Lemon sponge cake

Returning to Gothenburg after two intensive days in Halmstad, I allow myself the indulgence of SJ’s new lemon sponge cake as I reflect on today’s lecture by our new guest professor Jonas Linderoth. Having made a name as one of the strongest advocates of cognitivism and evidence-based thinking in recent Swedish school debates, much of what Linderoth said resonated with me.

Yet, there is something in his singular focus on “what works” that troubles me when applied to higher education. What ideally sets university education apart is not efficiency but doubt, the cultivation of critical distance, of questioning one’s own knowledge and confronting one’s own prejudices. Recognizing human fallibility and making students sceptical of totalizing claims should be at the very heart of liberal education. In that sense, Linderoth’s instructionist paradigm risks feeding into the broader deintellectualization of higher education which I wrote about in my recent article on HyFlex teaching.

Iris Murdoch

Two years ago, Anna and I both became completely absorbed by Lyra Ekström Lindbäck’s novel Moral, in which the Irish-British novelist and philosopher Iris Murdoch plays a key role. With Anna Victoria Hallberg’s book You Touch My Soul: Scenes from a Life with Iris Murdoch fresh off the printer, it felt like an obvious new piece to the puzzle – and a necessary investment.

Otherwise, the big news today is that my co-authored article Critical Perspectives on HyFlex Teaching is finally live on the website of the Journal of Social Work Education. First submitted in May 2023, back when I was still working in Umeå, it has been one of the most drawn-out publishing experiences of my career – rivalled only by my book chapter with Edward Elgar earlier this year. From initial submission to first decision, my co-author Linda and I waited 13 months. Fortunately, the reviewers were positive, so after some minor revisions our article was accepted in September last year. Normally, it then takes a few months for an article to appear online (and possibly much longer before it is assigned to an actual issue of the journal). In our case, however, we had to wait another ten months before the next chapter of the saga: getting the journal to recognize that Halmstad University (like all Swedish universities) has a “transformative agreement” with Taylor & Francis that covers the cost of open access publishing. Countless e-mails later, I got to sign the publishing agreement last Tuesday – and, after yet another exchange with the portfolio manager and the “typesetter” (only the “lamplighter” missing) – the article finally appeared online today exactly one week later. I like to think that Iris Murdoch would have appreciated the whole affair: the long wait, the bureaucratic entanglements, the small triumph at the end symbolized by fish tacos and a bottle of Portuguese white wine – all the stuff of moral life, just with more email threads and fewer Oxford quadrangles.

Sista sommarlovsdagen

Many summers ago, my dad took me and my sister on a trip to Böda Sand and northern Öland. It was the last Sunday before school would start, all ice cream was selling at half price, and the air carried a heavy sense of melancholy. I remember wanting to stretch out every moment, knowing that a long spell of freedom and uninterrupted time was coming to an end.

Luckily, my own kids are slightly more rational. Eddie has been away for four days at Kode Space Camp, while William decided to bake bread (sic!) entirely on his own as Anna and I went into town for some autumn wardrobe upgrades and, not to forget, a Basque cheesecake at A43.

Otherwise, the big thing around the corner is “kyrkflytten” in Kiruna (the moving of the town’s large wooden church) on Tuesday. Anna’s mother will fly up tomorrow morning to witness the spectacle firsthand, as the church – weighing 672 tonnes – is transported five kilometres in one piece, including its famous altarpiece by Prince Eugen. The painting, nearly five metres long and four metres high, was inspired by his trip to Florence in 1897. When in Kiruna during the winter months, the contrast to the outside world could not be more pronounced.

Backyard light

Ever since I first learned about the concept of Backyard Ultras, I have been wary that it is exactly the kind of thing that could get me injured, as I have a tendency to continue no matter what. Back in 2021, I even registered for the Obbola Backyard, but ultimately pulled out since I had a lot of other races (most notably Trail Kuršių Nerija in Lithuania) around the same time.

Though a far cry from the real thing, this morning I decided to run eight loops on the 5k trail in Skatås, with plenty of time for pancakes and water refills in between. Trying to keep my heart rate steady in zone 2 around 130 bpm, the first ten to fifteen kilometres were beautiful in the early morning hours, with plenty of deer and other animals along the trail. Soon, however, the monotony set in (I do not even want to think about doing twenty loops or more on a true backyard course). At least my imagination helped, letting me drift away to possible future races such as the Whalers' Great Route in the Azores or the Salomon Cappadocia Ultra-Trail in Turkey.

After five loops I stopped for pancakes, just as everyone was gathering for this week’s Parkrun, including our local legend Osan. If all goes according to plan, I intend to go all out at next Saturday’s Parkrun, but for today I just headed out for three more loops. With 841 metres of elevation in my legs, I finally returned home to plenty of water and some fried Vietnamese rice on the veranda.

Mitropa

Having published 2,977 posts to Rawls & Me over the past nineteen years, I am somewhat surprised that I have never written about “Mitropa.” Just as in the Suede song, the sight of an old East German WRm in Malmö sent me tumbling back to a time when Europe was our playground – if not from the Eastern Bloc to France, then at least to Göttingen (and, in two weeks' time, back to Heathrow with my dad).

With the kids still off from school, I took William on a tempo-pace run over the bridges, maintaining an average heart rate of 152 bpm and dreaming that one day I might sustain that pace for 42.2 kilometres and finally run a full marathon in under three hours and thirty minutes.

Once back home, I signed an open access publishing agreement with Taylor & Francis for my new co-authored article – an almost endless saga – before taking both kids up to Delsjön for a morning swim. According to my Suunto, the water temperature has already dropped to 19 degrees, but the good news is that the forecast promises a few more days of summer later this week..

Tel Aviv

Last night, Anna and I watched the 2012 movie Tel Aviv, a love story between a Palestinian psychology student and an Israeli lawyer, set against the backdrop of the Israeli–Palestinian conflict. When I visited with Ally in 2018, I was struck by the many gay venues and the generally LGBTQ-friendly atmosphere in Tel Aviv. Yet, the film’s portrayal of the dual realities of the conflict – and the intersecting tensions between national and sexual identities – felt remarkably bold. Its deeply humanistic message resonates all the more today, given how much darker the situation has become since.

Cod

Today we have been hanging out with my sister and her extended family, as well as my parents, in their Airbnb rental, which happens to be just a few blocks away. With Gothenburg filling up with people attending the Way Out West music festival, the tram was beyond crowded, but at least Eddie and I made it down to the gym for 5k of high-intensity rowing – and also to Vasque to pick up my freshly pressed dress shirts, taking me one step closer to boarding the Queen Mary 2.

Otherwise, I started the day with 11k of running in Skatås with Anna, which felt great, and ended it with pan-seared cod loin with sweet potato purée and basil oil, so life in Kålltorp is as rough as ever

Queen Mary 2

Built in Saint-Nazaire by Chantiers de l'Atlantique, the Queen Mary 2 first set sail in 2003 and remains the only active, purpose-built ocean liner in service. Despite her many years at sea, I have only seen her on two occasions: once in Stavanger in 2013 and again in Dubai a few years later.

At the time of her launch, she was the world’s longest passenger ship, measuring an impressive 345 metres, a title since overtaken by Royal Caribbean’s “Icon”-class ships. With her deep draft and reinforced hull, she is uniquely equipped to handle the rigours of the North Atlantic. In a typical year, the Queen Mary 2 completes between 20 and 25 transatlantic crossings, covering the 3,000 nautical miles between Southampton and New York in seven days.

Between crossings, she often embarks on shorter excursions to the Mediterranean, the Caribbean, or the Norwegian fjords. Having just returned from eight such days in Norway, with English-French celebrity chef Michel Roux aboard, she will call in Hamburg on the 25th of August. That is where my dad and I will board at lunchtime, joining her for the first leg of her westward journey. We will then spend two nights on board before disembarking in Southampton.

Skeppsholmen

After a good night’s sleep at Sjöfartshotellet, William and I woke up to grey skies but ready to hit the quays of Stockholm. Running in my super-cushioned Asics Novablast 5, I could barely tell that I ran 91 kilometres only a few days ago.

Stopping to take photos, I was reminded of my many past Stockholm morning runs, including when Anna and I first got together in 2010. After a fulfilling hotel breakfast we are now off to Chess Summer Camp near Zinkensdamm!

Riksdagen

Once in Stockholm, William and I walked past Riksdagen (the Swedish parliament) on Helgeandsholmen and noticed that they were offering free guided tours. We both felt this was something we would like to do, so we pencilled it in for the afternoon – after first checking in to our hotel and having lunch at Tre Indier on Söder.

As for the tour, it certainly did not disappoint. That said, having a PhD in political science does make you feel a bit silly when you cannot immediately answer all the questions posed by the guide. Regardless, William’s enthusiasm was unmistakable and easily made my day. Afterwards, we returned to Sjöfartshotellet for rooftop mocktails overlooking Stockholms ström.

Later in the evening, I also checked out the hotel gym for some gentle strength training. With every ultra, it feels like my body is getting better and better at recovery, so with a bit of luck, I hope to go for a morning run already tomorrow. 

Hypoglycemia and water meadows

All night, the rain hammered against the windows, but by the time William and I left Gothenburg at 6 am, the sky had cleared, and, with a bit of luck, it will stay sunny throughout our visit to the capital. Now aboard SJ high-speed service 422, William is reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows while I am booking train tickets to Halmstad for the first autumn weeks.

Yesterday, I had a conversation with ChatGPT about what went wrong during Halland Ultra-Beach, and, going through the race step by step, it became clear that the cause of my failure was simply hypoglycemia as I failed to recognise how many hours I had gone without food. In retrospect, it is all slightly embarrassing, as I knew perfectly well how important fuelling is. During the first 40 kilometres of the race, I managed to maintain a steady caloric intake, but as I was dragged down by the many water meadows around Stranninge, I gradually lost track of how much time I was spending out on the course relative to how little I was eating.

In the words of ChatGPT:

This prolonged period of intense exertion without replenishment likely led to severe depletion of glycogen stores and hypoglycemia. Typical symptoms – such as dizziness, coldness, and mental fog – emerged, indicating systemic energy failure. Attempts to ingest a Maurten energy gel at that stage proved unsuccessful due to nausea, which often results from delayed fuelling and gastrointestinal shutdown.

In combination with wet and slippery conditions, the growing sense of disorientation and loss of core temperature signalled a broader physiological collapse. Continuing into the night across exposed coastal rocks in such a state would have posed significant risks. From a safety perspective, the decision to stop was not only reasonable but prudent.

Frutti di Mare

Ten hours of solid sleep later, I woke up to the first work week of the autumn semester, feeling surprisingly refreshed and ready to finally get to the bottom of what has been holding up the author publishing agreement with Taylor & Francis for my new co-authored article.

Meanwhile, William has fully taken over the living room for his big Lego sorting and selling project, and Eddie has been to the gym for the first time since turning 13 and being allowed to go there on his own.

Tomorrow morning, William and I will take the train to Stockholm where he will be playing chess while I hope to make some progress with my writing. For tonight, however, I have made (what was supposed to be a celebratory) Risotto ai Frutti di Mare to go with the house Sauvignon Blanc from New Zealand as we wait for the storm “Floris” to make landfall – and hopefully not disrupt our travel plans.

One Year Later, One River Too Many

One year after being forced to DNF due to lost eyesight 67 kilometres into the 100k edition of Halland Ultra-Beach, I took the train down to Åskloster to run my first ever 100-mile race yesterday morning. Arriving a couple of hours before the start, I had plenty of time to get to know the other runners and to install the satellite tracker on my running vest.

At 10 a.m. sharp, Robert sent us all off with a playful “Allé, allé, allé". Feeling strong after having run only 15 kilometres over the previous week, I enjoyed expansive views of the sea from atop the Gamla Varberg nature reserve, before settling for a 6 min/km pace along the bike paths into Varberg, where a latte and a focaccia were already waiting for me at Espresso House.

Continuing south past Träslövsläge, I stopped for a scoop of sea salted caramel (of course) from Lejonet & Björnen, still confident that I would be able to finish in under 24 hours. Soon enough, however, the pace slowed considerably as the course required fording through knee-deep water. Fortunately, I was still running in a group, and it was daylight, but I began to get a sense of what awaited me later in the night.

After 60 kilometres, I reached the first aid station in Olofsbo, where I was served a delicious burger and an alcohol-free beer. With fresh dry socks, my spirits were quickly restored. Chatting and jogging with a fellow runner who was doing the full 200-mile (sic!) race from Gothenburg to Båstad, night fell - but not before I encountered a beautiful white horse and, later, all the people partying in Falkenberg.

Once on the beach in Skrea, I could feel my energy levels starting to dip. With not a single place open, I struggled to get the Maurten gel down. Before long, I was alone in the dark, climbing cliffs with increasing instability and getting colder for every river mouth that I had to ford. Unlike last year, when I had the company of Emma, I was alone when crossing Suseån, and doubts began to creep in about the feasibility of the whole enterprise. If I were to avoid fording Fylleån further south, the total distance would exceed 170 kilometres, and with my pace grinding down to 15–20 min/km, there was not much time to spare.

At the 90-kilometre mark, I made the difficult decision to DNF, as it no longer felt safe to continue onto the cliffs of Steningekusten. Badly burnt from nettles and jellyfish, and cold to the bone, other factors also weighed in as I messaged the race organisers to say that I wished to quit.

However, rather than being whisked away in a luxurious electric car like on Fjällmaraton in 2022, I found myself stranded on the asphalt at a bus stop for hours, as the first bus would not depart until 7 a.m. I tried hitchhiking, but all the cars drove past — until finally, at 05:45, a hero stopped and drove me to the railway station in Falkenberg. A quick ride on the Öresund train through the new tunnel in Varberg later, I was back at the railway station in Gothenburg, where Anna and Eddie met me for coffee. Once again, I had overestimated my ability. Still, I would not want to have those 91 kilometres and 17 hours undone.