I went for a run. Filled with waffles and chocolate, hoping for a flow which never really appeared, yet having a pretty good time. A real everyday run in gray everyday weather in an everyday body on everyday feet. It was a run on the slow side, a run which reminded me of how my body feels during and after a really long or hard run. It got me thinking about Lejonbragden, of the slight emptiness of not being signed up for it this year. From there over to the feeling that I am not in shape enough to do a better run were I to run again this year. And from there I caught myself, reminded myself last year was my most intense ever exercise-wise and that this year has started in much the same way.
I always think my decline has just started.
So from there I went on to thinking about doing it again. Doing it well, doing it right rather than aiming for a record. This lead on to thoughts of actually not being faster, grappling with the sheer time it would take to get through 100 kilometers at a lower speed. That still drops my spirits, seemingly more than the thought of slow and steady and more enjoyable raises them.
Above all, I am not looking forward to how my body tends to feel after the race. If I could be sure of feeling much better the first 36 hours or so after the race, it would actually be a whole different thing. But I have not figured out a trick for that, and I live above more flights of stairs than ever before, so I remain very hesitant.
As I ran, I was trying to catch spring. I was close at times, sensing it dancing among the trees somewhere very close by. But I did not quite catch up.
Much more often, I caught whiffs of women's perfume. Surely our culture will have advanced when that is not by far the easiest scent to catch in a forest in mid-April?