aliens invade the earth but you miss it because you're at work? WHAT IF?!

Outside the streets are empty, everyone probably asleep, still trying to digest Saturday's meal. A long weekend is not enough for me to refill my drained batteries. When your mind is occupied by almost nothing but work-related thoughts for months, it's hard to empty it and reset it in just 3 days. Still, I have to work today. In a most likely misguided attempt to save my precious few leave days for later, I didn't take any time off. I wish I had; I'm dying to find out whodunit in Pratchett's book.

I am the walrus

2011-12-26T15:43:00.000+01:00

Letting my legs decide how far, how fast and in which direction I'd run this morning led me to my usual half marathon round, past horses and sheep and one very surprised pheasant standing in the middle of a field. I had promised J that we'd go climbing later, so I tried finding a balance between running fast enough to get home in time and running slow enough to preserve my energy for later. It was lovely; mild temperatures and a light breeze on my back, like a friendly hand helping me along.

My plan must have worked, because not only did I have time for a quick shower and lunch, I also had enough energy left later to climb that 6B+ that I'd had my eye on. A 6B+ is the hardest I've climbed, and I did it after running a half marathon. I guess it goes to show. But what it shows, I don't know. That sometimes you climb better when you're tired? That sometimes, if you climb fast enough, your puny little skeletal arms don't have to work so hard and you make it to the top despite your lack of technique and strength? I could of course brag about how I run half marathons as a warm up but these kind of bold claims have to be put to the test and I doubt I'd be able to repeat my performance.

That's not to say that it was pretty. I wrote yesterday that I spent the day on the sofa lying motionless like a walrus. Imagine a walrus climbing up a wall. It's loud. It's cringe worthy. Someone always ends up getting hurt and it's not always the walrus (make sure not to stand under a walrus while he/she's climbing). Thankfully the only injury I inflicted on anyone was on myself, and a light one at that: strained muscles and shaky hands. And a small swelling in the vicinity of the chest area, but that might be just pride.

Non, je ne regrette rien

2011-12-25T17:47:00.001+01:00

It wasn't without jealousy I read how friends and complete strangers bragged about their Christmas day runs on jogg.se. After imbibing one too many alcoholic beverages last night, I have spent the best part of my day on the sofa making like a walrus and lying there motionlessly, entombed in a thick layer of Christmas food induced fat. Finding myself, yet again – as is always the case on the rare occasion I find myself in this situation – wondering why I don't just give up pretending I like drinking and its side effects, and become a teetotaller. I'm practically one anyway. I mean, what a waste of a beautiful, sunny morning. I couldn't even be bothered to go for a walk.

Wine. That's why I'm not a teetotaller.

In case you hadn't already deduced it from the above, last night a great time was had by all. It was Christmas just the way I wanted it (although, like I said, in hindsight I should have stopped after the first bucket of wine and contended myself with the first 10 portions of food, if only to have been able to do something constructive with my day today - overindulgence does not agree with me). This day wasn't completely wasted, though, despite my reluctance towards doing anything more physically strenuous than using the keyboard on my computer. I had started on Terry Pratchett's “Snuff” a few days ago, and it wasn't until today I really got into it. The initial disappointment I'd felt after the first few pages turned into love. A good book should really be read in one sitting to be fully appreciated; reading a couple of pages every night before my eyelids get too heavy and the words stop making sense is not doing any books justice. A full review of the book will of course be coming early in 2012, as part of the Cannonball Read.

Tomorrow we resume our regularly scheduled programme. I'm only 45 or so kilometres away from reaching 2200 km this year and, as you know, I'm a complete geek for even numbers. With less than a week to go before this year's end, it's time to get cracking.

Happy Yuletide!

2011-12-24T14:19:00.001+01:00

Run on Christmas Eve?

2011-12-23T17:54:00.000+01:00

I see this question on running forums, and I wonder: why do they ask? Doesn't everyone run on Christmas Eve? What would they do otherwise that is more important?!

I love how silent it is in the woods on Christmas Eve. So, yes, just try and stop me from running tomorrow morning. And when all the running is done, the Christmas festivities can commence. Cooking food, drinking glögg, eating food, opening presents (that I got despite the fact that I had been dropping hints, or, rather, saying outright for weeks that I didn't want any) and finally relaxing with a glass of wine, in the best company a girl could ask for.

Now if only I could find my Santa hat...

A simple kind of life

2011-12-21T11:57:00.000+01:00

It didn't start very well. I suppose I should get used to it; if I want to go running on tarmac during rush hour then I should be prepared for the sound of traffic drowning out the music I'm trying to listen to. It really doesn't help chanting ”shut up, shut up, SHUT UP” under my breath, nor does it help flipping the bird at the idiotic drivers that don't stop at pedestrian crossings. But it does make me wonder sometimes. I cannot possibly be the only one in the world who thinks that this lifestyle, sitting in a car in an endless queue on the way to work, alone while buses drive back and forth empty, is making us sick as a society? This constant stress that takes over our lives to such a degree that we can't sacrifice two seconds of our precious time to let a pedestrian cross the road? It is the law, after all...

But as soon as I left the traffic and city behind, my mood improved. The slush turned to a thin layer of snow, birds perched on tree branches and I could listen to my music undisturbed. The sun was slowly climbing up in the sky, but it was nowhere to be seen. Everything was grey, but a colour that is so ugly in an urban environment is so beautiful in nature. In nature it's not just a boring, uniform grey; it's all shades between grey and blue.

Someone had been running where I now was, leaving their traces on the snow. That person wasn't the only living thing leaving traces. I saw hare tracks, dog tracks, and what I suspect was deer tracks. And a lot of horse dung. I was, of course, running near the stables. The horses were nowhere to be seen though.

I concluded my Wednesday long run with a visit to the bakery. On my way home I walked past a school. A little boy stood behind the building crying, all alone. The shouts of the other children in the school yard made it impossible for the teachers to hear this boy. I hurried over to him, as he cradled his right hand in his left and sobbed hysterically. He had slipped on a patch of ice and his hand was bleeding, but the cut didn't seem too deep. He was just scared. I tried to calm him down and walked with him to the front of the school to find a teacher.

The fact that I was there to help this little boy when no one else was around, along with two wonderful hours of easy, effortless running, completely turned my mood around. I almost regret my rude gesture towards the inconsiderate driver earlier. Almost.

I climb too. Kind of.

2011-12-18T18:48:00.000+01:00

Has anyone seen my climbing muscles? No? What do you mean, I never had any? Ok, maybe I never had any strong climbing muscles, but I had the potential for them. Now I don't even have that.

Whereas some months ago I was at 6B-level, boldly testing even some 6C and hanging from great heights without the slightest hint of fear of heights, I suddenly find myself confined to 5+. For those of you that have never climbed, a 5+ is for beginners. 6C is the boundary beyond which lies climbing greatness.

Not only do I find it really hard to climb anything more advanced than beginner stuff nowadays, I have also developed an unhealthy fear that I might fall. I'm not worried that I'll fall to the ground. Safety gear is as good as fail proof. No. My fear is that I'll swing horizontally and collide with the wall. This fear and lack of confidence is particularly strong when I'm climbing an overhang or a difficult route. Anything harder than a 5+ in other words. Where, if I pause my ascend for even a second, doubt and tiredness creep into my brain.

The wall has beaten me, thanks to way too many missed climbing sessions. I haven't been so motivated to climb the last few months, J has been injured, pick your excuse. But today I saw this marvellous, beautiful, strong girl climb up that 6B so easily that she might as well have been climbing a ladder. I wanted to be that confident little spider at that moment; to have strong arm muscles and a lean figure that doesn't waste too much energy. I've been feeling heavy, like I've been carrying an extra 100 kg up the wall. No elegance, no style. She, she could have been stuffed with feathers and helium.

So after the Christmas gluttony is over, I'm starting over. Running is great, but the well-shaped shoulders and "pincers" that can grab onto a tiny grip and not start shaking after one second can only be formed by climbing. No more excuses. I'll get back to 6B. Soon.

30 km solo

2011-12-17T14:17:00.001+01:00

The trail – among other things- seduced some of my running buddies to cover 38 probably very muddy kilometres. I felt too weak for such a challenge, and worried that my foot would get worse.

So I jumped on the commute train to Kungsbacka for a solo run on asphalt instead. It was eerie at the Liseberg train station this morning. I was almost alone. I had never been there before. It looked like an Underground station.

What followed once I got to Kungsbacka and started running surprised me. I held a steady, easy pace, listening to music, lost in my own thoughts and enjoying the wintry scenery – especially the grey sea. Winter is such a bittersweet time of the year. The bare limbs of the trees swayed gently in the wind. Yeah, it was a bit windy (it's Gothenburg after all) and, of course, it was headwind. Luckily it wasn't that strong.

Sorry about the bad quality. Not easy to run and take a picture with your mobile phone at the same time

I arrived at Nordgården, a bakery that is so cosy that you just can't resist buying something that will make your teeth rot and fall out. I loaded my already stuffed rugsack with a loaf of walnut bread, a muffin and a brownie, and started running again.

It was so easy. Except for the ache in my foot and the chronic, whiplash-induced pain in my left shoulder, I felt great, both physically and psychologically. When I was one kilometre from home, having run 29 already, I toyed with the idea of taking a detour and pushing for 35, but I decided to be smart. No need to push my foot to its limits.

A bit stiff, with my breath turning into small clouds as soon as it left my mouth, I got home. Where I shall now celebrate an easy 30 km with a brownie.

My babies are here

2011-12-15T18:24:00.001+01:00

Every time I receive a package from the online bookstore, it's like Christmas morning. I open the package carefully, full of anticipation. Although I know exactly what it contains, it always makes me smile to see the actual books there in front of me. The way they smell. Leafing through them. Deciding which one I'll read first.

This particular package contained 8 books. Different genres. All of which I chose carefully for the upcoming Cannonball Read. Some of them were obvious, because I've been reading the author's work for years, others were an effort to try something different:

1. Terry Pratchett, Snuff. I love Pratchett and his sense of humour. He's a prolific writer, but how many books will he have time to write before Alzheimer's disease claims his brain?
2. Stephen King, 11.22.63. I like the way he writes, but his stories can go either way. I've loved some and hated some.
3. Suzanne Collins, Catching Fire. This is the second book in a trilogy (?). It's youth literature, but I found the first book well written.
4. Jeffrey Eugenides, The Marriage Plot. His ”Middlesex” novel is one of my favourites. A great mixture of comedy and drama.
5. Tim Jackson, Prosperity without Growth. This was a bold choice on my part. I prefer my politics and economics in documentary form, because fact books are often very dry. Ok, they're often plain boring. But the subject he writes about is very interesting and I hope that alone will keep me awake.
6. Robert Kirkman, The Walking Dead. Probably my favourite TV-show right now. I had to pick up the graphic novel.
7. Stephen Hawking, Grand Design. As with economics, I prefer my science in documentary form, but I find science a lot more fascinating to read about.
8. Jonathan Franzen, The Corrections. A book a lot of people were talking about a year or so ago.

So there they are. The newest members in the growing pile of books I'll be reading for Cannonball Read. I've already started on the first one I'll be reviewing: ”In defence of food” by Michael Pollan.

In training related news, another round of Ultra Intervals will be taking place on the 11th of February. Should I or shouldn't I? The jury is still out on that one.

Windy morning

2011-12-14T09:34:00.001+01:00

You know how they say that Eskimos have 50 different words for snow? People in Gothenburg have 50 different words for wind. It's been windy since September.

I sought the stillness of the forest. My headlamp cast a weak light in the darkness, catching what looked like tiny whirling snowflakes in its beam. The ground was saturated by water, even at places where it's usually dry, protected by the tree canopy above. I was completely alone.

My foot did not disturb me at all. My thigh muscle, that I had forgotten about when my foot started complaining, apparently felt neglected and started aching again. I have been abusing it a bit; I have been doing some demanding thigh exercises that it didn't like. I ignored it and got home after 10 km. The sun was just starting to rise over the horizon. But of course you wouldn't know it, because it hasn't just been windy. It's been cloudy as well. I just love Gothenburg in the winter.

Heavy legs and good news

2011-12-12T18:21:00.000+01:00

December darkness makes me want to sleep much longer than my customary 7 hours. After having slept for more than 8 hours this morning, I grudgingly got up, still tired, just after 5 o'clock. I ate my breakfast in the early-hours silence, then got ready to run to work.

My legs were heavy and every step was a struggle. Still, I somehow managed to cover the 10 km to work and at a decent pace at that. They say that you never regret going out for a run, but you do regret not doing it. I was pretty close to disproving that saying, because it wasn't a fun run. I had to fight for every single metre and I arrived at work exhausted instead of energised. Yet 10 km is a respectable distance to run and I'm glad I did it.

When I got home in the afternoon, I received some good news. I've been wanting to study a sports-related course in the spring and I found one that was really, really interesting. Because of work I can only study distance learning courses. Unfortunately this one was in Malmö and had a few obligatory attendances, which would make it almost impossible for me to take this course. I thought I'd send an email anyway, and ask on which dates these attendances were. Just in case the cosmic deities threw me a bone and they were all on a Wednesday.

As it turns out, the cosmic deities did throw me a bone, although it was a different one than the one I expected. These obligatory attendances are no longer obligatory. So I applied for the course and I'm crossing all fingers and toes that I get accepted. It was a late application, and my only chance to get in is either if the course isn't full, or if an applicant drops out. Wish me luck!

He's brought down the rain and the indian summer is through

2011-12-10T12:09:00.001+01:00

A new personal best on the half marathon distance was the result of my efforts this morning. I started off at what I thought was a comfortable pace, increased about midway when I felt that I had strength left, and then finished strong.

That's sea water among the trees

The storm that hit Gothenburg yesterday let up a little this morning, long enough for me to get in these fast 21 km, and before the heavy rain returns this afternoon. The aftermath was evident everywhere: fallen branches, garbage that the sea water had carried to shore, flooded ditches. The wind still came at me from the sea, very strong from time to time, causing me to run leaning to the left to counteract its force. I was almost thrown off the path a couple of times, but thankfully these were just gusts of wind and not the persistent headwind that I've faced before and which wears you out very quickly.

The sea had completely covered some of the walkways

I liked this weather, despite the frustration I felt when I couldn't seem to move forward. A lot of the songs that accompanied me on this run were about summer, and I dreamed of running on dry, sun scorched earth, among hay fields, enveloped by warmth and the scent of pine trees. But it didn't last long. Despite the fact that summer is my favourite season, I'm not sick of this winter yet, although it has done its best to piss me off, what with the constant winds and rain.

Wild beauty

I was surprised that I got such a good time, as I wasn't really trying to run fast, but rather let my body find its own right speed. Maybe this old body has more strength in it than I think. Or maybe I just had a really good day.

Cannonball read

2011-12-09T08:16:00.001+01:00

I don't just run in my free time. I've been known to read books from time to time. Curling up on the sofa with a good book and a cup of tea goes against the essence of an active lifestyle that running provides. But running activates your body; reading activates your mind.

I've been neglecting this pastime for various reasons, none of which are good. They are more like excuses, really. Something needed to be done about that. So I signed up for Cannonball read, a race of sorts, to read and review 52 books within a year. It is organised by Pajiba, film review site extraordinaire, and it starts in January. You can read more about it here.

There is no conceivable way for me to read and review so many books within a year, hold a job and train as much as I do at the same time, so I signed up for the half version. 26 books in a year mean an average of two books per month. That I can handle. I'm looking forward to expanding my literary horizons and picking up some books that I otherwise might not even have glanced at. I've already placed an order for some books that I've been wanting to read for a while.

This is still a running website. Just don't be surprised if a book review pops up from time to time. I might even go completely nuts and review a running related book! Watch this space...

Making do with what I have

2011-12-08T17:55:00.001+01:00

I left my brain at home this morning. I woke up at 4.30, packed all my running gear in my backpack, planning on running home in the afternoon, and then put my old, worn-out Saucony on instead of my Dorothies. Why? You ask, perhaps incredulously. Because they were the ones lying in front of me? Because I was only half awake? Is that an acceptable answer or are you already dialling the men in the white coats to come and give me my medication?

I only noticed this as I was stepping on the bus. Cancelling the run was not an option. I mean, I had to get home somehow. I left work wearing the Saucony a few hours later. Was this safe? These shoes were, like, 3 years old! The cushioning is gone! My knees might break! And I'm so terribly out of fashion! My first tentative steps were light and I was so happy to be outside, breathing the cold air. The weather was decent enough (except for the wind. How is it possible that I always have headwind?) I felt the pebbles under my feet. I wouldn't be exaggerating (much) if I said that my shoes almost felt minimalistic. But they worked. They worked for 10 km and took me past cow pastures, sleepy summer cabins and beaches covered in whatever the sea had spat out the night before.

I would be lying if I said that it was a trouble-free run. Just how worn out the shoes were became more and more evident with every shock-induced ache I got in my legs. I don't run like that in my VFF, and I don't get such aches in them. I land a lot more lightly in them. More correctly, even.

I didn't exactly keep to the plan, did I? Last week I wrote that I'd take an easy month, with shorter and less frequent runs. The runs did get less frequent, but instead of getting shorter, they got longer. My last three sessions were at 10 km each and my foot feels fine. That's also a plan! Don't judge me! At least I get a proper day's rest in between runs!

Triumph in the face of adversity

2011-12-06T19:20:00.001+01:00

I said snow. I'd like some SNOW. Not ice. Not hail. Snow.

I looked out the window this morning at what I thought were isolated patches of snow, tied my running shoe laces and headed out into the darkness for an extended 10 km run to work. As soon as I stepped out, I saw that it wasn't going to be easy. The ground had turned into an ice rink and what I thought was snow was crystallised ice. I started running carefully but the crystallised ice was easy to run on, because they provided enough friction for my shoes.

But it wasn't like that everywhere. Large areas of the pavement were covered in mirror like, polished ice, and my poor Dorothies found no purchase. Still, I kept my balance, even if my speed was not that great. A teenage girl trying to cross the road on her bicycle wasn't as lucky; the bike skidded across the ice and she fell on her face, and lay there motionless. I ran to her and asked her how she was, hoping that my reflective vest was visible enough for any oncoming cars to see us there in the middle of the road. She slowly got up, obviously shocked but with no signs of injury. She said her leg hurt, but otherwise she was ok. I asked her if she could walk, and she said yes. She thanked me and was on her way. It could have been much, much worse. I ran a little more carefully after that.

I was worried that my speed was so low that I wouldn't make it to work on time. I shouldn't have worried about that, because soon enough I'd have bigger fish to fry. The second half of my run was accompanied by headwind and hailstones pouring down from the sky, whipping my cheeks and fogging up my glasses. At the same time, the street lights went out, although it was still dark. I couldn't see a thing. But strangest thing: I enjoyed every second of it. No, strike that. I loved it.

What's even stranger, but oh so wonderful, was that my foot did not bother me. Not even once.

No more lazy days

2011-12-04T17:08:00.001+01:00

Four days of resting and being lazy had exactly zero positive effect on my strained foot. After an 11 km run this morning, my foot was back to where it was the last time I ran, last Tuesday. So what's the point of resting? I might as well keep running as usual.

It didn't build up to it either. It felt strained as soon as I started running, and no matter how relaxed I tried to run, it didn't seem to make much of a difference. At least the rest of my body got up to the task immediately. It was obvious that it had missed running. I'm telling you, so much rest is bad for you! Before I went running, my legs were stiff, my back was aching and I was getting cabin fever. After the run, I was like a new person, full of energy and with all the complaints in my body gone. Well, except for the complaints in my foot.

Strangely enough, I loved the weird weather today. I had strong headwind for the first half of my round, then as soon as I reached the sea and turned towards home I had it on my back. The sea was grey and angry, frothing at the shores. Some lonely rain drops fell from the sky. I thought about the group's ultra session a year ago - Alingsås to Gothenburg. We had snow under our feet then, and -15 degrees on our bare faces.What a difference to today's weather.

A great day, a year ago

I also managed to fit in some vacuum cleaning, washing, shopping and muffin baking in my Sunday. My lazy days are over. Good riddance!

The planets aligned

2011-12-03T14:50:00.001+01:00

Sometimes the planets align to create the perfect conditions for running. One day, for example, when you're well-rested, injure-free and full of energy, the sun also happens to be shining. Today was such an occasion. Only the opposite of what I just described. The planets aligned to create the perfect stay-at-home conditions.

I took several days' rest to let my strained foot tendon heal properly. I didn't know how it would feel this morning and if I would go for a run, but just looking out my window when I woke up and at the truly horrible weather outside quickly dissolved any thoughts of leaving the flat. My foot needed the rest and the weather provided an extra reason to resist temptation. And the truth is, I'm completely ok with my decision to have a few lazy days. See how well I deal with restlessness when I don't have a choice?

Disaffection blues

2011-11-30T07:55:00.001+01:00

What a week it's been so far. Work has been crazy, with long days and not even having time to go to the loo. And then, just as I was busy pulling my hair out because there is NO WAY I can effectively do all the things I have to do within the workday, a lorry pulled outside our building and dumped a ton of new responsibilities on my lap along with a fancy new title to go under my job description. Will I get extra money for it? You're kidding, right? I will be paid in headaches and sleepless nights instead.

I was this close to bursting into tears of frustration. Then I got angry instead, for all the good that it did me. In this line of work, if a tree falls in the forest and everyone's around to hear it, no one gives a damn anyway. The whole forest could be mowed down by a multinational cooperation to make way for cow pastures and it still wouldn't make a sound.

When the amount of responsibilities in a job surpasses the monetary benefits derived from it, there'd better be some other satisfaction you get from it to make up for it. If there isn't, well, that particular job sucks. Frankly, I'd rather make less money and be happy with what I do, than get lots of money and dread going to work every day.

Running to and from work did not work its therapeutic magic, either. My foot doesn't hurt, but it's not ok. My legs felt heavy, even though I'd had a day's rest. Something was wrong. I felt that it was too warm, my pulse was too high and I couldn't get into a flow. I felt like I was getting ill. At some point during my morning run I passed 2000 km for this year, which had been my goal, and I didn't even notice. What did go through my head was that I maybe needed a longer period of rest. Maybe an easier month, with shorter and less frequent runs, and more alternative training. I still have my swimming card. But I'm worried that I would lose too much strength and stamina. Yet my body needs to heal, so that I can find the energy to set new goals for next year. Like maybe get a new job.

Berit, eat my shorts

2011-11-27T14:53:00.001+01:00

Pandemonium. News headlines about how the end of the world is nigh. The rain whipping our windows mercilessly. A cow flying past outside. A two-glasses-of-wine hangover (yes, I'm lightweight). None of that was enough to stop J and me from going for a run. Berit, as this particular storm is called, lovingly yet inexplicably sporting a female name, was not enough to stop us.

The fact that I had just hung both my jackets AND both my winter tights to dry after washing them almost was enough. Almost. I put on some warm training trousers, a long sleeved functional top and a vest. I looked like my picture should be in the dictionary, under the definition for ”jogger”.

True to my appearance, I started off easy, while J was warming up. In the woods, the wind didn't seem so dangerous; in fact, we could hardly feel it. Except by the lake, where the sparsity of trees meant I was suddenly hit by such a gale force wind, I was almost thrown into the bushes.

I took a detour on the way home to make my round a bit longer, and let my feet pick up speed. I ran at a controlled, yet fast pace. So, what if it was downhill? It still counts. But then I was met with a wall. With no trees around to protect me, I was struck by a headwind so strong that my eyes watered. My leg muscles were working hard to move me forward, but I wasn't getting anywhere. Luckily those sudden bursts of wind usually stop seconds after they hit you, and I was able to run the last few hundred metres without incident, bringing the week total to a nice, even 60 km. Satisfied.

Grinch

2011-11-27T08:11:00.001+01:00

4 weeks left to Christmas, and any efforts to repress that fact have been futile. Everywhere you look, a thousand little lights warming up the cold Swedish night. Shop windows dressed in gold, red and green. People walking around wrapped in their winter coats, smiling lovingly at each other and taking in the wonderful atmosphere. And Christmas songs accompany them on their walk through the city.

Lovely picture. Shame it's not exactly true. Yes, people have already decorated their balconies with Christmas lights, that are going to stay on – in some cases – until March (it's true. I have that kind of neighbours). Shop windows are indeed dressed in glorious colours, to lure you in to buy junk. People aren't smiling, however. They're stressed because they have so many presents to buy. And those Christmas songs? The 1238924th time I hear ”Let it Snow” I'm going to murder someone with some gift wrapping ribbon and the CD player's electrical cord.

I'm going to get less training oriented and more political here for a second. Unless you're a child, you can most likely afford the things you need (and what do we really need, if we have a roof over our heads and food in our bellies?). Unless you're a child, this whole present exchange tradition has you driving around like an agitated maniac, running over pedestrians and trying to find a gift for your great aunt Esmeralda. Who, by the way, doesn't even know it's Christmas. She thinks the Germans are about to invade.

It's stressful. Most importantly, it's meaningless. In most cases, we buy presents because we feel we have to, otherwise people are going to think we don't care about them. Because nothing says ”I love you” like plastic crap that's made in China or cheap clothes that are made by child labourers in Taiwan. We rush into shops to buy yet another pair of socks for Grampa and all this time, fat cats around the world are sitting in their mansions rubbing their hands together and laughing diabolically, because the greatest trick they ever pulled was to convince people that Christmas is about consuming. Consuming worthless, needless stuff. Consuming enormous amounts of mass-produced chocolate and alcohol. Consuming greedily with our wallets and with our bellies, while our misguided hearts go hungry. They created a picture of how the perfect Christmas should be, only they left out the most important ingredients: warmth and meaning. Without them, Christmas is an empty shell. Beautiful on the surface, but empty. While landfill sites are getting filled to the brim with our waste.

http://www.adbusters.org/

I tried to remember what presents I got for Christmas as a child and I can't remember a single one. Well, except for that rad electric guitar I got when I was 16. It's not because I didn't get any presents, it's because I appreciated other things more (yes, even as a child. Especially as a child). I remember the big family gatherings and breaking bread together. Sitting by our fireplace. The cold outside and building a snowman with my brother, on a good year when we got white Christmas. The house slowly getting filled with the scent of baked goods that my dad had prepared. The taste of my mom's special mayo salad. That's what the essence of Christmas is for me. Being with my family. I can't remember a single present but I remember this.

So buy less this Christmas. There's nothing wrong with giving; on the contrary, it's a wonderful gesture. But make your own gifts. Bake cookies, make a scarf, give a special photo you've taken, write a poem if you're so inclined, or help to paint someone's house if you're not. Give away something that you have lying around, that someone else might need. Promise that person that you'll do them a favour, should they need one. Spend time with your kids, because that's what they need the most, not video games – play a board game, listen to them, go for a walk with them. And if you absolutely MUST buy something, consider buying second-hand, a book (feeds your mind, at least) or lottery tickets from charity. Here in Sweden there's, for example, Cancerfonden, that has such winnings in the pot as vacations, food for a year and more – and if that lottery ticket you bought isn't the winning one, your money has gone to a very good cause: fighting cancer.

The grand tour of central Gothenburg

2011-11-26T13:48:00.001+01:00

So, you know that little problem with my foot? It seems to have disappeared, or else it's lying dormant under the surface. Because this morning I was able to join the group (well, all two of them that braved the stormy weather) for a long run.

We ran over the two main bridges in Gothenburg. The first one almost killed me, and it wasn't just because it's several hundred kilometres long. Like M said, apparently having witnessed how the wind almost threw me over the edge of the bridge, ”Good thing there is a fence there”. And good thing I ate that extra sandwich before I left this morning. Because my own body weight was obviously not enough to keep me from flying. But then we were on the Hisingen side of the city, and we had the wind on our backs, and everything was right with the world.

After the grand tour of the city centre we were back where we started, but no run can be called long unless it's at least 20 kilometres. Not in our group anyway. So off we ran through the Botanical Gardens, up an evil hill through Rhododendrons and other unpronounceable flora, and towards Änggårdsbergen. In a surreal, serendipitous moment, we ran past some runners with bibs on, heading in the opposite direction. I still don't know who those people were, despite having spent hours googling races.

Änggårdsbergen was muddy but beautiful in its late autumn colours, because, although the wind was howling, the sun was shining. The guys and I headed off in different directions at a crossroads, me towards home, happy that my foot had made it unscathed so far but having no strength to speak of left in my legs. There were one hill too many on this round.

Leaving Änggårdsbergen behind, I was struck immediately by the contrast between the serenity of the woods and the hectic, stressful Christmas shopping that seems to have started in earnest today. Unfortunately, running back to the woods and hiding was no option. I arrived home after 23 km, carefully planning my route to avoid the worst of traffic. Not bad for my little ”injured” troll foot, that nevertheless punished me for it anyway. I got a blister.

Lovely single track

Growing pains

2011-11-25T06:06:00.001+01:00

Those tired feet from last weekend? They're not just tired anymore.

The destructive downward spiral started by my plantar fasciitis a year ago (almost to the day!) has claimed its latest victim. I can remind you of my theory, that the PF in my left foot led to stiffness in the back right thigh muscle by way of overcompensation, which in turn led to a strained front left thigh muscle. The injury that is only starting to fade away now, almost three months after I got it.

Which brings us to today. The aforementioned left thigh injury caused me to overcompensate by landing on my right foot too heavily. Which is now aching whenever I put any weight on it. I am a human see-saw.

Left-right-left-right. Photo by birdman dave

I have been treating my foot with Diclofenac since yesterday and already it's getting better. But the worst thing is that I knew, I've felt for days that the stiffness in the foot was on the verge of becoming something more serious. But sometimes you can run through aches and pains, and then they mysteriously disappear (case in point: my knees). Truth be told, my guess was that my foot was just tense and needed to loosen up. I thought my shoes were too tight. Put on a thicker pair of socks and they were a bit too snug. Yet, they're the same size and model as my old ones.

My feet are a constant source of amusement. I've had the infamous blue nails. Fun things like blood blisters. Hilariously excruciating pain whenever I tried to squeeze them into my climbing shoes. Strange sores on my toes of unknown origin. And, of course, the barrel of laughs PF and now this ache on the top of the foot.

I'm starting to suspect that my feet are growing, at the ripe old age of 30-something. Using VFF and doing foot-strengthening exercises must have contributed to my feet getting bigger. They certainly don't like getting constricted in tight shoes.

Flow

2011-11-23T11:45:00.001+01:00

Wednesdays are a big improvement on the whole weekday concept, compared to Mondays. They're closer to Friday, for one thing. And I have the day off. As some of you might remember, I have been trying to get another long run in on Wednesdays, not quite as long a run as Saturdays', but enough to get in some more kilometres during the week and to get my legs to be comfortable with the distance. To move my safe point a little further, so to speak.

I've had doubts whether my body would like the thought or not, but it keeps surprising me. As it turned out, not only do I survive two long runs per week, I also seem to thrive on them. Because I run relatively slowly, my body recovers quite quickly from them. And my Saturday long runs don't leave me incapacitated any more.

Did I say I run slowly? Today's run wasn't exactly slow. Even though it was slow by other people's standards, it was fast by mine. Faster than I run some tempo runs. But I couldn't help myself. The flow was there, my legs were eager and the weather conditions were just right. I didn't even look at my Garmin. Instead, I let my body fall into a natural rhythm and run at what felt like a very comfortable, easy pace. I was surprised to find out later that I had covered 18 km in under 1:40.

The highlight of my run was definitely the swarm of 30-40 blackbirds (or was it crows?) flying low over my head against a grey sky, just as I was leaving the suburbs and seeing the sea stretching out in front of me. And not getting pooped on.

In search of a world where Mondays don't exist

2011-11-22T06:21:00.001+01:00

Mondays should be banned and replaced with Fridays. Who's with me?

The week started with a really long, stressful day. Lots to do and lots of negativity among my colleagues. What didn't make things easier was that I already felt completely psychologically drained. Despite our cancelled plans on Saturday, I had a great weekend. I just wanted more weekend and less weekdays. Less work and more play. I feel so alone with these twisted feelings. I bet everyone else in the world looks forward to going to work on Monday.

Or at least those who have job descriptions like ”chocolate taster”.

I ran both to and from work, in an attempt to find some much needed energy, on a pair of legs that hadn't completely recovered from Torrekulla. As I'd suspected, my legs got better afterwards, but it wasn't particularly enjoyable having to struggle to move them up a hill. The energy I got from my morning run unfortunately only lasted about 30 seconds after I walked through the door.

Some days not even a run will help. And today I get to do it all over again. Tuesdays are not much better than Mondays, it seems, not in my line of work anyway. Anyone looking for a chocolate taster?

The glamorous life of a long distance runner

2011-11-20T11:26:00.001+01:00

Our plans last night got cancelled, because one of our friends got sick, and because J has been knocked out by lumbago since yesterday. Sore muscles and tired feet made me take an extra rest day today. Nothing wrong with my energy levels, however. It's a beautiful day outside. What better way to spend it than by cleaning the flat?

I've changed the sand in the litter box. I've vacuum cleaned, mopped the floor and scrubbed the tub. I've cleaned the counter and tidied up the living room. I've recycled the enormous amounts of junk that has been piling up on our balcony (yep, today I'm ashamed to be a human. Just look at how much resources two people can waste). It's taken me 3 hours. But I'm far from done. Oh no; I have the Closet to take care of.

My running related clothes and gear are scattered in the hallway, in the bathroom and in the aforementioned Closet. There is no order to this chaos, no system that has been carefully devised to keep track of everything. My hats are in a box in the hallway. My Camelbak is hanging upside down in the bathroom. My rucksack is in the Closet. And the crap in the Closet is taking up so much space that I don't dare go in any more. I'm afraid I might get swallowed up and not be found until future archaeologists excavate this site and see my skeleton curled up in a ball, sucking its thumb. I bet they're going to scratch their heads at all the strange running paraphernalia.

Muddy, to say the least

2011-11-19T14:21:00.001+01:00

7 runners met up to run the Torrekulla trail this morning. No one seemed to be deterred by my threats that it would be hilly, muddy and slippery. It was fun to show others my local trail and to see them wade through mud. Misery loves company.

Everyone wanted to buy this house by the trail and become a farmer

I lost count of how many times we slipped and almost fell on those wet planks and stones. I might even have let out a terrifying scream that scared away any wildlife that, until now, called this nature reserve home. Still, we managed to run the whole trail unscathed, except H that unfortunately sprained a muscle and had to let us go. An extra lap around the parking lot at the end brought the total to just over 21 km for me. A demanding, yet really enjoyable session.

I don't know what colour the others' shoes were originally, but after Torrekulla they were all a uniform brown.

Not to mention a learning experience. The dangers encountered on the trail are many: wet leaves. Stones. Roots. Bears. Jaguars. Sharks. But did you know that death by pine needles is one of them? I almost bled to death when one of the sneaky little buggers found its way into my mouth and pierced my tongue while I tried to drink some water out of my bottle.

Exaggerate? Me? Never.

Onwards to new adventures tonight. Dinner with friends at a fancy restaurant. Well, maybe not so adventurous, but definitely fun.

I can't be good at everything!

2011-11-18T06:14:00.001+01:00

Climbing has been a bit of a hit and miss lately. We haven't been going regularly, like we used to, and as a result our arms and fingers have become as strong as overcooked spaghetti.

On the plus side, our hands have been as soft as a baby's bottom. I had to do something about that yesterday. I got to the wall early and spent an hour bouldering, while waiting for J to get off from work. The skin on my hands quickly turned an angry red and a blister established itself on my middle finger (coincidence? I think not. The boulders were definitely telling me to go and engage in an intimate activity with myself).

Swapping running shoes for climbing shoes: a bad idea?

By the time J arrived, I had no skin left. The futile attempts at climbing anything harder than a 5 only resulted in me smearing the wall with blood and bits of my skin. Well, at least that's how it felt. Or like my hands were on fire. Washing them with cold water later was as pure a joy as the one felt by children at the first snowflakes of winter.

Tomorrow: Torrekullaleden with the gang. The muddy pits of despair! The shoe swallower! The slippery stones of doom! Can't wait.

Hallelujah

2011-11-16T10:16:00.001+01:00

I couldn't find my Lungplus this morning. I had put it in that big backpack that I took with me to Skatås last weekend, then unpacked it and proceeded to completely forget where I put it.

Of course, now that I'm writing these lines, hours after my morning run, I know exactly where it is.

But there was a little moment of irritation right then, because there are so many things I want and have to do on my ”free” day, and wasting time looking for missing things is not one of them. My throat doesn't like the wintry conditions that have befallen Gothenburg the last few days and I wanted to spare it the minus degrees Celsius this morning.

Predictably, I didn't let the absence of breathing aids stop me from heading out in the cold. I took my mp3 player with me. As my legs slowly warmed up, the sun was slowly climbing the horizon and painting it in pastel colours. Jeff Buckley came on with Hallelujah. And I was out running, the cold's sting turning my cheeks red, and I was happy and thankful that I could, so soon after the intervals. My eyes might even have welled up. But don't tell anyone.

It is amazing, really, this almost religious experience that is the runner's high. You know the feeling? When spring is in the air, all the beautiful people shed their winter clothes and walk around in summer dresses and t-shirts and you just fall in love, even if it's not a specific person you're in love with but life itself?

The brain is a funny thing.

Surprise, surprise

2011-11-14T17:26:00.001+01:00

I expected not to be able to walk for a week. Instead, I had to run to catch the bus, and not only did I make it, but it didn't even hurt! Ok, maybe it hurt a bit. On my left hip. But otherwise it didn't hurt. At all!

Seriously, I am surprised at how little Saturday's adventure has affected my body. I am tired, as in I haven't made up for the hours of sleep I've lost, but there is no stiffness or strained muscles to speak of. My injured thigh muscle stopped complaining after the fourth interval and I haven't heard from it since.

Oh. And running for the bus gave me a thrill. At that moment, I wanted to go for a run so badly.

Ultra Intervals - the story

2011-11-13T11:45:00.001+01:00

Let's have a look at some numbers:

People in Sweden that have completedall 8 intervals: 38 (and another 7 in the open class)

People from the Skatås Seven thatcompleted all 8: 5. The winner of the intervals was one of us.

Injuries: none (just some scares)

Calories burned: 5084

Calories consumed: A gazillion. Inchocolate, peanuts, pasta, cola, raisins etc.

Weight lost: 1 kg.

Hours of sleep from 4.30 Friday morningto midnight Saturday night: 1

And...

8 of 8 ultra intervals. 80 kilometres.22 hours.

80 kilometres. It's a number that'shard to wrap your head around. You might think that dividing it in 8intervals would make it easier, but no. Now, I haven't done a50-miles ultra so that I can compare it to this, but I can comparehow I felt after just 4 of the intervals to a marathon. Marathon ismuch easier. What is supposed to be time to rest between intervals isjust an opportunity for your legs to lock up and for your mood todrop.

I would never have managed to do all 8if I hadn't shared a cabin in Skatås with my running buddies.Without the cheerful banter and the laughs in between intervals.Without the whole adventure of renting a cosy cabin and embarking onsomething crazy together. There is no chance the 3 o'clock intervalwould be reason enough for me to leave my bed. Luckily, even thoughI'm sure none of us really wanted to leave their warm sleeping bagsand head out in the darkness and freezing cold (despite D's absurdly enthusiastic claims that "this is fun!"), together we somehowmanaged to scrape together the courage and head out to what was, forme, the most difficult interval of all. The second one. The one that really made me question my sanity.

Dark, dark, dark. And cold.

But then the sun was up for the fourthone, and the fifth one, and the sixth one. And each one of them feltjust like any training session, like I hadn't already collected tensof kilometres in my legs. Especially the fifth one – I was flying.Or at least trying to, zigzagging among the pensioners, joggers, pramsthat were outside on this beautiful, sunny yet crispy late autumnday.

Sun. A mood enhancer.

The sixth interval was run in moderatepace. We were all getting tired, knees and feet and hips were aching.And then it was time for 2 team mates to throw in the towel. One ofthem had made other plans for the evening, and one was experiencingsome knee trouble. Both of them had crushed their previous distancerecords, running 60 km. Amazing.

But it felt a bit empty in the cabinafterwards. Knowing that the intervals were over for some made itless motivating to continue. Maybe they were the smart ones? It wasdark outside again, and all the sunshine revellers had gone home. Theonly people around in the forest was us. No one was talking. Everyonewas concentrating on their private struggle. I played some music, butI was too tired to even listen to it.

I was more horizontally inclined between intervals.

Resting between intervals 7 and 8 waseasy. I slept for maybe 40 minutes, the most sleep I had gotten sinceFriday morning. Before I knew it, it was time to go again. I ranalone, wanting to choose my own route, tired of running the exactsame path in the exact same order, mentally exhausted of seeing thesame rock, the same tree, the same parking lot. Not a very goodstrategy in the end. Trying to find enough kilometres to run on at 9o'clock in the evening, while having run 70 already on a brain fullof mush was taxing enough. I could have skipped that challenge.

Throughout the last interval, there wasnever a doubt that I would manage it, despite the psychological andphysical strain. I was running on determination. And then it wasover. 80 kilometres. Too tired to celebrate. Too tired to manageanything but a smile. Too late in the night to care.

But today, having achieved something somarvellous, there will be time for reflection. And to make a solemnpromise to myself to never, NEVER do anything like this again.

Eighth interval - the last one

2011-11-12T22:05:00.001+01:00

I did it. I DID IT. 80 km run in 22 hours. The last interval was dull, but I knew I could do it.

I'm going to write a more detailed report about the whole day tomorrow, when I've had a chance to recover and can form coherent sentences again. For now, goodnight. I'm soon off to get some well deserved sleep.

Seventh interval - the challenging one

2011-11-12T19:03:00.001+01:00

Darkness has fallen once again, and the last two intervals are run by the light of the street lamps. It's taxing. The body starts thinking again that it's time to go to bed. We have also "lost" two of the Skatås Seven who had to bow out because of various reasons. It's also challenging to see two friends leave. It feels empty in here somehow, although we're still 5 crazy runners left that are going strong. Still, a favourite song on my mp-3 player made me run the seventh interval in under one hour. I have now completed 70 km and it's 19 hours since we started. Only one interval left.

Sixth interval

2011-11-12T16:07:00.001+01:00

I managed to get 15-20 minutes of sleep and I woke up a different, probably better person. When it was time for the sixth interval, we settled for an easy 6 min/km pace and got in with strength left. Only two intervals to go and the mood is great.

Fifth interval - the "fast" one

2011-11-12T13:01:00.001+01:00

I was determined to run more slowly on the fifth interval, as the last one felt tough. Instead, I put on my earphones and suddenly my feet were flying. The fifth interval was over before I knew it. Where that energy came from, I don't know. Maybe the pasta I ate a couple of hours ago. Maybe the music.

The sun is shining over Skatås, warming up the seemingly millions of people exercising here.

Fourth interval - halfway there

2011-11-12T10:32:00.001+01:00

40 kilometres over and done with. 40 kilometres left. It's tough, and it's slow. But mood is great. It's time to start counting down.

Second and third interval

2011-11-12T07:14:00.001+01:00

A couple of questions that popped into my mind at 3 in the morning when I crawled out of my sleeping bag and into my running clothes were "Why?" and "Where is my mommy?". I hadn't gotten any sleep, and, given that I had woken up at 4.30 the previous morning, it meant that almost 24 hours had passed without sleeping. I drifted in and out of a strange trance, the kind that can only be caused by sleep deprivation.

But I had my mind set on doing this. It wasn't easy. I hadn't stretched and it was a struggle to move my legs forward. I started worrying if I'd even get through 4 of the intervals, which I had kind of decided would be the minimum acceptable amount. Then it was over.

I didn't get any sleep between 4 and the next interval at 6, either. Somehow, though, waking up at 5.30 to get ready felt natural. I had done it; I had tricked my body into believing that it had already rested and that it was a new day. The 3rd interval was much easier than the second, despite some protests from my thigh muscle. When we got back to the cabin, the sun was just starting to cast some light over the horizon.

It remains to be seen, of course, how much longer I can keep tricking my body.

One down...

2011-11-12T01:27:00.001+01:00

...7 to go. With such nice company you don't even notice that you're running up and down the same stretch of cycle path.

T minus 4 hours...

2011-11-11T19:41:00.001+01:00

I can't sleep. I rushed to town afterwork to pick up the keys to the cabin and then rushed home to try andget a couple of hours' sleep before tonight's intervals. It's no use.No matter what I do, whether I lie in bed or on the sofa with the tvon (a sure fire trick that has always sent me to the land of dreamsbefore), I just can't relax. My mind can't switch itself off. It'sbeen working overtime for days now, trying to make sure all thepuzzle pieces fall into place, with work, with the cabin, with menialthings like doing the laundry and packing and buying food to take with me. It'susually so scattered that it's an effort just trying to remember toput some clothes on before I leave the flat in the morning. And nowit has to remember important things, like the key to the cabin?! Adaunting task.

So the result of the last few days'frenetic activity is a really heavy backpack that I'll have to carryup the hill to Skatås and a mind on amphetamines. Impossible to goto sleep. But hey, if you can't beat them, join them. Who needs sleepanyway? I'm drinking coffee instead and hoping to stay awake throughthe first interval at midnight. In a little more than 4 hours.

Countdown to Ultra Intervals

2011-11-09T07:46:00.000+01:00

We're two days away from what could bethe highlight of the year for many runners. Friday, at midnight,marks the beginning of the Ultra Intervals, a 24-hour period oftesting limits and pushing boundaries.

Running internet forum jogg.se is responsible for this crazyidea. The gist of it is this: you have to run 8 intervals of 10 kmeach, spread out evenly over the course of a day. So, the firstinterval starts at midnight, the second at 3 o'clock, the third at 6and so on. Until the last one, Saturday night at 9. It's almost likea 24-hour ultra race, but with mandatory rest periods.

Bad news is, the slower you are, theless time you get to spend resting between intervals.

You can choose to enter the competitionclass (if you intend to run all 8) or the open class. Open class haslooser rules. For example, you don't have to be so punctual. You caneven start a day early. I thought I'd aim for the competition classand see what happens. Worst case scenario, if I can't run all 8, isthat I get ”demoted” to open class. No big deal.

As you can imagine, apart from the colossal physical effort of trying to run 80 km within a day, thereis an important psychological factor that needs to be overcome.Namely boredom. Imagine running around a 10 km path, 8 times within aday. Or even worse, imagine not having a 10 km path to run around andhaving to do with a much shorter one, like a 1 km path. Times 80.

Add to that the fatigue from notgetting enough sleep and rest between intervals and the reluctance togo out in the middle of the night when your nice, warm bed is callingyou, and you begin to understand the enormity of this project. Still,many people around the country are going to give it their best shot.And, luckily, some of them are in my running group. In order tobetter deal with the psychological factors that might otherwise forceus to throw in the towel, some of us decided to run these intervalstogether. So we rented one of the cabins in Skatås, where we will bespending the time between intervals resting, eating and socialising.We're stronger together.

I have no idea if I can run all 8. I'dbe happy with 6. Although, to be honest, this is completely unknownterritory for me. Common sense says I should be able to manage morethan 5, since I get to rest for a couple of hours betweenintervals – but maybe that's just what's going to be tough. Gettingup again after you've been resting for two hours.

Hopefully, I am going to be able toupdate the blog during the day (and night). Feel free to follow me onthis adventure and to leave comments such as ”You can do it!, ”Goget' em tiger!” and ”Move your fat arse!”. I'm going to need allthe encouragement (and, failing that, bullying) I can get.

Who needs races when there's a trail in my back yard

2011-11-05T15:51:00.000+01:00

I didn't run Finalloppet. I decided toboycott races for a while; I haven't felt like doing any, andbesides, I've run four so far this year, including my first marathon.Maybe I have race fatigue and my muscles twitch involuntarily at themere mention of the word.

Instead, J and I hit the Torrekullatrail. It was muddier than usual. Strange thing, it was also steeperthan usual. Not wanting to flood my thigh muscles with lactic acid, Iwalked up a couple of hills. The mud sucked the juice out of my legs.It was a struggle to find runnable terrain sometimes. A canoe mighthave been easier to steer than my legs in these conditions. Still, Imanaged to gather about 10 km of single track, 8 of park path and acouple of tarmac ones. All in all, I think this was a far more usefultrail session than Finalloppet would have been.

Mysteriously, my shoes got less muddy than last time

Autumn is in its dying throes. Theforest that, only a week ago, looked as if it were on fire with itsvivid colours, is now as grey as ashes. A few leaves are stillhanging on to the trees for dear life, but even they have turnedbrown. And the trees? The trees dressed up as skeletons for Halloweenand forgot to take off their costumes.

Except this stubborn baby.

Star crossed lovers

2011-11-04T14:39:00.001+01:00

After a brief self-pitying session lastWednesday, I pulled myself together, did some yoga and later headedfor a scout run with a couple of running buddies from the group, in preparation for the Ultra Intervals next weekend. That took care ofany existential issues that were lingering in my mind:

Slightly neurotic Shaman: Who am I,if I don't run ultra races? Can I call myself an ultra runner, even ifI never enter a race?

Tough love, pragmatic Shaman: No onef!%#& cares.

My biggest fear was, of course, losingmy passion. I somehow got it all mixed up in my tired brain thatrunning equals races, and that not jumping up and down withexcitement at all the possible ultras that are coming up this springmeans I must be on the road to giving up on running altogether.

It's not such an irrational fear.Losing running would be very bad. There are very few things in mylife that I've felt so passionate about, few things that have lastedso long. Sure, I have (and have had) other interests: dancing,reading, climbing. But those are just flings. This, this is purelove. Few things have felt purer, more unadulterated, more constant.Running and I are star crossed lovers.

So my fear was that this pure love hadturned into the late stages of a failed marriage. Thedisillusionment. The disappointment. The resentment. Theindifference. At the same time, the insecurities: the fear of lookingat oneself in the mirror and not through someone else's eyes, and notrecognising oneself any more. The fear of letting go of something sofamiliar. Because what's out there is scary. And I've been scared ofletting running go, because what else is there that I could possiblyfall so madly in love with? What else could possibly define me soperfectly as a person?

Of course, these were the ramblings ofa temporarily insane person, as I realised as soon as I put myrunning shoes on. This is not a failed marriage. On the contrary;this is the kind of marriage where the couple grows old together,always walking down the street hand in hand, even at 90. The kind ofmarriage that might go through some tough times, but without losingthe love and respect for one another. The kind that will always bethere for you to comfort you when you need it.

Running and I are growing old together.I hope J sticks around, too. Having been together for over 13 years, I still kinda like him.

Ultra motivation - have you seen it?

2011-11-02T09:53:00.000+01:00

Motivation is not as it should be rightnow. People are planning races left and right while I can't seefurther than Finalloppet on Saturday and the Ultra Intervals nextweekend (which I'm VERY excited about – crossing all fingers thatI'm healthy so that I can participate). Spring's calendar is chockfull of ultras, anything from ”sprint distance” 50 km to morethan any normal person could conceivably run. Sweden has probablynever seen anything like it before, with so many races to choosefrom. Hardly a weekend without an ultra. Ultra runners are rejoicingat the smorgasbord of choices. And I'm just feeling...meh. Notabout running itself, just about raising the bar higher and settingnew goals.

I've been dreaming about doing ultrasfor ages. After crossing the 50 km limit last August, I startedbelieving that anything was possible. And I still do, up to a point.I can imagine myself aiming for distances of up to maybe 75 km, oreven 100 km. Then it just gets ridiculous. Could I really do more?And would I even want to?

The fact that I'm currently sounmotivated to set new goals and so indifferent to something that,until recently, was so important to me is scary and depressing. I'mtaking a long, hard look at myself and wondering what's changed. Isit my thigh injury that's made me realise how difficult such anendeavour is? Is it the fact that my mind's been preoccupied withother important things and my energy leaks towards them? Or is it thepressure of setting a date and then training just for that?

Running is my passion; I don't wantthat to change. Nor do I want to settle for routine. There's nothingthat can put out the flame like running the same 5 km round everyday, every month, every year. It's important to have goals, and sinceI neither can or want to run fast, mine have been about increasingthe distance. So what is it? What's wrong?

I believe it's the race thing. It's theticking one item off the list thing. It's the arbitrary division ofdistances as goals. Suggest a social 82,6 km run with lots of breaksand chatting, on the other hand, and I'll sign myself up in the blinkof an eye. Even if I don't get the medal that proves I'm an ultrarunner (though, I admit, should I get that far, I'd probably try andround it up to an even 85 km. I have issues). Somewhere along theway, there must have been an internal shift from doing this to proveto myself that I can, to just doing it because it's fun.

Zombies! (because it's Halloween)

2011-10-31T18:00:00.001+01:00

Sometimes it's really hard to know whento take an extra rest day. Maybe your training schedule says youshould, but your body feels light and bursting with energy. Maybe yougo for a run anyway. You might even feel great afterwards, and bepleased that you managed a bonus session.

And then, sometimes, it's really easyto know when to take an extra rest day. Say, if you've only had 6hours of sleep. And then sat in meetings all day, drinking buckets ofcoffee to keep awake. And felt hungover, although you haven't had adrop of alcohol. When your body might be bursting with energy, butyour head is bursting with a junk food induced headache.


Photo by This is Awkward

I don't think it's very healthy to pourcaffeine down your throat when what your body really needs is sleep.It's an artificial and unnatural way to keep going, a potent elixirto bring you back from the land of the dead. A spark of electricityto give life to Frankenstein's monster. When all this monster shoulddo is rest.

Run together, die alone

2011-10-29T14:47:00.000+02:00

Running with the group is such a funexperience. Every single time. There always seems to be someone newto talk to, and it's always great to catch up with the regulars. Wehadn't decided on a route beforehand, so we discussed ouralternatives when we met up in Skatås.

- Maybe around 25 km? I said. Preferably flat. I'm saving my legs for (the hilly terrain race) Finalloppet next Saturday.

Several others agreed that flat isgood. Someone suggested running to Mölnlycke. Is it flat? I asked.Sure, said someone. Some minor hills but nothing too bad.

What followed were some of the fastesthills I've ever run. Let's just say that some people in the group arereally good runners, and 5 min/km is slow for them – even on themillion hills that we encountered. After a couple of frenziedkilometres, I breathlessly asked the guys up front to slow down. Andthey did. I love this group.

Skatås is really beautiful this timeof year. Orange, brown, yellow leaves are blended with the evergreenfirs and spruces. Some shreds of fog were hanging over the lakes,adding to the surreal atmosphere surrounding this place.

We left Skatås and ran aroundMölnlycke, through industrial areas and expensive villaneighbourhoods. H had the lead and took us past Gunnebo palace, whereJ and I sometimes spend lazy summer days picnicking with friends orjust relaxing. It wasn't any less magical in the autumn.

Pic taken in the summer

Then it was time for me to leave thegroup. They were going to run back to Skatås, and I was runninghome. Suddenly, my legs felt heavier. Suddenly, the hills that mightotherwise be easy felt like mountains. Suddenly, I found myselftaking walking breaks on the worst of them and wishing I hadn'tforgotten to take with me both food and water. It's amazing how fastyour (imagined?) tiredness gets to you when your running friendsaren't there to distract you.

I stopped at Mölndal station andbought a ”kexchoklad” (a sort of chocolate-covered wafer) andsome water. I ate it while walking and drank water like I hadn't had water in months. Then I started running again. I took anothersuch break on a slope later, but the chocolate had given me the kickI needed to cover the rest of the distance home running.

Just over 27 sunny kilometres was thedistance I ran today. It was neither flat nor ”just” 25 km like Ihad hoped for, let alone easy, but it was one of the best runs I'vedone – thanks to the good company that challenged me, distracted mewith good conversation and took me to places I hadn't been before.

Glorious, magnificent autumn

2011-10-27T17:54:00.000+02:00

On one of those rare sunny autumn daysin Gothenburg, I skipped the repetitive run home from work and wentfor a VFF run in the woods instead.

Apart from the hordes of pensionersroaming the paths around the lake, causing me to wonder if I took awrong turn somewhere and ended up in Florida, I was alone with mythoughts and the sound of crunchy leaves beneath my feet. The sunwas already quite low on the horizon, although the time was only 3 inthe afternoon. It cast a warm light on trees and water, transformingthe world into a sphere of comforting serenity.

I didn't really feel like leaving thewoods, so I ran an extra round, bringing the total up to 10 km. I wasfilled to the brim with energy afterwards. I had gotten my dose ofvitamin D and endorphins. I loved everything and everyone (even thosecouples taking up the whole path and talking loudly, disrupting mymeditation). Running was followed by some strength exercises,inspired by last night's interesting lecture on the importance ofprehab.

Days like this I feel I could take onthe world.

Frankenbread

2011-10-26T10:18:00.003+02:00

I'm going to a running event tonight,where an expert is going to teach me how to avoid injury, and whereI'm going to be joining a few complete strangers for a run. Thus, nolong run this morning. No run and no work means a lot of pent-upenergy that needs to be channelled into something or else I explodelike an overfilled balloon.

After a quick trip to the supermarket Icame home with spelt flour and what I thought were ALL the necessaryingredients to make bread. Apart from some things I thought I had athome. And of course I didn't, which I discovered as soon as I gothome and opened the cupboard. Going back to the supermarket wouldhave been the wise thing to do, I suppose. But I lack common sense,so I searched the Internet for substitutes to the missingingredients.

I used to be good at this. Spelt bread from some years ago.

The Bread Thing is now in the oven,slowly gaining in volume and looking completely deformed. Andslightly threatening. I think I saw a mouth with sharp teeth inthere. But it smells like home.

Fear of the dark

2011-10-22T09:01:00.000+02:00

A thriller. Based on a true story.

She met him on a dark, windy morning.Or night, more accurately. The sun was still nowhere near the horizonand the clouds were heavy in the sky, hiding the stars and moon.People were safely at home, asleep.

She had gotten up at 4.30, eaten aquick breakfast and put on reflective running gear. She had plannedto run on well-lit pavements, but she took her head lamp with heranyway, in case she had to run on the road.

Her body responded to the early wake-upcall reluctantly, but after a few kilometres it had settled into anice rhythm. She ran past dark houses, abandoned school yards, emptysupermarkets. Soon, she left the suburbs for the countryside. Herroute would take her past open fields where horses grazed, and pastthat, a cemetery. She liked running through the cemetery. It wasserene.

Her head lamp shed little light on hersurroundings, making her feel as if she were in a bubble, in themiddle of nowhere, with no one around. Not even the horses were out;they were probably in the stables, sleeping. She wondered what shewould do if a car drove past. All her reflective gear was meant tomake her visible to cars, but did she want to be visible? Who couldpossibly be driving out here in the middle of the night? Who, but apsycho killer looking for prey?

A sudden noise from the trees by theside of the road made her jump. The light from her head lamp fell ona white tail and some long, slim legs. A deer, fleeting into thewoods. She smiled. She had managed to spook herself over a forestanimal. She had obviously read one too many Stephen King novels.Relieved and reassuring herself that the most dangerous creaturearound was probably a sharp-toothed hare, she ran on past thecemetery. Ghouls and ghosts did not frighten her.

She almost stopped in her tracks. Wherethe cemetery ended, the street lights ended too. Ahead of her lay along, pitch-black stretch of road, surrounded by nothing but forest.She briefly considered turning back, but the earlier incident withthe deer had made her feel silly and she wanted to prove to herselfthat she was brave. The weak head lamp could only illuminate tenmetres or so in front of her. It also caught the reflection from sometraffic cones that were lined up on the road where speed bumps werebeing built.

Suddenly, she caught a glimpse ofsomething dark in the middle of the road. Another traffic cone? Onewithout the reflective stripes? As she ran on, the cone seemed togrow in height. When she finally noticed that the thing in front ofher had legs, it was too late to stop.

She met him on a dark, windy morning.More like night, actually. The only living creature that heard herscreams was a fleeting deer, disappearing into the woods.

In a parallel universe, it was justanother traffic cone. The rush of adrenaline brought on by my vividimagination made me sprint a couple of kilometres in the middle of mylong run, but once I got back to civilisation, the rest of this 20 kmsession was uneventful. Thankfully.

Out and about before sunrise

2011-10-21T18:18:00.001+02:00

Frost on the ground and broken streetlamps turned the pavement into an upside-down sky where a millionbright stars were scattered. I was wearing my reflective vest andfrom my backpack hung a light. Still, I wished I had taken my headlamp with me.

I took the long way into work thismorning, leaving home early enough to allow for an easy, slow jogthere. No stress. Just floating in the darkness, amazed at howaugmented the distant traffic sounds were by the absence of opticalreferences. And at how much traffic there was so early in themorning. Why don't people cycle? Or take the bus? Or, I don't know,run? Then maybe we would get to listen to a different, more naturalsoundtrack on our way to work in the morning.

I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Toto

2011-10-19T11:10:00.000+02:00

A tornado hit Gothenburg yesterdaymorning and, with the exception of a brief interlude last night, thewind has been merciless since then.

I was swept away into the woods by it.The sky was heavy with clouds and the world was sepia coloured. Flagswere fluttering violently against their poles, birds were flyingbackwards and I think I might have caught a glimpse of one of thefour horsemen of the Apocalypse. I disregarded the obvious danger ofgetting a tree on my head and went to see a Wizard about giving me anew pair of legs.

Follow the yellow brick road

The trees provided shelter from thewind, and at times I even forgot that there was a storm outside theforest. It was very muddy; my new Kayanos were christened in severalwater puddles. They shall hereafter be called Dorothies. The illusionthat the storm had moved on was shattered as soon as I ran on exposedground. At one point, while running on the narrow path between a lakeand a swamp, the wind hit me from two directions. AT THE SAME TIME.

When I emerged from the woods, the sunbroke through the clouds and the world exploded with colour. I didn'tget to see the Wizard, but I did get an invigorating hilly run.

Moonlighting as a poet

2011-10-17T19:02:00.003+02:00

Monday morning

Oh how I'm yawning

The sky's on fire

Hope I don't tire

on my way home tonight

my legs are so light

It's not a drag,

it's in the bag.

Drained

2011-10-15T12:04:00.000+02:00

I blame the full moon. I mean, lookwhat it does to werewolves.

I've been tired pretty much all week.Despite this fact, I optimistically planned for a traditionalSaturday long run. However, both J and I woke up early this morning,took a look at the frozen world outside the window and decided to gofor a walk. I figured I could run afterwards so I put my runningclothes on and we headed out to the lake.

The air was so crispy that every intakeof breath was a joy. The first light had just illuminated thehorizon. Autumn can be so beautiful when the sky is clear and thereis no wind. The sun had just appeared behind the trees when wereached the lake, starting to warm up the forest. A thin layer ofmist hung above the calm lake water.

After we rounded the lake, I wasreluctant to leave the forest. Although my muscle seems to prefereven surfaces that only tarmac and city environment can offer, Istill chose to run in the woods. I paid for it with exhaustion. Thefirst 3-4 kilometres after I left J went well, but then my strengthseemed to leave my body, my legs felt heavy and I ran awkwardly.Stubborn as I am, I still managed to plod all the way home, adding atotal of 10 km in the cookie jar.

Tomorrow will be a rest day. Promise.