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 flags and a few Germans, 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 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 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.

And now the conclusion

Far from the epic train drama of August 2023, I only ended up spending a couple of extra hours on Västgötaslätten before receiving the infamous text message – promising 3,000 SEK for alternative modes of transportation – that Swedish Railways sends out when everything else has failed. That allowed me to take a taxi from Alingsås to Gothenburg – fifty kilometres for 1,450 SEK – and get home before the last light had fully faded.

Then, on Friday, I attended the final TRAINS seminar this semester on two very different topics: the statutory duty to report suspected child abuse and the long shadow of the 1613 peace between Sweden and Denmark in Knäred. Having these kinds of eclectic seminars is one of the real pleasures of working at a smaller university college.

Otherwise, with a massive heatwave dominating northern Europe, daytime temperatures have been hovering around thirty degrees, making running feel more akin to training for Badwater 135. After four consecutive 80-kilometre weeks, I have decided to prioritize tapering this week and instead focus on completing this month's rowing goal, while, of course, cooling off a bit in the lakes.

Derailed

After all my years traversing the railroads of Sweden, I have developed a rather stoic equanimity when it comes to delays. Yet, when I received a text message about a derailed cargo train between Borås and Gothenburg, I immediately knew that this would be a long evening. As such, I went over to the bistro and picked up the new Adobe Rosé from Valle Central in Chile, a caprese salad, and one additional bottle of water.

Having passed Södertälje, I also have a novel by Annie Ernaux and lots to digest after my two days in Stockholm. So, right now, I am more in popcorn mode, wondering if we will be rerouted north via Trollhättan or, perhaps more excitingly, south via Hässleholm and Halmstad.

Kungsholmen

With hotel prices through the roof in Stockholm, I am staying at the same Scandic Go as back in September last year. This time, however, I got a room with windows and all, overlooking Sankt Eriksgatan, rather than the basement room – number 007 – that I was slightly hoping for.

Still, to avoid being completely on repeat, I took the opposite direction around Kungsholmen this morning after treating myself to a cinnamon croissant and a coffee. Stopping repeatedly to take photos and take in the view from Fredhällsklipporna, Stockholm felt just as familiar and foreign as it always does.

Before taking the 4 p.m. train back to Gothenburg, I hope to check out the exhibition Family – For Better or Worse at Sven-Harrys Museum.