I know there are bigger problems in the world, but...

The control freak in me is screaming. It needs to know now: did I run 4,5 km or 4,7? Garmin says it's the first, uploaded data in SportTracks says it's the second. It's important, dammit! I need to know if I really did run a 4,27 min/km, because I've never done it before! Not to mention that, had I known I was 300 metres away from a 5k, I would have kept running (yes, I like nice, even numbers. I'm not only a control freak. I am a number freak too. Though the two are probably related. Uneven numbers are just...so....chaotic).

Relax. Think of spring and flowers and clouds and rainbows and ponies.

Sole music

Oh happy day. I get to run again.

Yesterday I took the day off from running and went climbing instead. I was very tired after Kungsbackaloppet, and presumably partly because of my cold. In the evening, J and I went for a walk in the forest, and of course, as is always the case when you can't run, everyone else on the planet seemed to be out doing just that.

But today I ran. I started with my non-responsive legs shod in Kayanos, the rest of me in t-shirt and tights. The mind was willing, the body, however, was not. I jogged slowly towards the forest in the warm sunlight. Some people were just getting home from work, others were already outside in their gardens enjoying the beautiful weather, but the streets were mostly quiet.

I arrived in the forest and had a brief conversation with myself. Did I dare? What if someone saw? Was it going to hurt this time? This indecision lasted about 2 seconds. Then my shoes and socks were off. I suddenly ran lightly, landed softly, moved more confidently. My tiredness disappeared. The first jogger ran past me, saw me carry my Kayanos and smiled. A couple of girls on their bikes stared at me. Another jogger. I didn't care, I just enjoyed not being confined by shoes.

After increasing my previous barefoot distance by a couple hundred meters more, I put my shoes back on. What a strange sensation. My feet were tingling with energy, but they immediately felt heavier, my gait altered. I went from delicate dragonfly to raging rhinoceros in seconds. I hit the ground with fury. I was surely raising a cloud of dust behind me? Because it felt like I was digging a crater into the ground with every step I took.

Letting go of winter

Shhh...I think that spring really might be here, but I don't dare say it out loud. Because then a snowstorm would surely hit Gothenburg.

This past winter was so long that I can't believe it's finally over. I enjoyed the first couple of months of snow, but then it overstayed its welcome by 3 months. In fact, despite any previous posts I might have written about signs that spring is here, I've been subconsciously holding back and lowering my expectations. I didn't want to let myself believe. I wanted to just open my eyes one morning and see summer outside the window. Spring is too fickle, beautiful as she may be; her relationship with winter is tempestuous, and she often gives in to his whims, letting him lead while they're caught up in a stormy tango. Summer, on the other hand, is by definition the opposite of winter. Even though she might sometimes surprise us with rain, at least we know it's not going to snow.

Yesterday evening, J and I were out on our balcony. It was a mild evening. Several neighbours were outside, enjoying the warmth. Suddenly, there was a commotion in the woods nearby. Passers-by had just seen a moose and were now warning others that were out walking. It was surreal. A moose, in our neighbourhood?

But the most surreal thing for me, the spring denier, was that everyone else seemed to have accepted the fact that winter is gone. They were embracing spring. They were out walking in the evening. They were on their patios, drinking. Some of them had planted flowers. And I unexpectedly stopped wishing for summer to get here already and let go of my irrational fear that winter will come back.

The world's longest half marathon

Like a hungover frat boy, the words that are coming out of my mouth in the aftermath of Kungsbackaloppet are ”never again”.

It all started when I spent half an hour running around Kungsbacka asking strangers to find out where to pick up my bib, only to find out that it was exactly across the road from where I had left the car. Then I had to move the car, because the parking lot where I'd left it had a 3 hour limit and it was more than 2 hours left to the start.

Then the day got better. I met up with Anders and Martin from the group and had a pleasant hour or so chatting about running, shoes, races and other nerdy things like that. My mood got better. It got so much better that I forgot my pre-race sandwich in the car. My last meal at the time of the beginning of the race was consumed no less than 5 hours before. I ran the whole race on an empty stomach.

So few participants and I still managed to not finish last

That wasn't a problem during the first half of the race. I had the wind on my back and I knew that I wasn't the last runner (which was my goal with this race – to not finish last). I glanced at my Garmin after a couple of kilometres. It showed I had been running for 18 minutes. 2 kilometres in 18 minutes? I cursed under my breath. I had taken my pulse last night and forgotten to reset the clock. I had no idea how I was doing time-wise.

As I reached the half way point in Lindome and turned to run back towards Kungsbacka, I started suffering from the effects of my empty stomach. My energy weaned. I was now running against the wind. And my cold made my chest feel heavy. I was miserable. I somehow managed to keep my speed under 6 min/km and my feet moving. When I was 5 km away from the finish, the Partille angel appeared before me, once again helping with the drinks. I told him I was tired. The halo around his head shone brightly, his magnificent white wings spread wide and he said with a thunderous voice: ”What the hell! It's not even 5 bloody kilometres left!”

I would very much like to say at this point that I got a second wind. That my determination gave me the boost that I needed. But the truth is that it was pure, unadulterated stubbornness that carried me to the finish. One foot in front of the other. Plus, how else would I get to the car? The road seemed to go on forever. I don't know where the last drops of energy came from. But suddenly I was crossing the finish line, and at the same time I was getting a text message on my phone saying I had run the race in under 2 hours. Yey!

The booty from the race. Some blister bandages, shower gel, body lotion and a plaque.

I crawled to the car, wolfing down a banana and taking huge sips from my juice. I was starving, I was depleted, I was fading away. As the sugar hit me I started feeling better. I had just run the oldest half marathon in the world. But never again. Not until next time, anyway.

The placebo effect

The power of suggestion can be very strong. Believe that the placebo you're swallowing is going to cure your cold, and it might. In my case, the placebo was old wives' medicine: salt water and garlic. Also? No vampires disturbed me last night. I ate well, I read a book, I slept like a baby for 8 hours.

I am feeling much better today, even if not completely 100%. My throat is not sore, my energy levels are normal, my pulse and temperature are as they should. My sniffles are still there though, so my initial plan to see Kungsbackaloppet as a training session is reinforced. So what if I finish last? Someone has to.

I'm sorting out some logistics, like how to drive there, what time I have to leave, what I need to take with me and what clothes to wear. In other words, all the things that I should have sorted out yesterday. There is a strange absence of butterflies in the stomach. No pre-race nerves. No excitement. While everyone else will be running for a PB, I will only be running to complete my Saturday long run, on a there-and-back route, on the side of a motorway. Knowing that I can't push myself today makes me indifferent to the whole ordeal. Yesterday's ill Shaman was whirling like the Tasmanian Devil trying to find the cure to the common cold. Today's almost-healthy Shaman is just shrugging her shoulders and saying ”Meh”.

Sniffle *cough*

As it turns out, I wasn't being paranoid yesterday when I thought I could feel the first symptoms of a cold. I didn't sleep very well last night, because my throat was getting more and more sore. Today I can officially say that I have a cold. A tiny one, one that's barely noticeable, a case of the sniffles, but a cold nonetheless.

I've had such tiny colds before. Sometimes they've gone as fast as they'd come. Other times they've turned into full-blown Godzillas of a cold. Coldzillas. So I'm not taking any risks. I'm eating my Strepsils. I'm drinking my water. I'm eating oranges. But deep down inside I know that it doesn't matter so much what I do today. What matters is what I've been doing the last few weeks. How I've been eating (badly), how I've been sleeping (badly), how hard I've been working (and working out) (hard, on both counts).

Now only time will tell if I can run Kungsbackaloppet tomorrow.

Stupid is as stupid does

I was supposed to be resting today. Taking it easy a couple of days before a race. But how could I resist when the sky looked like this this morning:

I promised myself an easy, slow run. Instead I somehow managed to run in my "fast" pace (you know, the one that could only get slower if I were running in a puddle of syrup). Great way to rest before a race, don't you think?

That will teach me to run when I shouldn't (though it probably won't). Tired legs. Laboured breathing. Little aches and pains all over my body. Bad posture and technique. And the obligatory pre-race paranoia: am I about to get a cold? Why did I sneeze? And doesn't my throat feel a bit hoarse?

Nice doggie

My heart wanted to dig a hole through my chest with a spoon and escape from its rib prison, as I made my way up to the lake. Running uphill is not the greatest way to warm up. I should probably cut back on my coffein intake, too. It makes my pulse skyrocket.

When I got to the forest, I switched to my VFF and, as always, it immediately made me feel better. No matter what my sidekick, mr Garmin, says, it suddenly felt easier, even if data showed a slight increase in my heartbeat.

Hey bud

I ran my usual trail. Some rain drops found their way to my body past the tree foliage, but they weren't many. I met a lady walking her two dogs. The dogs were loose. Not a month goes by when a topic doesn't come up in some running forum with regards to loose dogs. A lot of runners have a problem with this, and a lot of them are afraid of dogs. Even though I am not afraid of dogs myself, I can understand why this is a problem for many. There is no way of knowing if a dog is friendly or not, if they only want to play with you or if they want to tear you to pieces. I find the small ones particularly annoying. They always seem to be in a world of their own, as they absent-mindedly head directly towards you. I am afraid I might trip on them. Or step on them and squash them.

This lady, however, was a shining example of a good dog owner. She held on to one dog's collar as I approached and informed me that there was another dog behind her, but that she was nice. I thanked her. It's not every day you meet a responsible dog owner, one who is aware that their dog can be perceived as a threat by runners. One who talks to you in order to ease any potential discomfort.

Once again, when I got home after my run, I wondered why I hadn't just kept on running. I don't have any pressing matters to attend to, J won't be home until 4 and the forest was almost deserted. I was enjoying this too much to go home. There is of course the little detail that I'm running a race on Saturday, so I should content myself with my 7 km...

Rain keeps falling on my head

I have two things to boast about today. First, I ran to work in the rain. And second, I ran home in the rain. My clothes hadn't even dried during my 10 hour work day and they were pleasantly cold when I put them on afterwards.

I might have bended the truth there a bit. There is nothing pleasant about putting on wet clothes. The only upside was that there wasn't much room for more water in them, so I could run in the rain without having to worry about my clothes soaking up even more liquid. Because I would have been soooo worried about that, had my clothes been dry.

At least I got a decent pace out of it. Usually when it rains, you're in a hurry to get out of the rain and into a dry environment. And you usually want to get out of your wet clothes and into some warm, dry ones. So an overprotective survival instinct takes over and forces you to run faster, despite your half-hearted protests that you're ”not made of sugar”.

But seriously? Rain -when there's no wind- rocks. Oxygen. Need I say more?

Rat race

My head feels like a storm at sea. Big waves crash against my temples, tons of murky ocean water press against my eyes, there's a constant buzzing in my ears and I'm struggling to keep my balance like a drunken sailor. To think that an extra hour of work can turn your brain into mush.

As you can imagine, there will be no running today. The weather is simply perfect, especially for an evening run, but now that my head is having a tantrum and after 5 consecutive days of running, I think I need a day's rest. There will be other beautiful evenings to spend outdoors.

On Saturday I am running this year's first race. Kungsbackaloppet is the world's oldest half marathon, this year's edition being number 114 in a row. I see this as a training session, with no other goal than to complete it and get a shiny medal, but it would be nice to do it under 2 hours. I'm meeting up with some people from the group beforehand, which should up the fun factor quite considerably.

Midnattsloppet 2008

I have very mixed feelings when it comes to races. I know some people feed on the pre-race excitement, but I just feel stressed and start too fast. I don't enjoy races until I actually cross the finish line. The only race I have ever enjoyed was Prinsens Minne in Halmstad. I had such a great time running in an unfamiliar environment, one that was so beautiful with its sandy dunes and pine forest. I was able to shut out everything that was race-related and focus on exploring my surroundings. That's why I might run it again this year.

Then again, I somehow find myself entering at least a couple of races each year. I don't need the motivation that they are supposed to provide, I don't like running with thousands of other participants and I certainly don't like getting carried away by the crowd and running faster than I'm used to. But afterwards, with a medal around my neck and perhaps a new personal record, you bet I'm smiling.

Baring my soles

My VFF might be magical, but you know what's even more magical? My bare feet.

If you don't like feet, feel free to navigate away from this page. Because I'm not only going to talk about feet, I'm going to show you pictures of feet. Feet, feet, glorious feet.

It was warmer today than yesterday. A première for t-shirts and shorter tights. I put on my old Kayanos and ran towards the lake. My legs were heavier than ever. I couldn't get them to wake up. I was slow, but on the plus side, my pulse was low.

I reached the lake and the soft forest paths. I took my shoes and socks off. It was the moment of truth: my VFF were in my backpack, but I was itching to run completely barefoot. I decided to put my Kayanos in the backpack and hold my VFF for easy access, and just try walking barefoot.

I took a few tentative steps. The ground was cold. There were small stones here and there, and pine needles that looked dangerously sharp. I tried stepping on them carefully. They were surprisingly nothing like I imagined. It was like walking on feathers. I started running, the heaviness in my legs giving way to what felt like flying. The small stones were irritating, but they didn't hurt. They kept me alert, my eyes focused on the ground. After a couple hundred metres, my feet were almost numb and only the sharpest of stones registered in my brain.

I met a few people. I got a few strange looks. A few reserved hellos.

I ran a kilometre without shoes on. I didn't dare go on any longer on my first barefoot run. I brushed the worst of the dirt off my feet, slipped on my VFF (for the first time without any socks on – another première) and ran home. The difference was huge. I didn't have to worry about where I put my feet, which was a double-edged sword. I could increase my tempo and run with small, light steps, but the sense of absolute, child-like freedom I'd got when I ran completely barefoot was diminished.

VFF or not, I am hooked on barefoot running.

Ultras show what you're made of

Once the shivers and nausea subsided yesterday, I fell asleep. I woke up this morning, well rested after nearly 10 hours of comatose sleep. I found out that Hans, whom we only got to pace for about 5 km, then continued his run towards Gothenburg and got there after 11 hours, having run 100 kilometres. An unbelievable feat, but I had a feeling he would make it.

To run such a surreal distance is amazing in itself, but to do such a large part of it alone is even more impressive. That's when the mental strength component really comes in, that's when all the inner demons start whispering in your ear that it would be so much easier to take the bus the rest of the way, that's when you start asking yourself why you put yourself through such an endeavour. The mind gives up before the body does, usually. And you have no one with you to use as a crutch, no friend to help you through it, no one to distract you from the doubt and pain. Well done, Hans.

This morning the sun is once again shining brightly in the sky, with no cloud in sight. The temperature is on its way up to 13 degrees, with only a light breeze cooling the air. My feet are sick of running on tarmac, and the woods are so wonderfully inviting, so I might pack my VFF and head there for a short recovery run later. Maybe, just maybe, to try and run a part of it completely barefoot. But first, the biannual change of car tires.

Oh it's such a perfect day

I know you're dying to find out how today's long run went. The 90 km run from Varberg to Gothenburg, a part of which I was to run with my brave running buddies. But I'll deal with those little details in a second. First things first. An important question has to be answered: was it shorter tights weather?

The sun was shining, the thermometre showed 12 degrees in the shade but the wind was blowing at a pretty impressive speed. I decided not to take any chances and freeze my calves off, so I chose my long tights, which I could easily roll up to my knees if I wanted to. Which I did in the end.

After much deliberation about the arrival time of my buddies in Särö, I changed my plan and joined them in Kungsbacka instead. At that point, the first ”casualties” had already left the group. Luckily no injuries were involved. Just tiredness. Hans was the only one from the original group that was still up and running at this point, 65 km from Varberg, and Carl and I ran with him for about 5 km. Then he asked us to kindly keep running while he took a pause. We wished him luck and continued running, hoping that he'd be ok and make it to Gothenburg on foot.

The route was familiar to me since last autumn's group run. Carl and I chatted about everything under the sun, it seemed: fossils, genetic memory, house prices, work, holidays. Oh, and running, of course. My stomach had been empty almost from the start, due to the starting time confusion, but it felt more like an irritation than hunger. I considered taking the bus when I reached Billdal because of this, but once we got there, it felt like I was very close to my destination, so I kept running.

Carl's foot had been bothering him for a while, so he chose to stop and take the bus home. I was almost home too, so we said our goodbyes and I ran to the pizzeria. I'd been thinking about this pizza since my stomach gave the first hints it might be empty. Once I got home and took a few bites, however, I had to force the rest of it down. I started freezing, too. I wasn't feeling too well. I had a hot shower, which helped momentarily, but as soon as I got out I started freezing again. To make matters worse, I started feeling sick too. My stomach was making a point that the pizza was a bad idea after all.

Shame about these after-run symptoms. It was truly a perfect day for running, and I enjoyed every minute of it. 23,5 km of sunshine and good company.

My VFFs are magical

My VFFs are made of fairy dust and angel feathers. There's no other explanation why, as soon as I switched to them from my old Sauconys during today's run, my feet felt lighter, my breathing easier, my step shorter.

3,5 km of a total of 5,5 km were run in VFFs, a small part of those on a muddy forest trail covered in roots and stones. A small but significant part. My favourite part.

Tomorrow, some of my brave running buddies are running from Varberg to Gothenburg, a distance of almost 90 km. My cunning plan is to join them for a half marathon when they've already run about 60 of them and they're tired, so that I look good by comparison. I might even be the fastest one in the group for once. Or at least if I have a headstart of about 10 minutes. I will definitely be the most feminine one. I will be the only woman in the group.

These people have such amazing stories to tell, such unbelievable running feats to brag about – though they never brag. It is always so inspiring to run with them and hear these stories. Hopefully one day I will be strong enough to join them for a real ultra.

But the question on everyone's lips is: seeing as the weather is going to be lovely tomorrow, should I wear my shorter tights for the run?

Lightning is my middle name

I must be the slowest runner in the whole wide world. This morning when I ran to work, I took it easy. I woke up with a killer headache (I almost never get headaches) and until the last minute I uuum'ed and eeeh'ed, unsure if it was such a good idea to run to work. But I bit the bullet and started running. It was apparently a great idea, because my headache dissolved into nothing with each passing minute of the run.

When I was about a kilometre away from work, I felt great. My legs felt light, my lungs strong, my will was made of steel. I could almost imagine how it must have looked to other people: perfect technique, speed, elegance. First they saw me coming, and then they heard the "whoosh" as I broke the speed of sound. I kicked it up a notch. I was flying. My feet hardly touched the ground. Running fast never felt easier. I glanced at my Garmin. 4:48 min/km. I was on fire! (stop laughing. That is actually fast for some people. And tortoises.)

Then, later, I came home from work and uploaded the data from my Garmin to SportTracks. I almost fell off the chair laughing when I saw the splits. Amazing what tricks your mind plays sometimes. While I was busy picturing myself as the goddess of running, my Garmin was registering speed that was average, even for me. That 4:48? That was a speed that I maybe managed to maintain for a couple of seconds, long enough for me to glance at the clock and think I am Usain Bolt. Average speed of that super fast kilometre? 5:34. I've run half-marathons that were faster than that.

photo © 2008 Craig ONeal | more info (via: Wylio)

The path less travelled

Wednesday's run took place in the mist, in the forest, in the mud and on wet leaves.

I felt adventurous. After rounding the lake, I left the path and cut into the forest where a muddy trail would take me out of the woods. My pulse increased and my muscles tensed.

Forest, why so autumny in April?

Leaving the forest, I continued towards the bakery to get some fresh bread. Again, I felt like leaving the path well travelled and chose to run down a street I'd never been before. I was glad I did. It was very pretty.

I knew approximately where I was, but not if I was running in the right direction. I ran almost randomly, hoping I'd end up where I wanted to. It wasn't by any means a grand adventure or a matter of life and death, but running ”uncharted” gave me a thrill.

As it turned out, I was running in the right direction. I bought some bread while the other patrons glanced at me sideways. They were probably wondering how long the run was that made me so hungry as to buy 3 loaves of bread.

A summer of contrasts

Every year, around this time, J and I start planning our summer vacation. Having families in two different parts of the world, each family with their own summer plans, and two cats that need a sitter, planning is not an easy feat.

This year, some puzzle pieces are falling into place without us having to lift a finger. The first leg of our summer tour has already been booked. We're leaving for northern Sweden as soon as our vacation starts, for our annual pilgrimage to the Swedish mountains. J's family has had a tradition going for over 20 years, where they rent a cabin right by Kungsleden – The Royal Trail (a 400-km long trail in the mountains) - and then spend a few days hiking there.

The flora diversity in the area is astounding

It's become my tradition too. I've hiked around these mountains a few times, taking in the amazing views of the Norwegian mountains across the border, meeting reindeer, listening to the eerie lament of Golden Plovers in the fog.

These mountains feel so ancient, so permanent, that if you sit down to rest, you start melting into the scenery after a while. You want to stay there, just breathing in and out calmly, at peace with yourself and the world. In the shadow of this gigantic landscape, everything else seems small. All everyday worries, all quibbles, all petty annoyances are put into perspective. The mountains will still be here long after you and your troubles are gone.

Last year I tried adding a new component to the tradition. I would add some running to my hikes, on some trail or at the base of the mountain. Unfortunately, I got ill and spent my time reading books in the cabin instead. Hopefully this year my health will allow me to follow through with my plans. I started eyeing an 11-km stage of Kungsleden, which I've hiked before. Running it twice (there and back) will be a challenge, as I'm not used to running on trails. But with some practice beforehand, and if I take it easy when I'm there, it should be no problem. The days are long up there; I will be in no hurry to get back.

A week later, I'm heading south to my family. To a very different environment. To the sea and warmth.

Hang tough

12. Long. Work. Hours. Our health promotion hour is now officially cancelled. The only way I had to take me through such long Tuesdays was this precious hour, to clear my mind, get some new energy, become a human being again. Instead, I sat on a chair, in meetings, from 14 until 18, with my neck turned at an unnatural angle in order to be able to see the speaker. While my brain slowly turned to mush and my body melted into the chair.

Had it been a good day, one of those where you go home completely satisfied with all you've achieved, smugly patting yourself on the shoulder, it might have been worth it. But no. It was one of those other days. The shitty ones. The stressful, hardly-have-time-to-go-for-a-wee kind of days. The ones where you fight and you fight, and all people see is the glued-on smile on your face and think that all is dandy. And then they spit on you for looking so damn cheerful.

The final insult was that it rained on me when I cycled home. Because, of course it bloody would. I'm like a cartoon character with a little cloud just over my head, that follows me around wherever I go. And I can't remember where I left my umbrella.

On the bright side (there's always a bright side), tomorrow is Wednesday. And that, my friends, means:

• I get to sleep in (which in my case probably means until the late hour of 6.30)

• I get to run

• Better yet, if the Swedish meteorological institute keeps its promise, there won't be any rain in the morning.

• Did I mention I get to run?

• Next work day is 36 hours away.

Always look on the bright side of life.

She sells sea shells

I wonder what life would be like, if I lived on a tropical island and made a living selling sea shells. I would do that by day, and when the temperature dropped at dusk, I would go for a run barefoot on the beach, my footprints quickly dissolving into the wet sand. Then I'd have a cocktail, with a little umbrella in it. Because you can't live on a tropical island and NOT drink cocktails with little umbrellas in them. It's the law. Fact.

Until I win a gazillion crowns on the lottery and can move to Tobago, I'll have to make do with what I have here. It's not too bad, actually. In fact, the combination of warm April weather and the allure of the sea was good enough to bring about a slight change of plans today.

This morning, a heavy mist hang over the city. It wasn't cold, but it was damp. Tired from yesterday's long run, I was to run the shortest route home after work, about 4 km. When I stepped out into the blinding sunshine, though, I knew I had to run to the sea.

I can choose among several different routes to get home, and the one that takes me by the sea is by far the most beautiful one. After a couple of kilometres running by the side of a busy road, I leave the noise of traffic behind and run among the tiny little doll-like summer houses by the seaside. I used to run this route all the time last autumn, partly because of its beauty and partly because you can easily get the distance to add up to 10 kilometres.

I had no ambition to run so long today, but as I soaked up the warmth and radiant sunshine, wanting to roll up both my sleeves and my tights, I simply could not resist running longer than the planned 4 km. I thought I'd run 6 km and then stop, but after these 6 km I was still far away from home. So I kept running, and it felt good. Not necessarily elegant or correct technique-wise, but today I just didn't care.

I ran on the almost deserted beach. A flock of birds were standing on the shallows. A couple of swans swam idly past, stretching their wings and bending their necks haughtily, as if aware of their own beauty. Some men were fishing. The sun cast its shiny confetti on the sea surface. Everything was calm: the sea, the breeze, the few people I met. I felt relaxed.

Time, though. I had no time. Clock was ticking. I'd told J I'd be home by 16.30, at the latest. But why rush? What do I have to do at home that is so urgent? So I made time for running. After 8 km, and almost one hour after I left work, I was back home. Our cats were on the balcony, bathing in sunlight. And J was very understanding, when he found out why I was late.

23 on a Sunday

Göteborgsvarvets premiärbana is a yearly event. It takes place along the 21,1 km course of the original Göteborgsvarvet in 1980 and it is organised by volunteers. It's not a race; it's training. That's why the tempo was low, that's why I had energy left to run the two extra kilometres to the car afterwards.

The sky was heavy with the promise of rain. The prospect did not exactly make me happy, but as it turned out it wasn't half bad to run in the rain. Well, I kind of knew that from the countless times I've run in the rain before, but I suppose it's a primitive instinct to want to stay indoors when it rains.

I met up with some guys from the running group a few minutes before the start. Even though I would be running with maybe a hundred other runners, it was still nice to see some familiar faces and have a little chat. The crowd gathered pretty fast.

Soon we were off and the rain started pouring down. We ran down Avenyn, the main street of the city. The few cars that were around at this early hour stopped to let us pass. After a few kilometres we were running through Slottsskogen, a big park in central Gothenburg, which was still in its autumn colours. Running up one hill, the collective effort of all these runners produced a cloud of respiration above our heads.

If it was one thing that this route offered, it was variation: city streets, parks, urban and suburban neighbourhoods. And now, one of the bridges that connect the main land with Hisingen, an island of sorts, that's separated from the main land by a river.


We ran through neighbourhoods that were completely new to me. I lost my 3 running buddies right about that time, but I didn't feel alone. I saw many more familiar faces and chatted with other runners I knew.

The second bridge took us back to the city centre. I was looking forward to this moment.

We ran through Nordstan, one of Scandinavia's largest temples of Mammon shopping centres. As soon as we entered, everyone started clapping their hands, causing a thunderous applaud to echo through the shopping centre's still-empty spaces. It was surreal. During the daytime, Nordstan is flooded with shoppers. Now it was flooded with runners.

But the best was yet to come. A couple kilometres before the finish, we took a detour in order to run through Ullevi, a sports arena with a capacity for over 40.000 spectators (60.000, if there is a concert) and the largest arena in Scandinavia. To run on proper tracks, where legends have run before, and to look at size of the crowd stands around was awe-inspiring.

Many thanks to Marcus for taking this picture. I look so happy!

After we left Ullevi, my legs still felt great. I increased the tempo a little bit and reached the finish after approximately 2:12. I met up with the guys again and after exchanging a few words and eating some chocolate, Marcus and I started running again – he was to run home and I to the car. We said our goodbyes and I continued alone, feeling strong.

23 km. On a Sunday. Huh. Who would have thought it was possible?

Creature of habit

There is something unfamiliar about running a long run on a Sunday. I know it is the norm for a lot of people, but it turns my well-tuned sense of order and routine into chaos. Even during the past winter, when I was injured, Saturdays were my long run days in my mind. Although long runs when you're injured sometimes mean 6-7 km.

It's amazing how easily one falls back into old habits. I tried doing my long runs on my free Wednesdays, in order to spend more quality time with J on the weekends. It didn't last long. I soon found myself trying to convince J to increase his distance, so that we can spend this quality time running together.

How can I resist the call of the open road?

So, this weekend, my ordinary schedule went upside down. The long run is on a Sunday. Shock, horror, won't somebody think of the children? I am joining 200 other runners for a 21 km training session through the city centre, in the still-quiet streets of an early Sunday morning. I doubt that running on a Sunday instead of a Saturday will have any impact on my performance tomorrow, but what it does today is that it gives me twitchy feet.

I, like any other human being, am a creature of habit and need my Saturday run. Otherwise terrible things might happen. I can see it now: my feet might sprout roots and attach themselves firmly to the ground. My leg muscles might atrophy, wither and die. My weight might suddenly shoot up to 400 kg, making it dangerous to my health to run. My brain cells might commit collective suicide from the lack of any running stimulus. Or – what's worse – I might find myself melting into the sofa, watching the Shopping Channel and eating ice-cream straight out of the container.

Now, we wouldn't want that, would we?

It remains to be seen if today's climbing session will do anything to help fight this serious OCD condition, or if I'll have to go for a short run in my VFFs afterwards.

TGIF

I am on self-imposed exile from the world of running until Sunday and Göteborgsvarvets premiärbana. Partly because I want my legs to be well-rested for it, and partly because my pulse has been higher than usual this past week and I don't want any lingering infection to turn into sickness.

That's not to say that I'm lying on the sofa all day eating chips. I just completed a session of strength exercises, mostly for running-related muscles (I know, I said I was letting my legs rest. I lied). I will be cycling to work in a minute. And tomorrow I'm probably going climbing, for the first time in a month, if you exclude the technique lessons. Low-intensity activities both today and tomorrow, in other words.

What about swimming? I hear you ask curiously. Well, I bought some goggles, full of good intentions. And then I somehow failed to show up at the pool. I confess: I find indoor swimming excruciatingly boring. About as boring as running on the treadmill. About as much fun as sharing said treadmill with 20 other runners. And all my grand new year's resolutions about alternative training to prevent injury just went up in smoke.

It is Friday, people. The weekend is only hours away. Have a good one!

In nature

Pitch dark, still, at 5.30 in the morning. Waiting for the bus, I was overcome by a rare calmness. Drunk on the scent of spring, the birds were chirping. Together with the light drops of rain, they formed a divine orchestra of flutes and cymbals, caressing my ears and nurturing my soul.

As nature puts on its most vibrant colours and softly paints our cheeks red, I find myself longing more and more for the forest's seductive whispering, the sea's comforting sway, the mountain's eternal, reassuring, solid presence. That's where I am most in touch with myself, where the armour I wear to cope with the everyday grind comes off, where the background noise of work, obligations and troubles dies down. In nature. That's where I am truly alive, that's where I am truly me.

I wished that this fleeting moment of peace and solitude would last all day. Instead, I got an intense 8 hours of work and what felt like the weight of the world on my shoulders.

The wind had picked up when I later ran home from work. Daylight revealed what darkness had so masterfully concealed this morning: that greyness was still abound. Traffic, tarmac, roadworks, gravel everywhere, rain drops sticking to my glasses creating multiple copies of grey 17-storey buildings. Heavy mood, heavy legs contributed to a high pulse throughout the whole run.

One work day left before the weekend.

I would like to thank my agent...

...my parents for driving me to my English class, and J for putting up with my bad jokes for almost 13 years.

Karin has very kindly nominated me for a blog ”award”, where you have to write 8 things about yourself and then pass the ”award” on to 8 other bloggers.

Here are 8 things you desperately wanted to know about me, but never thought to ask:

1. I have two university degrees, yet the achievement that I am most proud of is running almost 50 km last autumn (hate studying - love running).

2. I always give people the benefit of a doubt. They have to seriously screw up to lose my respect.

3. I am a hard-rocker at heart (and probably always will be), although I do enjoy other styles of music too.

4. I must have been a hippy in a past life. I would have felt right at home growing up in the '60s, both music-wise and life philosophy-wise.

5. I am an agnostic. That's not to say that I don't get spiritual from time to time. I believe that the closest thing to God that exists is what we see all around us. Everything from a tiny little bug to the stars and the universe.

6. I hate flying, but love travelling. A conundrum, for sure. Running to my travel destination is not usually a viable alternative.

7. Without my contacts / glasses, I'm blind as a bat. Unfortunately without the aural perks of being a bat.

8. I've moved country twice, which I found exhilarating, in the butterflies-in-the-stomach kind of way. If we hadn't made a life for ourselves here, and if it weren't for how far it is from our families, J and I would probably move to Canada tomorrow. Just for the thrill of it, not because we're tired of Sweden.

But enough about me. What about you...

...Biscuit Nikki...

...Mia...

...Lotta...

...Maria...

...and right there, my inspiration just flew out of the window. A lot of the people whose blogs I read have already answered. Some other bloggers are too ”big” to notice my blog, let alone read it (Scott Jurek? Rune Larsson? If you're reading this, let's get together for a run soon, yeah? Call me!)

So there you have it. I broke the rule of sending the love forward to 8 bloggers. But if you have a blog and I haven't mentioned you, feel free to share 8 things about yourself!

Spellbound

I put my VFFs in my backpack and jogged towards the woods. Even though there was morning frost on the roof tops, the sun warmed my face. Once my feet left the tarmac and entered the woods, the Kayanos came off and the VFFs took their place. I had only run on tarmac with the VFFs before, so I was very curious to see how they felt on the soft forest paths.

It was magic. I felt like I was floating above the ground instead of running. What impressed me the most was how quiet I was. My backpack rustled a bit, but otherwise I could probably have taken a deer by surprise, if only I had been so lucky as to see one.

I saw a couple of people walking their dogs, but otherwise I had the woods to myself. I ran around the 2 km trail in my VFFs, as close to the softer edge of the path as possible, and then I stopped to switch back to my Kayanos for the return trip home. I was suddenly aware of the bird song symphony happening all around me. Spellbound I listened, almost unable to break myself free of their seductive melody. I wanted to sit on the ground with my back against a tree, and just spend the day in the peaceful embrace of the woods, in the comfort of nature's lullaby.

Turn up the volume:

Unfortunately my mobile camera does not exactly film in HD-quality, but I hope you get the idea.

I reluctantly left the woods and headed back towards the noise of civilisation. I ran to our local bakery and bought some freshly baked bread, still warm from the oven, that soon turned into an after-run snack. I was in heaven.

If only my body would allow it, I would spend the whole day in the woods running.

People watching

Spotted in a well-known sports store yesterday evening:

A beautiful woman in her thirties, with her hair sleeked back in a tight ponytail, long black coat and tight black trousers, who looks like she just flew in from Wall Street, trying out running shoes.

She takes one well-polished high-heeled boot off, puts a random running shoe on, steps on the treadmill, fires it up and takes maybe ten slow steps on it, before declaring that the shoes are fine. With one running shoe on one foot. And one high-heeled boot on the other.

Shaman can't help but stare in fascination. Is this woman's left leg shorter than the right, making it necessary to wear high-heels on one foot while she's running? Is it a fashion statement, like ”I'm standing with one foot in the sweaty world of running and the other in the shiny world of finance”? Maybe she's trying to ease her body into running, by only running with one leg at a time?

See you on a trail somewhere, sister.

Sign sign everywhere a sign

The jacket came off when I ran home from work today. I can't say that I was in any hurry to get home, either. The weather was near perfect: clear skies, mild temperatures, just a light breeze to keep me from overheating.

Yesterday, winter made a last valiant effort to hang on to this hemisphere. It snowed for maybe an hour, but it was gone just as quickly as it had come.

Winter, it's now time to admit defeat. Behold the signs of spring's triumphant victory:

Numbers

My tired legs groaned when they realised they were about to go for a short run. Curiously, my foot was quiet. It didn't seem to suffer after yesterday's long run. I slipped my VFFs on and jogged for 2,22 km.

Or did I? Maybe the real distance was much shorter? Or longer? Does it matter?

I'll be the first to admit that I have a fixation with numbers when it comes to running. I like my kilometres to add up to an even number. I like to make sure that I've run a certain distance. 10 kilometres is great. 10,02 is better, to allow some margin for error. Coming home and finding out that I've ”only” run 9,99 is a catastrophe. My dormant OCD takes over. I feel unaccomplished, a failure, and it takes enormous amounts of strength to not go out and run 10 metres just to get an even number.

photo © 2008 D. Sharon Pruitt (TAKING A BREAK FROM FLICKR) | more info (via: Wylio)

Ok, maybe I am exaggerating a little bit. But this was a discussion that came up with at least two of my running buddies on yesterday's run. We talked about how two different brands of GPS watches can show different distances. Which one is correct? Not to mention the huge deviation from my mobile phone: I ran a whole extra kilometre yesterday, if you believe Endomondo. Someone had forgotten to start his watch again after a short pause, and ran a couple of kilometres before realising it. Did these kilometres happen? If you don't have evidence for it, how can you prove that you've really run the distance? If a tree falls in the forest and there's no one around to hear it, does it make a sound?

He did, by the way. I saw him.

Most people who run need to have some sort of indication of the distance and time they've covered, whether they measure it with a normal clock and using an online map tool or a pre-measured round, or use super advanced GPS watches. As long as you always use the same method, the same measuring tool, it's a great way to see if you're making progress. In the case of the VFFs, it helps me to make sure I don't do too much too soon. Not everyone is as fixated as I am with even numbers, but I know I'm not the only one. Is it healthy? Probably not. But sometimes we all get a bit of OCD about our passions.