Two days, two countries

Not to generalise or anything, but usually when you tell people you are going on vacation to the Mediterranean, they imagine you coming home all sunburned and with several hours' worth of slideshow material to bore them with, when all they really did was be polite and ask you how your holiday was.

My story is a bit different. Mostly it involves bad weather and getting lost. I covered bad weather in my previous post. But did you know that the weather did actually get better for one day? Yeah! I even tried to go for a long run.

J and I set off before the sun had climbed so high on the horizon that it might pose a heat problem, but we needn't have worried because an hour later the problem we were facing was of a different nature altogether.

But first things first.

Think: Pine trees. Dry, almost red earth, powder beneath your feet. Clear blue skies. Breathtaking views of the sea.

Think: Salt. Weaver's broom flowers flooding your senses with yellow colour and such a powerful, dizzying aroma that it almost makes you faint.

Think: Healthy legs, all the time in the world, all the dirt roads in the world.

And then, a wrong turn, blue skies turning black, the threat of thunder while you're lost on top of a hill. A part of me wants to go on exploring, another is trying to listen to reason and head for lower ground. Reason wins this round and we find a road back down to the sea. 

Clouds are starting to gather on the left...

This road is not so much a road as it is steep, washed off rock alternating with loose earth, and soon enough my mood is great again. I let my legs relax and carry me downhill as fast as they want, my eyes darting from left to right and then back to left again, to make sure I don't miss a step and go flying instead. Running on a tough trail, with the Mediterranean in the background fighting for your attention, it's easy to make mistakes. Yet somehow I make it down in one piece, J not far behind me, and the first thing I do is let the cool sea water splash against my calves and thighs because I just know that they are going to be screaming tomorrow.

The threat of thunder went off scaring people some place else, I was disappointed that my attempt at a long run was only about 12 km long, but my legs were cooled down and I was happy.

Two days later, I was running on a different hill far from the sea, spectacular in its own way, with endless vistas, both rural and urban. The same evening we took a flight to Stockholm and then spent the night tossing and turning in the airport.

Airport fact number one: If someone sees you trying to sleep, they'll walk as close to you as possible and talk as loudly as possible.

Airport fact number two: Those cleaning machines that airport staff drive around in? They seem to find the floor around you particularly dirty - if you are trying to sleep.

This morning I woke up in a different country than the one I woke up in yesterday. This one is a stubbornly cold country struggling to be prepared for the summer season that is racing towards it. Yesterday's country was struggling too, to achieve season appropriate temperatures, shake all that water from its wings and take off. Europe seems to be in suspended animation right now.

But guess what. I got to go for a swim. It consisted of me easing into a much colder sea than the one that had splashed against my run-warm legs, throwing my arms around trying to make it look like I was swimming while in reality mostly trying to survive death by exposure to freezing temperatures, and then twenty seconds later running out of the sea to wrap myself in a warm towel. Let the summer begin.

In the jungle

I am currently spending a week in warmer climates down by the Mediterranean sea. Did I say warmer? Just kidding. The weather has been a mixture of thunderstorms, low temperatures and bitter disappointment, so my bikini has been lying at the bottom of my backpack looking forlorn while frogs fell down from the skies.

Running in the rain is usually a magnificent experience. The air is delicious to taste and keeps your body from overheating. But, in these parts, the rain sometimes hangs in the air even when it’s not cloudy, and it finds its way through your nose and into your lungs so that you can’t breathe, or it hitches a ride on your skin pushing your sweat drops back into your body.

Humidity does not for efficient running make.

Somehow I still managed to squeeze in an interval session plus an easy 10km, running up and down a broad stretch of pavement by the seaside. I should get a medal for my mental perseverance alone. Running intervals by yourself should be as highly regarded as giving your life for your country or at least sacrificing yourself and taking the last chocolate bit so that your dieting colleague won’t be tempted. I am a person with high moral fibre.

I’ve also been scouting the area for trail runs but the un-Mediterranean conditions have turned dirt roads and paths into swamps. Yesterday I almost lost one of my shoes to mud. My other shoe, on the other hand (well, it was actually on my other foot), had gone and gotten itself a 5 cm thick high heel. The difference in height between my two shoes resulted in me limping for several hundred metres, which would look funny if it weren’t for the parental advisory warning labeled words coming out of my mouth at the same time. Good thing there were some beautiful things to distract me.

Nothing is impossible

Nothing in life is certain, except death, taxes, and that I will get injured and/or sick if I decide to enter a race.

A mild case of the cold established itself within my right nostril last Saturday and is currently running amok inside my head. Because of course it would. I was finally supposed to be running my first ”Around the bridges” race for the year tomorrow, what did you expect?

Yes, it could happen that I wake up completely healthy tomorrow. It could happen. Just like it could happen that a stranger stops me while I'm walking down the street and just hands me over ten million crowns, no questions asked, or that my cats suddenly get up from their mid-morning siesta and start singing a moving a cappella rendition of the Peruvian national anthem (or is that "a cattella"?).

It could happen. The universe is a wondrous place, filled with mystery and miracles. Like the fact that intelligent life developed on this planet, or that there are actually people who camp outside stores the night before a big sale starts and then trample each other to death just so that they can buy a cheaper TV made by prepubescent slaves in some Asian country they've never even heard of.

I realise that these two miracle examples contradict each other. There is intelligent life on this planet, I promise. I saw it on my cheap TV once.

ANYWAY. It could happen. It's just not very likely.

Running at max speed while ill would naturally be catastrophically stupid and dangerous, so I will once again miss the race (last week I missed it because of work, if you recall), but I might show up anyway and plod around the course at snail pace just to get a whiff of that second-hand adrenalin.

Back-to-back, part two

My legs were inexplicably fresh this morning. I was a bit worried about how my knee would like running another two-hour session only a day after the first one, but I was otherwise quite positive that I would have the strength to do another 20 km today.

Yes, of course I made a promise to myself to ”only” run 20 km. And, yes, of course I didn't keep my promise. Keeping the running-related promises I make to myself would not be like me. As not-like-me, in fact, as managing to keep any plants I buy alive for more than a month (my personal kill-a-plant record is a week. A week. I can't believe the cats are still alive)

A sane person might have taken the car up to the arena to the AIK meeting point, but a lot of people have questioned my sanity when it comes to running, and not without good reason. It's 4 km to run there from home, so just the run there and back was going to be 8 km, leaving a margin of only 12 km for the AIK long run itself. I had already created a problem for myself, in other words. I blame not paying attention during maths lessons at school. Then, to add to the problem, our coach said that we were going to run a bit longer today than our usual 1,5 hours, maybe a total of 2 hours.

A sane person might have arranged to get a post-run a lift home after that revelation, or cut their run short. A sane person has the common sense to realise that a knee that's already cruising for a bruising is only going to become more aggressive the more you poke it. An insane person (me) smiled a huge smile on the inside. An even longer run than I had planned. I liked it!

Because here's the thing. It's way too much fun to run long runs. Especially with AIK. Maybe because they, or at least some of them, don't think I'm insane. They get my crazy. Some people might say that none of us are quite sane, getting up early on a Saturday morning to go for a 2-hour run. That's why I can get drunk-person-at 3am sentimental about them sometimes.

I LURVE YOU GUYS! *hick*

We ran down by the river and through some areas on the west parts of town that were new to me. The sun only made some intermittent appearances. A persistent headwind whipped us almost constantly on our way out, but helped us along on the way back. My knee got grumpy now and then but it never got so bad that it hurt.

My two hour run lasted for more than two hours and a half. It went well, much better than I had dared hope for. I got off easy. Again. Now, two rest days to let my body heal before my first ”Around the bridges” for the year on Tuesday.

Back-to-back, part one

Last night's rainfall faded away into nothing some time in the early hours of the morning. When I got up, I opened the balcony door to let the wet earth scent seep into the living room. I was greeted by a bird choir, perched on a tree right outside the house. Nature was finally awake after its long winter slumber and was triumphantly singing at the top of its lungs.

The sun didn't break through the clouds until later, and the wind was still chilly when I and 6 other runners from AIK met up. I had asked if anyone wanted to join me for a Good Friday long run and luckily there were several who wanted to run with me.

We headed east, keeping to the north side of the river. We ran as slowly as we possibly could. This was supposed to be the first of two long runs, on two consecutive days, for me and a couple of the others. I was going to do back-to-back long runs, today and tomorrow, in order to get some more mileage while keeping the risk of injury relatively low.

Our conversation flowed freely, and revolved mainly around - you guessed it - training. The clouds dispersed and I marveled at how blue the sky can be. We haven't really been spoiled when it comes to sunny days this winter, and I made sure to enjoy every single photon that touched my body. We caught glimpses of the ground under the pine trees and spruces as we ran by a wooded area, and it was bare. The trails are probably still covered in ice, but it's not going to be long before that, too, gives in to the warmth of the spring sun.

Photo by E. H.

Two hours later we were back at the parking lot. The low pace we had kept throughout the run meant that my body wasn't particularly tired, but it also might have been the cause of the niggle in my left knee.

Very few things beat a long run on a sunny day. This is life at its best.

Bittersweet

I drove up to the arena through a deserted town, under a heavy black sky. The reason for the empty streets was hockey. The town's hockey team was playing in the finals and everyone was assumingly glued in front of their television sets.

When I arrived, ready for this season's last indoor training, the doors to the track were locked. The whole building was dark. It wasn't long before people started showing up, but in the end we were only a handful instead of the usual 15-20. I guess the others were watching the hockey game or were away for Easter.

Our coach had promised an easy session, and easy it was. We only ran drills: bum kicks, high knees, and much more. But the highlight of the session for me was running with our eyes closed. Trying to run in a straight line, we shut our eyes and listened to the signals our body was sending us. Were we leaning to one side? Did we strike the floor harder with one foot than with the other? Were we about to have a close encounter with the person next to us?

We ended the evening with a cup of coffee and some Easter sweets which our coach treated us to. My spirits were high, I had really enjoyed this session and gained some valuable insight into running technique, which is going to help me at my next race. But, as I drove home and the first drops of rain hit my windshield, I couldn't help feeling a little blue.

The Thursday indoor sessions were a new element in my training this last winter, the first time I incorporated a second quality session in my training week and the first time I trained on track. Although it was usually very tough training, I found myself looking forward to it every week. As much as I have longed for trail running, the outdoors, the forest, the dirt under my shoes, longed for it so much it aches, I am going to miss winter Thursdays. But there is a time for everything, and summer is for trail.

Not quite as fun as running, but the next best thing

Working from 7.30 to 16.00 and then from 17.00 to 20.15 is exhausting no matter what you do for a living. Ok, maybe if your job is testing matresses, it's not that exhausting. But for the rest of us that have REAL jobs, 11-hour work days can feel like an eternity.

When days like these coincide with the premier of the ”Around the bridges”-race series and I have to miss it, you bet I get cranky. Sure, there will be a race next week, and the week after that and every Tuesday until the end of May, but this was the premier. I've been training all winter for this. But no. I didn't get to run today. Pout.

Sitting at a meeting for three hours didn't seem like a great alternative to racing either, as I rushed home at 16.00 to get some food before I rushed back to work. But I was a woman on a mission. If I couldn't run the race, I could at least be a spectator. You see, the race takes place close to where I work. So, on my way back to work, I found a place where I could stand without being in anyone's way and waited for the runners to come.

I wasn't expecting such a huge crowd. I stood there for a good ten minutes while people of all ages ran past me – and that was only the first heat of four! I cheered whenever one of my club mates appeared, and smiled at everyone. Although I did have to put on a frown, a very very stern frown, at one point. A cheeky little boy, sweaty but otherwise completely unaffected by the effort, asked me as he ran past if he could borrow my bike. ”No way”, I told him, trying not to smile at the mop-haired rascal. ”Keep running, you're doing great!”

(Later, I found out that he needed my bike to get to a burning building in order to rescue a kitten that was in grave danger thanks to my pathological lying when it comes to how far I intend to run on any given day. Not really, but I can't help thinking, WHAT IF I WAS WRONG ABOUT HIS INTENTIONS??)

As I cycled back to work to face a three-hour meeting, I felt like I had drunk the strongest cup of coffee. Being a spectator is not as energy-giving as running the race, but it's the next best thing. And next week – fingers crossed – it's my turn to run.

Pinocchio

Did you know that cats are on the verge of extinction? That's because every time I lie to myself about how far I intend to run on my long run, God kills a kitten.

Take this morning, for example. It was the first time since last weekend that I woke up feeling completely healthy. But (and it was a pretty big but) I ran 30 km last weekend and, well, sometimes you need to take a step back in order to go forward. So, as my nose grew longer and longer, I repeated this mantra to myself:

Only 20 km today. I will only run 20 km today.

As I am often wont to do, I blamed the weather for my catastrophic failure to keep my promise to myself. I am a very honest person when it comes to my interactions with other people (I am also the master of Freudian slips and suffer from foot-in-mouth disease, so that makes me the queen of all things honest and true). Yet when it comes to being honest with myself and my training, all you need to do is throw some sunshine my way and promises go out the window along with my self-constraint. I'm like a puppy, except I only pee myself with excitement metaphorically.

So after I ran up to meet the other 30-odd runners who showed up for today's session with AIK, spent an hour and a half chatting with them while we roamed around town, got interviewed by the local paper (no big deal, happens to me all the time, seriously can't they just leave me alone, do they have to camp outside my house?), paused to try and convince an old NHL hockey legend to sell me his house at a reduced price, well, the damned sun was still out, still shining and I had already run more than 20 km.

I also still had to get home somehow.

No, I can't really blame the sun for making me take the scenic route on the way home. I can't even blame my two club mates who wanted to continue running a while longer. Because it was actually me who decided to join them and suggested we take the long way back. It was me who wanted to continue enjoying having a healthy body on a beautiful day. It was me who made God kill yet another kitten.

Desperately seeking trail

You know the feeling. Because you've been sick, you haven't been for a run in years (or at least it feels like it). The sun is shining for the first time since October, but you're stuck at work. When you finally get off work, the sun is gone. Thick clouds cover the sky and a chilly wind is set upon uprooting every single tree that's had the bad luck of growing on the wrong side of the river. The weather forecast threatens with snow. Finally. My first run in days. Yey! 

Yey...

That was yesterday. My resting pulse had gone back to normal but I didn't dare run intervals with AIK just yet. I had a vague plan (while stuck at work, gazing longingly at the blue sky outside) that I was going to go for a long run in the evening, in the warm seven o'clock light. But as the weather took a turn for the worse, my motivation waned. The long run became 15 km. Then 10. Then just a quick run around the bridges and then home as quickly as possible so that I could see how high I could turn the shower dial before my skin fell off.

It was just as well. Already after a few steps I knew that I wasn't healthy enough to be running any long runs just yet. I had to keep a low pace. The wind was so strong that I felt like I was running in place. It was time to regroup and count my losses.

Today was a different issue. Despite the wind being just as strong as it was yesterday, I didn't feel demotivated at all when I laced my shoes after work. It probably had something to do with the sun being out and all. I left the house with the jacket on, I came back with it tied around my waist. For the first time this year. Hallelujah, spring is finally here!

Can you tell I was excited by how many pictures I took?

I chose to run down by the river, where I knew the ice had thawed. Of course, with spring and thaw comes mud and water puddles. I didn't care. I even took a detour to run on a soaking-wet grass field, just to be able to feel earth under my feet again. Asphalt has been so hard on my joints, not to mention on my trail-loving spirit. And with Vitberget still covered in ice, a girl can get desperate.

They were going to get dirty eventually anyway

Careful what you wish for

Okay, maybe I didn't explicitly wish to get sick, but last week, in the throes of mental exhaustion, the thought might have crossed my mind that I was long overdue for the flu or something. Something that meant that I could let go of all the ”musts” in my life for a day or three and just watch reruns of Gilmore Girls in my pyjamas. I had a couple of minor infections at the end of last year, but they weren't bad enough to keep me home from work.

Yesterday, I dragged myself to work and regretted it almost immediately. I tried to brave it out but had to admit defeat and go home after lunch, with achy cheekbones. It looked like I had gotten what I'd wished for. I had a fever.

What followed were endless hours of boredom. Free time rocks – if you have a healthy body with which to enjoy it. Having to lie on the sofa because as soon as you get up you feel like you're going to pass out is not as much fun. And what is there to do on the sofa? Daytime TV is about as entertaining for me as a visit to the dentist. Reading a book is hard when your eyes are only half-open. That didn't leave me with a lot of other things to do.

Except think.

I thought about the evening's training session that I would miss, the final ”Round the bridges” test run. Then I thought about all the runs I will get to go for, all the races I want to do. I thought about the summer adventures we're planning and the Wednesday trail runs that are so hard but so, SO much fun. I missed my club mates, the friendly jabs and competitive spirit, the help and encouragement when it's tough. 

Yeah, yeah, carpe diem, I know. But it's hard to seize the day when your arms are too weak from fever to seize a second, let alone a whole day.

But it's ok. Sometimes, the body needs to rest and regain its strength, so it can come back even faster. And staying at home with nothing to do except dream about the future is maybe just what the mind needs to recuperate.

No good run goes unpunished

I had been waiting for this day for weeks. Some of my club mates wanted to extend the usual Saturday run into a three-hour session in preparation for a marathon they're running in May and asked me if I wanted to join them. Of course I did! Problem was, I have been putting in two quality sessions per week in addition to my long runs lately, which have been getting longer and longer. Now, I'm not an expert, but something tells me that increasing your speed and your weekly mileage is a recipe for disaster.

Cue my worries earlier this week.

Despite my legs itching to go for a longer run, I decided to keep a cool head and wait until this morning to see how my body felt. I had taken a couple of days off from training to let my legs recuperate but I had a thigh muscle that was tight and a moody respiratory system that didn't want to get out of bed in the mornings.

I woke up with a partially blocked nose. I rolled carefully to my side and looked at the clock. I found my pulse and started counting heartbeats. I counted a second time just to make sure. I was not liking the results so much, so I counted a third time and got a slightly better result. Five heartbeats over my normal fifty beats per minute. Not completely ok, but acceptable. There was probably an infection in my body but hopefully not a serious one. I would run up to our meeting place with AIK and see how my thigh felt.

My thigh still felt tight but it didn't hurt. The overall feeling in my body was great, better than it had been in weeks. The infection signals faded away the closer I got to my destination and soon disappeared completely.

We ran westwards and into the headwind that rushed to meet us. Time flew as we talked about upcoming races, injuries, shoes. Some 15 kilometres later we were back where we had started. My club mates asked me if I was going to join them in the extended run after all. Of course I was!

With the wind now on our backs, we ran eastwards. I sent an sms to J warning him that he might have to come and pick me up in the car, but then I did some calculations in my head and decided to turn back after 24 km to save him the trouble. Running home after that would bring me to an even 30 km, my dream goal this day. It's been over six months since I last ran that far.

What I had forgotten was that the way back meant a strong headwind. I almost had to lean into the wind to be able to move forward and my thigh started sending me ransom letters claiming it had taken my knee hostage. I tried running faster, lifting my knees more, anything to give my tired muscles a break. It seemed to pacify my disgruntled thigh.

I was surprisingly fresh when I got home, except for some light-headedness that I attributed to the wind. No good run goes unpunished, of course. So I am expecting I will be bedridden with a fever all day tomorrow.

Overtraining

Oh boy. You would not want to meet me in a dark alley the way I looked and felt yesterday. It's been a tough week at work, culminating in yesterday's record-breaking crapfest, which turned everything into a cause for irritation.

The sun was too bright.

The sun was not bright enough.

There were too many cheerful, inspirational quotes on my Facebook feed.

There were too many depressing articles on my Facebook feed.

My cats ran to the door to meet me when I got home.

My cats ran away when I felt like squeezing them.

SOMEONE PARKED THEIR BICYCLE AT MY SPOT. THEY TOOK MY SPOT.

And so on, and so forth. Everything was wrong. And I made sure the world knew it, by wearing the most pouty face I could contract my face muscles into and complaining loudly to anyone who would listen. I didn't get much sympathy for the bicycle spot outrage.

Running is the best therapy. My legs were heavy before the usual Wednesday run with the club, and – no happily-ever-after ending here – they were still heavy during and after the run too. But my mood got a lot better.

Yet, there was still a cloud of worry over my head. Why this irritation? Sure, my work week has been tough. Long hours, intense, unforgiving. But it is often like that. Why has this week in particular been so tough? And why were my legs so slow to recuperate after last Monday's run? I started dreading having to be at practice at a certain time. Not the training in itself, but having yet another item on my to-do list when I got home from work.

I suspected the worst. Overtraining and other psychological stress factors in tandem with each other, caught in a gravitational pull, spinning around each other forever in a sick co-dependant relationship.

Overtraining symptoms, according to Wikipedia, include:

Persistent muscle soreness (eh, not more than usual)

Persistent fatigue (mentally, yes. Physically, no)

Elevated resting heart rate (haven't checked in a couple of weeks)

Reduced heart rate variability (I don't even know what that means and I'm too fatigued to google it)

Increased susceptibility to infections (nope)

Increased incidence of injuries (I'm guessing there will be if I keep putting in 280km-months without rest periods)

Irritability (who the hell are you calling irritable?)

Depression (If there was increased incidence of injuries, you bet I'd get depressed)

Mental breakdown (not yet but give me a couple more days like yesterday and I'll get there)

So, not much in the symptom list applies in my case. I can probably breathe a sigh of relief. That's not to say that I'm indestructible. Therefore, I am playing truant from tonight's interval training and giving myself an extra rest day. Both mind and body are thanking me already.

The powerful human mind

”Round the bridges” training, part two last night. I felt tired beforehand, having waken up way too early in the morning, too early even for me who always wakes up early. It was also because it was going to be the last training session of a particularly heavy month, both distance- and speed-wise. I needed help to get around, a nice back to follow that kept a fast, yet not neckbreaking pace.

I found a couple of such nice backs to follow. The course was divided in two this week, with a 2-minute rest stop in the middle. Coming up the hill just before the rest stop, my speed dropped by 20-30 seconds and my heart raced. While I struggled upwards, I was convinced that I would never be able to return to the pace I had kept the first kilometre or so.

After resting for two minutes, we set off again, and now we had a little downwards slope ahead of us before the ground evened out again. The backs I was chasing increased the pace, but I was prepared to let them go. I went inside my head instead, and tried to remember what I had learned on my sports psychology course. I visualised. I saw myself running with a proud posture, imagined myself looking strong and shut out the tiredness signals. Because my shoulders have a tendency to tighten up and become tense, I pretended my arms were wet noodles. Instead of looking at my watch for speed guidance, I let my body decide what kind of pace felt comfortably fast. And I kept the backs within sight.

I ran to the finish line, very tired but not shattered. I was certain that the other half of the course had been much slower than the first one. But when I got home and looked at my times, I was in for a surprise. My min/km speed during the first and second half was exactly the same but for one second. Mind over body?

Flocktjärn long run

One of the many fine traditions AIK has is to run to Flocktjärn and back, a run that is approximately 24 km long. I woke up early this morning, as usual when I'm at home and in the company of a cat that craves my attention even when I'm asleep by, say, crawling under the bed and sharpening his claws on the underside of my matress. Strange dreams had plagued my sleep, nightmares where I had to go to work on a Saturday and miss the run.

Luckily for me, I didn't have to go to work when I woke up, and I did make it to training. It was a beautiful day, which might have been one of the reasons why we were as many as 20 runners – some of us in sunglasses and shorts, no less - that met up to run to Flocktjärn. 

The route is pretty hilly, and it didn't help that we had headwind for three quarters of the way. Three. Quarters. Of. The. Way. On a route that could best be described as a circle. Gothenburg, eat your heart out. I hereby nominate Skellefteå as Sweden's real Wind City.

The pace was low, so we didn't let hills or headwind deter us. We marched on with clenched teeth, eyes watering from the dust-carrying wind, struggling to keep upright on the icy roads. We were even approached by blood-thirsty wild animals, obviously hungry for human meat.

Do you see them? Do you see the blood dripping from their jaws?

</drama>

Okay, I may have exaggerated a little bit. The wind wasn't that bad, there were only scattered patches of ice and we spent most of our time chatting. The only animals we saw were three reindeer running away from us as fast as they could, and Anja, the long-distance running cocker spaniel, who belonged to one in the group and who probably wished she could run after the reindeer.

Time flies when you're having fun, and we were back where we started before we knew it. My legs were tired but they could still carry me, which I count as good enough, especially when you think about how tired they were before we started. Another long run in the pot. I haven't run many of them lately, and it's nice to know that the knee can behave itself so that I can run more of them.

What doesn't kill you makes you _______?

A. ….suffer.

B. ….wish it had.

C. …. want to take up stamp collecting instead.

With stiff legs, I joined AIK for Thursday's intervals on the indoor track. I say ”stiff” and not ”paralysed”, because I could, in fact, move them, albeit in a manner that suggested that I had a bullet lodged in each of my calves, or had my butt bitten by a rabid hyena.

I knew. I knew what was on schedule. I knew because a little bird had told me last Monday. 20 fifty second intervals, with 20 seconds jog in between. ”Short intervals, yey!”, I thought, and was completely convinced I loved the idea. 

It wasn't the first time my legs and I weren't in agreement. From the get go, my left thigh complained that I was asking it to work too hard. About half way, my stomach joined the whining chorus, because misery loves company and my thigh was very miserable indeed. I tried to ignore them, but they only whined louder. I gave up the fight slowly and reluctantly, and dropped my speed. Our coach shouted that we had to run at race pace or faster, but I just couldn't. Monday's tough session had taken its toll on me.

You can't say I didn't work hard

When the intervals were over, we had a chance to catch our breath. Then it was time for some relay training. In teams of three, we took turns sprinting 100 metres before handing over an imaginary baton to one of our team mates.

What a difference that made. Was it the knowledge that it was a shorter stretch? Was it the competition element? I don't know. But suddenly I was running tall, with long, controlled strides, and – as far as I could tell at that moment – fast. We each ran 4 such 100 metre intervals. Both I and my legs loved it.

Now I just hope every part of my body has recuperated enough before tomorrow's long run, when new adventures await.

Round the bridges

There is a race that takes place in Skellefteå every Tuesday for 7 weeks starting in April called ”Round the bridges”. As you can deduce from the title, there are bridges involved. Two bridges to be exact. And you run over them.

The race is 5 km long. Let me tell you why 5 km is not a good distance. Firstly, it's too short. It takes me 5 km just to get warmed up. Secondly, the shorter the distance, the faster you have to run.

Yes, yes, I know you don't have to run fast. There are other reasons why you'd want to participate in a 5 km race, as opposed to just going for an easy solo run. For example:

1. You've never run 5 km before and you want to see if you can do it.
2. You like running in a crowd.
3. You lost a bet.

I, on the other hand, am one of those strange people who want to do well at races. I haven't always been like that. In fact, only a year ago I belonged in the group of people who like to enter races for the shiny medal everyone gets at the end of a race. A collector. I ran at a comfortable pace, safe in the knowledge that no matter how lousy my time was, I'd be rewarded for it. Nothing wrong with that, especially if you're a beginner, because completing a race is an achievement worth rewarding. I'm still like that when it comes to longer races, like marathons and ultras.

This went on until last year, when my times started getting better. I suddenly got hungry. I wanted to know how good I could get. I wanted to earn that medal. Even if I placed at the bottom of the result list, I'd be happy as long as I knew I'd fought for it and given it my all.

So I've been training hard with AIK. I've made such progress as I never thought was possible for me. But 5K and shorter races are still my Achilles' heel. I just can't learn to like the panicky warning signals my brain sends me during such races when it thinks it's going to die: ”Abort! Abort! Code red! No, really! *Blaring WW2 air-raid siren* You are going to die! Do you hear me? You are GOING TO DIE!”

My survival instinct is too strong, I guess. Also, I don't like vomiting. And there is no medal at the end of these particular races.

Yesterday evening saw the beginning of the yearly ”Around the bridges”-specific training series with AIK. During the first such session, the race course is divided in three parts and we run each one, then rest for two minutes before we attack the next part.

First part was like:

fly fly fly posture light forward fast almost there

Then, it was like:

hill heart oxygen lactic acid lean forward posture almost there

And then, it was like:

pain pain pain forward posture? oh screw posture fight fight FIGHT

One thought remained constant throughout the session. I didn't want to run any of the "Round the bridges" races.

When the session was over, I felt light. I had no tension left anywhere in my body, because I had no energy left to fuel any tension in my body. People talked to me and it was like I saw and heard them through a haze. My mind was completely devoid of thoughts. It was a strange sort of transcendence, a neutral state of being where neither positive or negative feelings existed. I just was.

Then I jogged home and looked at my lap times and got hungry for new personal records. I will be running the races.

Why quit while you're ahead when you can crash and burn?

Flirting with disaster. It's something I excel in when it comes to running. It's exciting. It's fun. And without pushing your limits, how will you ever know how good you can become?

I haven't run further than 22 km in maybe 6 months. Long runs tend to make my knee unhappy, and since it's my knee that gets to decide if I can get out of bed in the morning, I do as it says. If the knee says I have to cut a run short, I cut it short. If the knee says I can keep running, I keep running.

So my runs have been shorter than I would have liked. For someone with ultra ambitions, I have run remarkably few long runs the last few months. My weekly mileage has understandably suffered, and I've been happy to put in 40 km per week, ecstatic if I've managed 50-55 without temporary left-side paralysis. As training has gotten harder and harder and my speed increased, though, I noticed that my knee got quieter and quieter. My theory is that my knee likes my running style better when I run fast (I'll just have to run ultras really, really fast). This resulted in 70 km last week, a week that was, coincidentally, the hardest in my life when it comes to quality runs.

Wise from past experience, I promised myself I would take it easy this week. That was Sunday evening. Have you experienced Sunday evening optimism? It's like with New Year's resolutions, or ”I'll start on my new diet on Monday”. It sounds fantastic in that moment, and maybe you truly believe that you'll make it, but when Monday or the new year arrives, the prospect of training at the gym 7 days per week or going cold turkey on chocolate chip cookies suddenly seems about as uplifting and exciting as spending Saturday night cleaning the cat litter box with your toothbrush.

Monday rolled in, evening came and with it the usual AIK interval session. The focus was on technique and not speed. ”Easy”, you're thinking, and it would have been, if I'd held back. ”Easy” was not how it went down. How it did go down was that I ran as fast as I could to see how close to the 3:30 min/km mark I could get, and also because there were others in front of me and I had to see if I could beat them. Because I was obviously dropped on my head as a child. Repeatedly.

Wednesday should have seen me run a shorter distance than my usual 17. I did 17,1.

Yey! Spring is here! Rejoice!

Thursday I skipped training, as I was at work all day. Instead, I went for what should have been a fun, easy, short run with my friend V on Friday. Fun and easy it was. But it was double as long as I had intended. Because it was so fun and easy I didn't want to go home.

Then Saturday. The AIK part of Saturday's training usually lasts for 1,5 hours, so I often run up to meet the group. That way I can get a couple of hours' worth of training. Today, our coach had planned a longer round that took us to a place I hadn't been before. At no point did it cross my mind to cut my run short. At no point did I remember that I have an evil dictator inhabiting my left knee. I followed the group almost the whole way back to the hockey arena, chatting away the kilometres and admiring the view, then fought off the soft, uneven snow that fell two days ago and which now covered all secondary roads on my way home.

Just kidding!

Tired, but not exhausted, I got there after the longest run in months, having brought this week's mileage total to 67 km. Easy week? Pfft. Why have an easy week and let your body rebuild itself when you can have a hard one and risk injury?

It wasn't my smartest move, but I got away with it. This time.

End of the week

I average between 50 and 60 km per week. I've tried to increase that over the years but my body has stubbornly refused to let me and gotten itself injured instead. So, after one of the hardest training weeks of my life, with three successful quality sessions (I count yesterday's 5 km-tempo segment in the middle of my long run with AIK as a quality session), I saw that my kilometre total for this week looked like this:

Well, we can't have that, can we. It looked so ugly, what with being so close to 70 km but not quite. My legs felt surprisingly fresh, the weather was beautiful, my stomach was full of pancake-and-maple-syrup fuel. What choice did I have but to go for a run? J and I took the car up to what used to be the ski track, before this freak winter crushed the dreams of a thousand skiers. Nothing remained but a powder covered ice rink. As luck would have it, we had spikes on our shoes.

Not that spikes helped much. It was so icy at some places that, even with the spikes on, I felt my feet sliding backwards a couple of centimetres with every step. We left the track and followed a trail into the woods. If heaven and hell had a baby, this is what it would look like:

Amazing, beautiful surroundings, warm winter light, cool, clean air. Ice, uneven ground, holes, and did I mention ice? But wow. What a feeling to be running trails again. Well worth the trouble.

The sun warmed us up nicely after the run, as we sat on a bench by the car to cool down.

Oh, and this:

An easy week now awaits.

8x4

In running, eight times four equals much more than thirty two. You see, what happens when you run eight 4-minute intervals is that you break down your body. Afterwards, your body not only repairs itself; it also supercompensates by building even stronger muscles, so that it is better prepared for hard training next time. So eight times four is much more than thirty two minutes of nausea, sweat and teeth-grinding. It's laying down the building blocks that are the foundation of a strong body.

It is also a mental challenge. Running around a 200-metre indoor track provides few distractions from the physical exertion, few sights or sounds that can break the monotony. All that is available to you is your own brain, and your own brain doesn't want you to do this. Your brain wants you to stop and go lie down on the couch and feed it sugar. So when you're in your 16^th loop and you still have 16 more to go, you either need to shut down your brain and concentrate on how your body feels (which is less successful if your body is in pain, because then your brain will suddenly become very convincing that you need to go and read a book instead) or employ those areas of your brain that are mathematically inclined. Count loops backwards. Figure out what speed you're running at. Break down the total into smaller, more manageable chunks. Your brain needs to learn how to put up with hard work. Paradoxically, it is your own brain that needs to teach itself when to shut up.

Eight times four is about trust. Trust that your coach knows what he's doing, trust that the demands he makes of you are not unreasonable. You are putting your training into someone else's hands, but you also need to trust your own judgement, that you know your own body and trust yourself to listen to it if it starts sending you signals that you're pushing it too far.

But eight times four is not only about the hard work. It's also about the camaraderie of going through something with like-minded people. You and your club mates are all out there, fighting just as hard to complete this gruelling session. They inspire you to try harder with their own effort. They help you to keep running by providing you with a good back to follow. They encourage you with words and smiles. We are going to meet at a race somewhere and compete against each other, but on the indoor track we are a team and we help each other become better runners.

Eight times four equals so much more than thirty two.

Up before the sun

This is the scene that unfolds every single morning in the Shaman household:

4.42: Shaman lying in bed, sleeping.

4.47: Cat number one goes to the litter tray, poops, tries to cover up its poop, misses and ends up clawing the wall, the floor, the cardboard box that contains the tray. Everything but the sand in the tray. Produces a lot of noise.

4.48: Shaman covers head with pillow to drown out the noise. Feels blood pressure rising.

4.51: Cat is still digging on cardboard. Noise leaks in through the pillow.

4.52: Blood pressure gets dangerously high. Brain starts an automatic, subconscious effort to send Shaman back to sleep by flooding itself with thoughts.

4.53: Thoughts chosen by brain are not calm, happy thoughts, about summer meadows bathed in golden sunlight and birds chirping, a puppy licking my face or a walk through the woods. Thoughts chosen by brain are about what needs to be done at work on that particular day and the laundry that is piling up in the laundry basket. Something obviously wrong with brain.

4.54: Brain is far from asleep. Brain is more awake than ever. Shaman gives up, gets up to make some breakfast.

4.59:00: Shaman sits down with a cup of coffee and some delicious yoghurt, ready to enjoy the most peaceful moment of the day.

4.59:01: Cat number two goes to the litter tray.

Every. Single. Morning.

Sleeping in is an alien concept for me. I know babies who sleep in longer than me. I'm used to it, and let's face it, I am a morning person, so I don't usually suffer from it. Not that I don't need to sleep in sometimes. Having just recently increased the quality runs from one per week to two, my body needs the sleep to repair itself.

Last night, hill repeats were on the AIK schedule. 36 runners met up to run up and down a 700-metre long hill as fast as possible. I managed to do 4,5 repeats before the 30 minutes of effective training were up. It was hard work, especially while trying to keep all the contents of my stomach in my stomach. As with last Thursday's training, I paired up with a couple of runners I thought I was of pretty much equal ability to, which helped me to keep an even pace and make it to the top each time without drowning my thigh muscles in lactic acid. 

Trail. Soon.

The thing that amazes me the most is how quickly my body is adapting to different forms of training. Less than a year ago, during the first Wednesday trail run of the season (which includes many tough climbs), I had to walk up most of the hills. This year, I can't wait for the challenge. I know I will do better. Especially if my cats let me sleep longer in the mornings.

A big hard sun

I am so ridiculously sentimental sometimes. Put me in a pair of running shoes, point me in the direction of the blazing spring sun after a long, grey winter, play ”Into the wild” by Eddie Vedder for me and my lower lip might start quivering. On my way up to meet AIK for our Saturday long run, I leaned to the left to compensate for the strong gusts of wind over one of the river bridges. Right then, a tear might have rolled down my cheek. A tear of joy. Feeling invincible.

Few things fill me with such uncontrollable joy as having two healthy legs on a beautiful day. Partly because they're healthy and I get to enjoy them yet another day, partly because of the prospect of all the amazing trail runs that are ahead of me when the snow melts.

The moment didn't last. After approximately 12-13 kilometres, my left knee started acting up again, seemingly out of nowhere. I just about had time to wonder how I would ever build up my long run distances again if the knee starts complaining after only 12 kilometres. And how it was that my 15-km session at the beginning of the week didn't make my knee complain at all. And how it probably was because that day my speed varied between slow jog and bat out of hell. Then, as suddenly as it had started, it was over. I ran the rest of my planned half-marathon on legs that were tired but otherwise happy.

Maybe spring isn't here just yet.

On the indoor track, no one can hear your self-preservation mechanism scream

Thursday evening, seven thirty-ish, the 200-metre indoor track at the hockey arena. Time to run 4-minute intervals with AIK. Last week we did 4 such intervals, this week it is time to increase them to 6. A girl from the group asks me if I want to run the intervals with her, it can get boring to do them on your own. ”Sure”, I say, out of breath from our gradual acceleration warm-up, ”try” and it sounds like I'm daring her to try and keep up with me but what I mean, of course, in the shorthand way of talking I adopt when I don't want to waste precious oxygen on producing words when I can use it to keep my heart pumping instead, is that she can try and run with me without falling asleep while I try to catch up.

Earlier that evening, during my warm-up jog to the hockey arena, several body parts are complaining. My calves are sore. My head hurts. And my stomach is convinced it's getting the stomach flu just because everyone else at work has it (duh, it's not like it's contagious. Oh, wait...). So, when it's time for the intervals, I'm feeling a little apprehensive but I try to look tough, like I am Usain Bolt's faster twin sister or something.

My thoughts during the session go something like this:

1^st interval: YEAH INTERVALS BRING THEM ON. It's hard work but not too hard. My calves are sore but I will beat them into submission. Because the best way to deal with strained muscles is to work them even harder.

2^nd interval: One lap around the track, two laps around the track...this is getting monotonous. Are we there yet?

3^rd interval: Why am I doing this? Oh, that's right, because I like doing well at races. I'll just hang in there, I just know I can do it!

4^th interval: I CAN'T DO THIS! Ok, let's count backwards. Only three intervals left. 4 laps, 3 laps, 2 laps, 1 lap...weren't the four minutes up three minutes ago?

5^th interval: Am I about to throw up because I'm getting the stomach flu or because I'm running too fast? Was I -gasp!- wrong in my assertion that my calves would like the tough love I'm showing them, seeing as they hurt even more now? And, seriously, why am I doing this? Is shaving a few seconds off my PR at my next race worth this?

6^th interval: Let's lower our ambitions from ”I want to keep a 4:25 min/km pace” to ”Dear God/Allah/Buddha/Flying Spaghetti Monster, I am not even religious but please let me survive this and I will sacrifice a cow worm mosquito (sorry, I'm vegetarian) half-dead cactus from my kitchen window in your honour”. Alright, just one more, just one more, just one m-- WHY AM I DOING THIS?

An hour or so later, when I'm home, after a warm shower:

This was the best interval run of my life. WE SHOULD DO THIS EVERY WEEK.

Miracle interval elixir

So maybe I have unconscious suicidal tendencies

Since moving to Skellefteå, my knowledge of ice has expanded considerably. Before, I thought there were only two ice modes: ice and no ice. Now, I know that there are a thousand different variations of ice. Ice that is slippery, ice that is porous, grey ice, white ice, slushy ice, treacherous ice with a thin layer of water on top. I'm sure Northern Swedes have 50 different words for ice.

Looking out the window it's difficult to know what the ice is like at that very moment. The ground may look ice-free or just wet, only to turn murderously glass-smooth the minute you've run far away from home to even consider running back to get your spikes. That minute for me is three metres from the front door. I can run 20 km, but walking back a few metres to get the spikes is too much work.

Also, I hate my spikes. They make my knees and feet hurt. Although, knees and feet, you know what else hurts? A BROKEN LEG. So suck it up.

This morning I took a chance and left the house without spikes. The road up to the hockey arena slash meeting place with AIK was fine, with only the occasional easily avoidable ice patch. But our coach had no intention of taking us to any of those boring safe dry roads. After a short warm-up in the neighbourhood, we headed towards the hills of Vitberget. We kept a manageable pace and even my sore calves seemed to slowly give in and enjoy it. It was particularly fun to chat with my running buddies and plan this summer's adventures. Ah, summer and trail running. Two of my favourite things.

The last bit of the road leading up to the top of the mountain was covered in ice (of the slippery variety).

Ice and uphill running don't mix.

For every step I took to move myself forward, I glided two steps back. The ones in the group with spikes on their shoes had better traction and got to the top about four hours before me, but to the top I got. Then it was time to run back down the hill again.

Ice and downhill running don't mix.

For every very careful step I took to move myself forward, I glided three meters in the same direction. If only there was a downhill three-metre long slope leading to my front door, I might even consider turning back to get my spikes. We got halfway down the hill with no casualties, but then our coach had a little surprise for us. We left the road and followed a well-trodden trail/snowmobile track into the woods. 

Oh how I've missed trail running. I slipped and slid on the ice, I threw my arms to the side to get some sort of balance, but it was all worth it just to be able to run in the woods again. Where the path was covered in snow and I could pick up the pace a little, I skipped and jumped. I loved every second of it.

When the AIK session was over and I left the group to run home, I once again found dry ground. But it felt kind of boring by comparison. We might have done with a helmet in the woods, but you can't say that it wasn't exciting.