Camden Bar & Kitchen

With a 95% load factor and more than 20 million passengers last month, Ryanair is clearly doing a great deal to bring Europe closer together. By making travel affordable and efficient, it broadens horizons and, perhaps in some small way, helps stem the nationalist tide. Still, its dismal labour practices and apparent disdain for consumer rights are good reasons to avoid the airline. Yet, as in the past, I keep coming back, because the value proposition becomes hard to resist when you can fly for £25.

With no traditional lounge at Stansted, Priority Pass instead offers an £18 credit per person to spend at the Camden Bar & Kitchen, which Sofi and I happily made use of this morning before heading back to Sweden after four incredible days in the UK.

While that may change, I currently have no more international travel planned for the rest of the year, which actually feels rather good after all the recent globetrotting. Having fallen short of my dream of qualifying for the Arc of Attrition in January, I am also uncertain about what the future of running holds beyond the Malmö Marathon in October. Although disappointing, there is something sobering about recognizing one's own limitations and appreciating just how demanding ultra trail running can be.

Now, feeling almost fully recovered, I am looking forward to taking William to the gym this afternoon and hearing all about his chess adventures in Jönköping. And on Friday, Eddie finally comes home after eleven days (!) in Hungary.

Scones and sea weather

In Harwich, Sofi and I stayed at the Pier Hotel, right on the waterfront. Built in 1862 in the style of a Venetian palazzo, it featured an enormous "gin library" (which we skipped, for obvious reasons), century-old posters promoting travel to the Continent, and bathrooms playing old recordings of the Shipping Forecast. Hearing names like "German Bight", "Finisterre" and "The Hebrides" certainly put my imagination into overdrive.

Taking the train to Colchester, we stopped for scones at Small Talk Tearooms, which reminded me of my pseudo-Atlantic crossing with Dad last year. From there, we boarded the X20 "Airlink" bus to Stansted. At just £3, it was an absolute bargain compared with the train, which would have cost around £40, even if it took nearly two hours to cover the 50 kilometres.

After a quick check-in at the Hampton Inn, we boarded the Stansted Express for what I had planned to be a celebratory post-race visit to the champagne bar at St Pancras. Instead, what we lacked in medals, we made up for with Interrail nostalgia and a spot of bar hopping through the evening.

Secret Garden

Every July, Harwich hosts a "Secret Gardens" weekend when more than two dozen hidden courtyards, medieval walled gardens, and private resident gardens are opened to the public. By pure coincidence, Sofi and I happened to be here on exactly the right weekend. Together with the murals and one of Britain's first cinemas – the so-called Electric Palace – Harwich made quite an impression on me, despite its otherwise rather industrial character. After all, neighbouring Felixstowe is home to the UK's largest container port.

Watching Stena Hollandica arrive from the Netherlands, I briefly regretted not booking the journey home via Bruges. Then again, Ryanair made me an offer I could not refuse – the flight from Stansted to Gothenburg cost something like £25. So, instead of crossing the Channel, Sofi and I will be heading back into London today.

My body is still aching a little after yesterday, but after more than ten hours of sleep and a lovely breakfast I am generally feeling fine. Most importantly, my left knee is completely pain-free, which is reassuring given that it was one of the reasons I decided to stop after 80 kilometres.

50 miles

 

With 25k steps already in my legs after our day in London and the accidental Airbnb adventure, I was sent off together with the other runners by the super-friendly race director Chris at nine sharp.

During the pre-race briefing, I had noticed a couple of Norwegian and German flags, but otherwise I seemed to be the only non-UK participant.

Having activated my satellite tracker, the first twenty kilometres were absolutely lovely, winding through broadleaf woodland on wonderfully runnable trails. Around me were stories of people who had finished both UTMB and Western States, making my own ultra résumé pale by comparison. Chatting with a guy who had done the race three times and who was carrying a large handheld GPS device, I seemed to have found the perfect partner for the approaching night. Unfortunately, the other guy we were running with started falling repeatedly – full Bergslagsleden style on perfectly flat ground – and we all started to get worried about him.

Twenty-eight kilometres into the race, our designated navigator, wearing a large yellow backpack with Ultimate Direction branding, led us across a graveyard and up to a church that looked suitably ghostly just after midnight. He clearly knew what he was doing though and, in no time at all, we reached the first, and extraordinarily well-stocked, checkpoint. Indulging in watermelon, bananas, and oranges, I felt strong and ready to take on the night.

Running across fields of tall grass, the runner who had fallen earlier developed worsening back pain and eventually called his wife to pick him up at the next checkpoint, another 21 kilometres down the trail.

Passing the marathon mark in 5 hours and 22 minutes, I was starting to slip below my ideal pace and, with another thirty kilometres still to go until the third checkpoint, I began feeling unwell – a feeling that was only briefly interrupted when a badger suddenly jumped out of the bushes and collided with me.

While I have experienced nausea during races before, this was on a completely different level, seriously making me wonder how I would be able to continue.

By dawn, the big yellow moon had turned white as I stopped to photograph the thirteenth-century Fairstead Church, with its extensive use of old Roman bricks. Slipping into the Co-op in Coggeshall, I bought a milkshake and a sandwich, which temporarily made me feel better. Yet, passing field after field completely exposed to the blazing sunshine, the nausea soon returned, and I made the difficult decision to DNF just after my watch made the 75k beep. The decision itself immediately made me realize just how miserable I actually felt, making the final five kilometres to the third checkpoint and my drop bag absolutely awful.

Once I had saved the activity to Strava, I more or less collapsed outside the Shoulder of the Mutton. Fortunately, the race organiser's parents were driving supplies down to the finish in Harwich and, in a sudden stroke of luck, I was able to sleep for a while in their car before waking up right outside the Pier Hotel. 

While I am feeling incredibly disappointed with my performance, I am also grateful that I had the wisdom not to attempt the remaining 50 kilometres under the glaring sun for another ten hours. Together with Sofi, I walked over to the finish line to cheer on the runners still coming in, said goodbye to Chris one last time, and watched the high tide at nearby Dovercourt Beach.

Trespassing

Since I am not at all into sports, I had completely missed the fact that the Wimbledon Tennis Championships are taking place this week and that there are also several major concerts in London, meaning that hotels were either sold out or outrageously expensive. Fortunately, I had an old stash of Hyatt points saved up from my many road trips in the US, so instead of paying £650 for a night at the Andaz Liverpool Street, I redeemed a room for free.

After a sumptuous breakfast at the Andaz, Sofi and I took the bus up to Regent’s Canal for some slow strolling along the green waterways of London, before walking through Shoreditch to my long-time favourite bagel place on Brick Lane. Trying to keep my step count down, we then caught another bus to Bankside for a visit to Tate Modern and a long-anticipated Singaporean lunch at Elizabeth Haigh’s Mei Mei, made famous by Uncle Roger.

Equipped with an iced mocha latte, it was then time to take the Central line all the way to its eastern terminus in Epping. Once there, we ran out of luck. With the roads jammed, our Uber requests were repeatedly turned down and, with no taxis in sight, we had no choice but to drag our bags through the afternoon heat towards our Airbnb. Following Google Maps, we were directed onto a public footpath and across a large fallow field. When we finally reached what Google insisted was the correct address, an angry woman accompanied by a large dog informed us that “this is private property – you have to leave”.

Having become used to the friendliness of people I meet while hiking in the UK, the encounter was a reminder that not everyone is equally welcoming. Fortunately, after a bit more searching, we eventually found The Annex, where Sofi is staying tonight while I head off to run the Essex Way Ultra.

Before sending me off, Sofi’s husband Stefan shared a traditional Irish blessing that I hope to carry with me over the coming 132 kilometres:

May the road rise to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face.
May rain fall soft upon your fields.
Until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of His hand.

Andaz Liverpool St

30 hours

With less than thirty hours to go until the race starts in the eastern outskirts of London, I have spent the day going through the mandatory kit list and making sure I have everything I need. Because I decided not to check a bag this time, I am limited in how much liquid I can bring with me. This means that I still need to pick up some more Maurten gels tomorrow in London but, otherwise, I should be good to go.

Trying to calm my race nerves, I stopped by Nordic Wellness for some upper-body strength training in the morning, being careful to avoid any core exercises so as not to repeat the same mistake I made leading up to Kyrkmilen in 2021.

Sofi, who will be my support crew, has now joined me, and we are back by the big windows in the Landvetter lounge as we wait for our 737-8AS to arrive from Gdańsk and carry us across the North Sea, hopefully undeterred by the circling thunderstorms. Before the race starts at 9 p.m., we plan to swing by Tate Modern, which is currently showing both Frida Kahlo and Tracey Emin.

1,399 kilometres

With only a few minutes to spare, I returned my rental Volvo EX30 to OKQ8 on Hisingen. Having driven a whopping 1,399 kilometres over the last three days, I have truly been everywhere from Borås to Äspet, and consumed more than my fair share of espresso caramel milkshakes while waiting for the car to recharge.

Wanting to make the absolutely most of my rental, I drove down to Smithska Udden this morning for a skinny dip in the sea. Again, I was practically alone, perhaps due to yesterday's football game, and the water felt straight out of a fairy tale.

Later, after ten kilometres on the rowing machine and some weight lifting at NW Lindholmen, I squeezed in another swim, this time at Pöl Harbour. Having not worked as much as I should have over the last few days, I will now return to my laptop, even if today officially marks the start of my summer vacation. At some point, however, I need to make sure that everything is packed and ready for tomorrow's flight to London Stansted and Friday's great race.

Nieuw Statendam

I arrived at the breakwater, Parapeten, just as the majestic 300-metre Nieuw Statendam passed through Öresund. After a day that truly had everything, from Dirty Dancing to an icy swim in Hanöbukten, I knew I had to end it by catching the sunset at the place where my memories and dreams always seem to converge.

Now, waiting at Stattena for my rental EX30 to recharge so I can get back to Halmstad and Hallandsgatan, I am becoming increasingly uncertain about my upcoming ultra. With daytime temperatures above 30 degrees expected, and being deeply concerned about rhabdomyolysis, I remain undecided about whether it would be wise to start. In any case, I will only do so if I feel I have a reasonable chance of finishing. If the forecast holds, there is also a possibility that the event itself will be called off, regardless of what I decide. While it would, of course, be disappointing to have trained this much and not race, it is hardly worth risking kidney failure.

Fully charged

Six months after my EV adventures along the Autoestradas do Atlântico, I am back behind the wheel of an electric car, this time taking William to the Swedish Chess Championships in Jönköping, delivering lots of Lego to Halmstad, and driving Eddie to the airport for his eleven-day trip to Hungary.

Waiting for the car to charge, I completed this month's rowing challenge next to Road 40 in Borås. 192 kilometres later, I topped up while swimming in the waters of Kattegat.

Travelling with two kids, whose energies you constantly have to balance, can be pretty demanding. Driving with just one at a time, however, is simply bliss: time to listen to each other's Spotify favourites and have those unforced conversations that so rarely come about in days packed with obligations and reminders.