Airolite

Over the years, I have come to dread talking about my work in environmental politics. In the days leading up to conferences, I often find myself growing anxious that people will feel alienated or read my arguments as a form of neoliberal evasion. To my surprise, yesterday’s presentation at the TRAINS conference went really well, with no animosity whatsoever. As in San Francisco in 2023, it gave me hope that communication is possible, even across deep value divides.

Waking up to snow in Gothenburg, I spent the morning on academic housekeeping before teaching my communication class on Zoom. With the snowstorm still raging, I then headed down to Nordic Wellness Örgryte for 10 kilometres on the treadmill, wearing my new Hoka Airolite singlet. After a few days off from running, I was able to keep my heart rate at 143 bpm while holding a steady 4:44 min/km pace – all boding well for the Lake Maggiore Half Marathon exactly one month from now.

3x Early February

Treadmill sprint

After conducting another interview to assess teaching competence – this time on behalf of Mälardalen University – I took tram number 3 down to Nordic Wellness Olskroken for some fast-twitch muscle activation: 30-second bursts at a 3:30 min/km pace, followed by ten gentle kilometres of indoor rowing.

Unfortunately, I once again failed to find a ribbed-knit shawl-collar cardigan to match the one from Talamone in Quantum of Solace. If this continues, I fear I will soon be blacklisted as a full-blown “returmissbrukare”, but the one I was wearing on Zoom above was simply too bulky and is now on its way back to Boozt.

Pull

Last night, I went to the gym with the kids, as Eddie wanted to challenge himself with 10,000 meters on the rowing machine – something that he, quite incredibly, actually managed to pull off. For my own part, I did my usual weight training and explored a few new machines with William. Since William turned 11 back in December, it has been a genuine game-changer to be able to go together, all three of us.

After spending almost a month in Gothenburg, I am taking the train to Halmstad tomorrow morning to mark a stack of old-school paper exams and attend the TRAINS conference, where I will present my aviation article on Thursday. While preparing the presentation, I was struck by the fact that today marks exactly two months until WPSA in San Diego, which, in the age of the Trumpocene, is too long to be fathomable, considering the number of crises that will probably have passed by the time I board that Lufthansa flight across the Atlantic.

Easing into February

After 54 hours of training in January, I woke up to a cold but beautiful morning with a full moon hovering over Delsjön. Starting the new month with a bit of Long Slow Distance, I was once again grateful for my Finnish VJ shoes, as much of the forest remains covered in ice (even though there is very little snow).

Yesterday, while hiking, William and I were surprised to find Brudarbacken in full use, with plenty of people downhill skiing thanks to snowmaking machines. The same combination of cold temperatures and scarce snowfall has also created perfect conditions for ice skating, leaving me tempted to go digging for my skates in the basement.

Lago Maggiore

Some dreams one cannot just let go of. Having failed time after time – most recently in Kalmar back in June – I have decided once again to chase down my half-marathon PR from the height of the pandemic, this time along the shores of Lake Maggiore. Running 21.1 kilometres from Stresa to Verbania in early March, Anna will join me, hoping to finally break that magical two-hour barrier.

With this race in mind, I have decided to trade volume for speed over the coming five weeks. Ending January with 320 kilometres in the bank, it feels both reasonable, and slightly unsettling, to ease off the mileage in favour of sharper sessions and longer recoveries. Flying with SAS, we will be away from the kids for just two days, but hopefully we will also get to see a bit of the surrounding lakes and stock up on some spring sunshine.

Brasserie Draken

For the first “Dining by Amex” benefit of 2026, I decided to check out Brasserie Draken, located on the 33rd floor with expansive views over the harbour of Gothenburg. With the few available slots quickly booking up, I had to act fast back in December, but luckily managed to secure a Thursday evening reservation.

The fixed menu started with burrata accompanied by zucchini, figs, mint, and almonds, followed by French duck with pumpkin purée and roasted parsnip. We kicked things off with a glass of cava and then – after careful study of the extensive wine list – settled on a glass each of pinot noir (or Spätburgunder, as it is known in German) from Baden-Württemberg.

While the food was perfectly fine, the real attraction was the venue itself, with its Park Hyatt Tokyo–esque views and the iconic dragon gazing down from the ceiling. Topping things off with crème brûlée and espresso on our own dime, I would give the overall experience a solid 4 out of 5.

Nationellt isdygn

Finally able to sleep in a bit, I started the day by constructing exam questions for my social work students and listening to a fascinating podcast with the Scottish philosopher Amanda Askell about her work writing the “constitution” that governs the AI model Claude. As always when it comes to AI, there is every indication that we are in for a ride...

This January has been the coldest in two decades, and with more cold weather moving in from Russia, all of Sweden’s weather stations are once again expecting sub-zero temperatures. With a real-feel temperature of −9 degrees, I set off for another harbour run after our bi-weekly department online meeting, covering 25 kilometres in the sun, with a few 30-second strides towards the end to improve neuromuscular efficiency and running form. Stopping first at the observation tower in Slottsskogen (which I had never been up to before) and then at Alkemisten for coffee on the return, life is clearly good, and I feel fortunate to be able to mix work and play like this.

Triathlon Tuesday

Suddenly in a time zone of my own, I woke up at 4 a.m. again today and finished the revisions of my article. As always, I discovered a couple of annoying typos the minute after submitting, but there will presumably be a few more rounds before it appears in print.

After two more hours of work, I took the tram down to Valhallabadet for a sprint triathlon. Just as before, the biking was the worst part, but at least I was able to refuel with a freshly baked cinnamon bun. One day, I might consider doing a half Ironman (70.3) – even as the thought of riding 90 kilometres on an indoor trainer is utterly horrifying.

On my way home, I picked up another package from Sellpy, this time containing a terry polo from Orlebar Brown for 450 SEK which turned out to be absolutely lovely, and a Danish leather jacket for 200 SEK to match. Sadly, the colour of the jacket was completely off – nothing at all like the one Bond wears in Morocco (not that I would know) – so I am afraid it will have to go back. The polo, however, is a definite keeper: essentially a dark blue version of the grey one from OAS that I bought three years ago and have worn extensively ever since.

Cappuccino scuro

Waking up at 4 am as Anna had to catch an early train to Örebro, I spent the morning being super productive in front of my computer, responding to most if not all of the reviewer concerns. By 10 am, I felt nearly ready to resubmit the article. 

Based on past experience, I decided to hold off for a bit and get some emotional distance from the text. Instead, I went down to Nordic Wellness to finish this month’s rowing, followed by coffee at our lovely neighbourhood café, Bar à Kaffe. Their cappuccino scuro proved to be the right choice for a flat white aficionado like me – someone who never quite forgets Australia.

In the real world, the worst Greenland madness seems to have passed, only to be replaced by heinous shootings by ICE agents. As America continues its descent into authoritarianism and away from the international institutions that have underpinned its post-war prosperity, writing about cosmopolitan hope calls for a certain distance from the present. Yet there is something almost absurd in the thought that Trump would represent the furthest our aspirations will reach – that we would come this far only to succumb to our basest instincts.