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.

Pushing my limits

When you try to open the door to your flat with your car key, then you're tired. My current exhaustion informs me that 26 km was maybe a bit ambitious for my level of fitness right now.

It all started well enough. I was rested. The sun was shining. My spirits were high, despite this morning's philosophical musings. A group of 7 gathered in Skatås. It's always nice to meet new people, but it was also very nice that I had run with most of these 7 several times before. The conversation flows more easily when you know someone.

We set off towards Jonsered. It felt easy at first, as we ran out of the Skatås forest and among Sävedalen's houses. I had debated briefly before leaving home if I should wear my jacket or my vest and decided it was still too cold for a vest, but now that the sun was shining with no clouds in sight, my black jacket absorbed way too much heat for my liking.

After a couple of kilometres' noise from the near-by motorway, we turned left and followed the river. This was much better. There wasn't much traffic or people about, and before we knew it we were in Jonsered.

In Jonsered we were met with about 30 people that were queuing up to buy...stamps. We found out from an excited lady that a new stamp, that portrayed Jonsered's entrance, had just been released. She beamed at us. We blinked uncomprehendingly at the crowd of people queuing up to buy stamps. They blinked back at us, a group of tights-wearing, sweaty crazies that had just run from Gothenburg and were just about to run back. I don't think we found common ground. They collected stamps, we collected kilometres.

Someone then said that Lerum was only 8 km away. Mia's face lit up. She wanted to run the marathon distance today. I immediately started shaking my head violently, as if I were having a seizure. Maybe I'm getting a bit smarter, because I can't deny that I was tempted to add some extra kilometres to my run. But I didn't.

Our group split up. Mia, Johan and Christian made their way to Lerum, whereupon Christian would take the train back, and the other two would leg it to marathon glory. I joined Hans, Carl and Therese on the run back to Skatås.

It could be the ghost of long runs past that was haunting me as soon as we left Jonsered. I remembered how tired I felt at exactly the same place when we ran from Alingsås, and I almost felt sympathy pains towards my past self. I could feel how the tiniest little hill had started to challenge me, how lactic acid threatened to establish itself in my thighs.

Making conversation while running started feeling too grand of a project. We had run 18 km at this point, and I was certain I would have to take the bus the rest of the way. Then we left the quiet cycle paths and ran through the main road of Sävedalen, with all its shops and people. Somehow, something that would otherwise make me run the other way, gave me strength to keep going. I suppose I was distracted by all the going ons around me. Especially by the people sitting outside in the sun eating burgers. My stomach growled.

By the time we had run 22 km, I was completely quiet. Not really observant of my surroundings either, although my Garmin informs me that we ran through Kalltorp. I started looking wistfully at all the convenience stores we ran past. I wanted to go in and buy some water. Clever me had inexplicably decided against bringing water today, and I was paying for it. For some reason I also wanted to buy ice cream. But I didn't want to hold the others back, and I didn't want to let go of them either, as I had no idea where I was. So I kept running.

The final hill up to Skatås made me walk. It came precisely after 25 kilometres, so I could walk up it in good conscience. The others continued to run up the hill and waited for me at the top. I went to the ladies' room in the Skatås gym and drank the most deliciously cold water. I felt refreshed enough to want to join Therese for an extra kilometre.

My foot got the ice bath treatment when I got home. The rest of me deserves an ice cream. And some really cold water.

Life, the universe and everything

Sometimes I wish I had the brain of a scientist. There are so many things that fascinate me, that I wish I could understand,that my puny little brain can only stare at, agape and in awe of it all. Take the universe, for example. I watched BBC's Wonders of the Universe last night, another excellent documentary by the channel that is the Mother of all documentary film making.

The universe is vast. It's incomprehensible. Mankind has strived to solve its puzzles for centuries. Modern scientists have theories, based on mathematical formulas, observations and what not, and they still can't explain the biggest mysteries of them all: How did it all start? How will it all end? Is talking about beginnings and endings redundant, when time cannot exist without matter? Are there other universes out there? How about intelligent life?

photo © 2010 NASA Goddard Space Flight Center | more info (via: Wylio)

Yet I can't help but bring it down to scale sometimes. I don't need to stargaze to be in awe of the universe. The universe is all around, here on our planet, in the tiniest little bug or the most delicate flower.

On my long runs, if I'm lucky, I sometimes get into a certain state. You could call it meditative. While in that state, something strange happens. I can feel the tiniest creaks in my body, the numbness in my toes, the tiredness in my limbs, and at the same time it's as if I am observing those things from a distance. They don't touch me. Some other times, my mind just seems to scatter and expand, until it is not a mind any more, but rather particles carried by the breeze. When all of this happens, I feel as if I am part of something bigger. A part of the universe.

It sounds new age-y, I know. I could very well be influenced by pop culture in my view of the universe. I have found that it is very hard to talk about the universe as a layman without sounding like a hippy. But analysing the universe scientifically cannot take away the awe I feel when I'm out on a long run, the childlike curiosity with which I look at my surroundings or the way I marvel at the beauty of it all. And my awe and wonder can only make me thirstier for knowledge and understanding.

Talk to the hand, foot!

The Demented Dictator has been critical of me lately. Its Podiatric Majesty has treated my switching back to my old Sauconys with scepticism.

You see, I had this crazy theory that, I don't know, maybe my Kayanos are not helping with my Plantar Fasciitis. That, all this time, they only made the problem worse. Seeing as they haven't made it better. This theory came about one day after a run, when I felt the arch support of the shoe push against my foot. What if the shoe rubs against my foot and causes the inflammation?

My Sauconys provide support and cushioning, but not to the same degree as my Kayanos, so I thought I'd give them a try and see if they rubbed against my foot in the same way. Almost a year after I confined them to walking shoe hell, they were back with a vengeance on yesterday's run. They felt light. They felt right. They didn't rub against my foot.

But my theory did not seem to hold. Foot was still not happy. If I sit still for more than 5 minutes, it acts up. So now everyone thinks I have twitchy feet.

Instead of moping about it like I did last week, though, I'm going to treat the Evil One with the contempt that it deserves. I will join the running group for a long run tomorrow, to Jonsered and back. And long it shall be, if all goes as planned. 25 sunny kilometres, revisiting a part of the now legendary route Alingsås – Gothenburg. Conveniently, it is just the part that I remember only vaguely, as I must have been in some kind of delirium when we ran it: Inexplicably I kept saying yes to running just a bit longer, only a few kilometres left to the marathon distance, our destination is just around the corner...(I'm looking at you, Mia).

(But so glad you egged me on.)

Flexibility is my middle name

I got lazy yesterday. I didn't go for a run, as I had planned. The wind had picked up considerably in the evening, the sky was half cloudy and it didn't look or feel like summer at all. I did some strength exercises instead. Yeah, I'm flexible like that.

The wind is still howling, even more than yesterday, but two days in a row without running? When I'm healthy and my legs are well rested? Sacrilege! Besides, I really don't feel like cycling against the wind.

So my running clothes are coming with me to work. By the time I start running home, the sun will be on its way back to bed and I'll have the wind on my back. Maybe the sky will treat me to a kaleidoscopic sunset.

Spring forward

Last night, as J and I were slowly walking back to the car after climbing, it suddenly hit me: time was maybe 20.30, but for the first time since last autumn it didn't feel late. That, for me, is a definite sign that spring is here and summer is just around the corner.

Let me explain. I am a notorious early bird. I go to bed early, I wake up early. The latter has become a necessity because our cats don't let us sleep in, but also because I work shifts and sometimes have to be at work at 6.

In the summer, when daylight increases, I tend to need less sleep and can stay up a bit later than small children.

Those few minutes of golden light right before the sun rises or sets are for me the best time of the day. On a clear day, the sky is painted in all shades of orange, and it feels like a warm embrace. Some of my best memories are from serene summer dawns or vibrant summer dusks. For example, the time I went running early one summer dawn and I saw a beautiful roe deer not 10 meters away.

photo © 2010 Michele Pegoraro | more info (via: Wylio)

In the winter, the chances to catch those fleeting moments are rare. Partly because the sky is obscured by clouds more often than not, and partly because it's dark most of the time. Some days, when I'm at work, I never even see the sun, because it's dark when I get there and dark when I leave.

On Sunday, we spring forward. An extra hour of sunlight in the evening. I am planning on celebrating this fact by going for a run this evening, just when the sun is about to set. Maybe I'll be lucky and catch a magnificent sunset.

Double trouble

Yesterday was my first time on the bike since the autumn. I cycled like a maniac, which left my legs dead. I could really feel the cycling muscles stuggling to wake up after months of neglect.

So today I had only planned to run to work, and then I was supposed to get a lift with J to our climbing course in town. I decided to make it a ”longer” run than my usual, and was treated first to a pheasant sighting and then to a beautiful sunrise. Unfortunately the pheasants flew away before I got the chance to take my mobile phone out and take a picture, but the sunrise was kind enough to wait for me while I fumbled with the camera settings.

Half way through the day I found out that I didn't have to work late, like I had thought. That created a dilemma for me: Should I stay at work anyway, and join J on the car ride to town? Or leave work early and run home to grab a bite first? I chose the second.

Did I mention my legs were dead from yesterday's cycling? Yeah. That's exactly how they felt this morning, while I tried to keep leaning forward, lift my heels towards my butt and generally use a good running technique. But on the way home it was even worse. My feet were so heavy, they almost scraped the ground. What almost made me throw in the towel was my breathing. Employing the right running technique makes me run faster than I am comfortable with, and my pulse skyrockets.

I ended up running 10 km today. Two running sessions in one day, which are soon to be followed by a climbing session. Nice!

Learning to fly

Well, maybe the running technique workshop I attended this morning wasn't that advanced. I didn't learn how to fly. In fact, it felt nothing like flying. It was running the way nature intended it.

Markus Stålbom's workshop was recommended to me by a running buddy. Some of you might remember that I met up with said buddy a few days after Christmas, when I was feeling very low because of my foot injury, in order to get some tips on improving my running technique. He had attended one of Stålbom's workshops and was kind enough to show me what he had learned. When I left a while later, I was full of hope: maybe, if I improved my technique, I could avoid future injuries and relieve my aching foot. I didn't feel so powerless any more: my technique was something concrete that I could work on.

Since then, I have thought about all these tips while I run, especially when in my Five Fingers. It must have made a difference; when Stålbom filmed our running style at the beginning of the session, he didn't have that many corrections to make about mine. He thought I should try to lean forwards a bit more. I was braking by leaning backwards.

Waiting for the workshop to begin

After talking about some theoretical stuff, we went through some running drills and exercises. Lots of them. The first ones were aimed at improving individual aspects of our running style, such as lifting the heel directly under our body, and the later ones were aimed at bringing all the aspects together. The workshop was concluded after 3 hours with another video analysis, to see how our technique had changed.

I could immediately see a difference in my style. I leaned forwards more. My feet touched the ground less. It still wasn't perfect, of course, but I was getting there.

When I came home later, my head was full of information. I had to go out and practise, before I forgot. My pulse was high, my legs worked hard, my breathing was laboured. Trying to piece together all the different technical aspects was difficult. Stålbom said right before we left that it can take up to a month before the body gets used to it.

I found Stålbom very easygoing and likeable. I thought that the workshop, especially the drills and exercises, were very useful. It will be hard to build up to such a level where I can run long runs ”perfectly”, as technique tends to suffer the more one gets tired. But those short runs home from work should be perfect for working on my running style.