“You Are An Idiot”

I have been pretty lucky during my running career. The injuries I have sustained have rarely been serious or long-winded. There was the time where I suffered from runner’s knee (an irritated tendon at the lateral side of my right knee) prior to Edinburgh marathon and which only resolved itself after a final, desperate solution featuring a cortisone injection. Another time was right after having completed the Forestman triathlon – and the intense training regime that preceded that particular Ironman – when a metatarsal bone in my left foot was aching horrendously, finally prompting me to x-ray the foot to make sure I hadn’t sustained a stress fracture (I hadn’t. The pain was due to training overload and only let up after six weeks of rest from running.) Oh, and of course both of us had our share of blisters and disintegrating toe nails in the desert, but those were minor ailments.

Right now, I am being thoroughly annoyed by my right heel. It started aching after my long runs in Italy last month. Thinking it was due to my old shoes, it took the drastic move of throwing away not only my racing shoes from New York (with which I broke my marathon PB in November), but also my lovely trail shoes from Alesia. Sob. I have never gotten rid of any running shoes before. Ever. It was a sentimental moment for me. Albeit a bit ruined by the missus’ joyful whooping when she realized what objects I was tearfully and tenderly placing in the garbage bin. Last week, the problem got acutely worse after a high-intensity trail run, the first proper trail run of the season. Despite landing on my forefoot, both up- and downhill, I had a sharp, stabbing pain under my heel for almost the entire run. My predicament took all of the fascination of seeing dirty patches of snow in deep, shady hollows in among the trees away from me. To tell you the truth, the morning after, I found myself limping quite severely. What was this devilishly painful sensation below my heel?

Hello plantar fasciitis (or hälsporre in Swedish). Plantar Fasciitis is an irritation in the proximal (i.e. closer to the heel) part of the plantar fascia, a malleable but very strong piece of soft tissue that attaches the calcaneus (heel bone) to the tendons of the toes. It’s not an unusual injury, as running injuries go, but an extremely annoying one since it is so damn hard to get rid of. I can still run, preferably on softer ground, with only a slight dull ache in my heel. I can also walk shorter distances. But the second I take my shoes off to walk barefoot across our wooden floors at home, I start to limp again. And the mornings are horrible.

I wasted no time in calling one of our athletic club’s advisers and health care professionals, the most pre-eminent chiropractor in the realm. Who also happens to be my little brother. He initially gave me sound – after a fashion – advice on how to treat my foot, including stretching exercises, shoe insets, and the use of hard slippers indoors. And then the following conversation took place;

“And you do realize you need to rest, right?”

“Of course!”

“I mean rest-rest.”

“Why, yes.”

“Just for the sake of curiosity; how were you planning to rest?”

“Well, I have a resting week in my training program this week.”

“Meaning?”

“52 kilometers on four different runs. Only a 20 k long run this week. That ought to do it.”

“You do realize that as brilliant you are in many other fields [that’s proper sibling respect, right there], you are a complete imbecile when it comes to your running, don’t you? [not so proper sibling respect]”

Splutter-splutter-splutter

“You need to back off for at least two weeks, maybe three.”

“Define back o…”

“No. Running. What. So. Ever.”

“What, no running-running? Not even 10 k?”

“You’re an idiot.”

Brief, but heated exchange of colourful expletives

Which is why I’m currently in the middle of a running sabbatical of two weeks. I’ve done some cross training (I hate that word), biking, rowing, strength exercises and carrying little miss Sunshine in a backpack in the woods. I hate this stuff. Where are the magical go-away pills when you need them?

Creating a cast for my heel.

The finished cast, made of EVA (Ethylene Vinyl Acetate) a foam that makes up the middle sole in most of the running shoes on the market.

I haven’t consulted our chiropractor on whether or not I can go straight back to my training program when I start up again. A week total of 109 kilometers and a long run of 40 k should be fine. Right? I mean, we have an ultra in 7 weeks, for goodness’ sake!

Please don’t forget to donate to Reece’s Rainbow! They need all the money you can spare. Please visit our donation site and give a sum of your choice. A generous one. Thank you!

Jakob, Jakob And Jozef Are Running For Charity

The last couple of years Jakob & Jakob have run their bigger races for charity. In so doing, we have raised money for, among others, the Children’s Ward at Saint Francis’ Hospital in Zambia during Marathon des Sables 2013 and for UNICEF during the cancelled New York City Marathon of 2012. We have you – all of our friends, families and readers – to thank for being able to raise a total of around 50 000 SEK for these different charities.

This summer, we have chosen to run for the benefit of Reece’s Rainbow, an adoption grant foundation for children with Down’s syndrome and other special needs. The organisation was recommended to us by my cousin Maria and her husband Nicolas, the parents of two adorable girls, one of which has Trisomy 21 or Down’s syndrome.

In exactly two month’s time, we will be running this year’s big race: the North Face^® Lavaredo Ultra Trail, a 120 km long and 5850+ metres steep ultra trail race in the Dolomite mountain range of Italy. Joining us in Italy for our charity run will be Jozef Klcovansky, my dad, who will be running his first ultra marathon; the Cortina Trail, the 47 km long and 2650+ metres steep little sister of the Lavaredo Ultra Trail.

Reece’s Rainbow Adoption Grant Foundation sponsors families who wish to adopt children with Down’s syndrome or other special needs, often from orphanages overseas. These children are viewed as outcasts with no ability to learn or be functional members of society.  They languish in mental institutions, hidden away from the world in shame. To date, Reece’s Rainbow has helped more than 1 000 children to find their adoptive families and raised more than $4,5 million in grant funds to sponsor these families.

Jakob, Jakob and Jozef in Alesia.

Please help us – Jakob, Jakob and Jozef – to raise money for the adoption of children with Down’s syndrome and other special needs by donating to Reece’s Rainbow. They need all the help they can get and we are enormously grateful for every single cent you are able to give!

Click on the picture below to donate.

Loads of love,

J + J + J

Oranges, Altar Boys and Toboggans

Sometimes I believe that Easter was invented to give Norwegians a last chance to enjoy cross-country skiing before they pack away their winter clothes and prepare for summer (thanks for the inspiration, Margo). The missus has always regaled me with wonderful stories of how her parents used to take her and her sisters to visit their grandparent’s cabin during the Easter holidays, and where they every day went “ut på tur” (roughly translated as “out-into-the-woods-for-some-walking/cross-country skiing/hiking-and-have-lots-of-stops-in-order-to-enjoy-an-orange-and-a-Kvikk-Lunsj”. Footnote: Kvikk Lunsj is the Norwegian version of a Kit Kat).

I, on the other hand, was raised catholic and spent several happy Easters as an altar boy, running hither and thither during all of the Easter masses, making sure that the priests had everything they needed and didn’t miss their steps during the liturgies. During a few years I even got to sing the part of The Crowd/Pontius Pilate in the Passion, which was absolutely awesome, especially when singing together with my old friend Rickard, who always sang the Narrator, and father Zvone (singing the part of Jesus), a Slovenian priest, a close friend and the owner of a tenor voice so stupendous it used to knock the dust off the church bells all by itself.

Working on the tan while avoiding to wake the Princess.

But the last four or five years have more or less always been spent at home, since either the missus or myself have been on call at the hospital. Lucky break this year, though, with her free and me on paternity leave. So we decided to pay my father-in-law (he of marathon fame) and his Ellen a visit at his hytte where they always spend Easter and New Years. Being a Norwegian hytte, it lacks running water, electricity and an indoor toilet, but what it lacks in hallmarks of civilisation, it more than makes up for in cosiness and warmth.

Moreover, this was the first time little miss Sunshine was to join us in the ski tracks. Heavily bundled up in a toboggan lined with fur, but still. As luck had it, it turned out to be the best weekend for skiing all winter, and the warmest since last summer. I almost burned myself to a crisp on the terrace in the afternoon sun, and still have a lovely red face in remembrance. Grilled lamb, seasoned sausages and the ubiquitous pizza kept us fed, and our little Sunshine loved every second of the trip. Apart from when she was supposed to sleep. Then she didn’t love every second at all.

Mmm, œufs norvégien. Breakfast eggs fried on the stove, Norwegian style.

Now, what does this post have to do with running? Well… Not much, I admit. But it was good training for the climbs we’ll be doing in the Dolomites this summer. As you can see, I pulled the toboggan for a few kilometres, putting in some weight training as well. Including our two daytrips on skis, I totalled out at 92 km this week with a long run of 34 km (3 h 1 min) carrying a backpack with some water. Pretty decent, since I haven’t carried anything on my back since Alesia last fall.

Anyway, Happy Easter, everybody! And huge congratulations to Meb Keflezighi for winning the Boston Marathon today! The 39-year-old (!) was the first American to win in almost 30 years. Impressive.

Meb Keflezighi of the US, crosses the finish line to win the Men’s Elite division of the 118th Boston Marathon in Boston, Massachusetts April 21, 2014 . AFP PHOTO / Timothy A. CLARY

One Year Ago; Marathon des Sables

Today, the 29th edition of the Marathon des Sables begins in earnest, with the self-sufficiency starting with this morning’s breakfast. One year ago, Jakob & Jakob embarked upon their greatest adventure yet, and today, we feel a sense of companionship with the runners standing on the starting line down in Morocco. Quite unexpectedly, we feel a tad jealous, even. We know that we solemnly swore we wouldn’t run the race ever again, but today we are not so sure. One of our dear friends, Markus Johansson (known as Supermasen on Facebook), with whom we had the sincere pleasure of sharing our tent with in the Sahara last year, is going to attempt to better his ranking from last year during this year’s race, making him the first Swede who has run the race during two consecutive years. In honor of his own personal adventure, and in memory of ours, here follows our chronicle of last year’s race, unabridged. Reading it transported me back to the heat, sweat, dirt, sand, wind, tent, blisters, blood, camaraderie, views, fatigue and all of the lovely people we met during last year’s race.

Good luck, Supermasen!!!

Click here for the Chronicle of Marathon des Sables 2013!

Jakob and Markus waiting outside Doc Trotter’s to get their feet fixed.

Jakob and Markus during the charity leg for UNICEF last year.

Jakob Is Now Officially A Running Coach

I got a mail from coach Stefan the other day, asking me if I wouldn’t be interested in a course for aspiring running coaches. The Scandinavian gym chain SATS has gone into partnership with Urban Tribes (formerly Running Sweden), offering their clients a completely new concept for running group training. These classes will be held outdoors and will mostly be focused on different types of interval training in order to improve runner’s lactate threshold and thereby, hopefully, both their speed and endurance. The runners will be organized into different Tribes, depending from which centre they will be starting from, before meeting up with four other Tribes from neighbouring centres in one of Oslo’s beautiful parks. After a brief warm-up run, the runners will divide themselves into groups according to their speed, whereafter the specific interval sessions will commence; Run Tough™, Run Speedplay™ and Run Pace™.

Now, what does all of this have to do with me? Well, as it turns out, I applied for the coaching class, got accepted, and will now be one of Urban Tribe’s running coaches for the remainder of the spring! Go figure! Not only will I get to push my own training, but I’ll hopefully be able to inspire other budding ultrarunners and marathoners as well! This is going to be SO awesome!

This post is a shameless appeal for people to come and join us! Coach Stefan, myself and a handful of other coaches will be holding these classes from ten different SATS centres six days a week, running to Frognerparken and Tøyenparken. The Tribe you will want to join is the one running from SATS Vinderen on Mondays (Run Tough) and the one running from SATS Sjølyst on Wednesdays (Run Speedplay), both running their sessions in Frognerparken. But don’t worry, even though the other coaches aren’t as good-looking, they are at least (or slightly more…) competent than myself, and all of the Tribes will be awesome! The sessions start Monday 31 March. Oooh, oooh! That’s TODAY!

So tag along, and run with us!

Frognerparken in all its summer beauty.

First Race of the Season

Finding myself with time on my hands down here in Italy, I found myself wondering if there happened to be a running event in the general vicinity of where we were staying. I knew Maratona di Roma was scheduled for 23rd March, but I also knew my wife would eviscerate me with a dull knife if I suggested a trip to Rome for the weekend that wouldn’t include a romantic dinner and a babysitter. I needed something small, manageable and most important of all – nearby. Enter Google. A quick, late-night-search (while the missus was sleeping) led me to the very thing I was looking for; a relatively short (well, OK, medium-length) trail race only around a 40 km drive away! Said and done, I entered the race and waited for a couple of days before telling the love of my life of my plan. Promising to take care of the dishes for the remainder of our trip, I managed to convince her. After all, it was in fact a couple of km shorter than my planned long run for that week. What I honestly forgot to tell her was that despite the innocent-looking 25 km, the race had a climb of 1300+ m, meaning it would take me a lot longer to finish than a planned long run…

Picking up my Pettorale di Gara.

Rainy and windy start.

I love how my memory works when it comes to races. It only ever memorizes the entertaining and beautiful parts of a competition. I always sort of know that there must have been painful, agonizing and embarrassing moments, but they’re more or less remembered through a misty kind of haze, kind of like looking through frosted glass. Which is why I didn’t really dwell on the 1 300+ m of climbing I’d be doing. Big mistake. Or not, depending on how you look at it.

We had had lovely days of sunshine for three weeks straight, but standing below the orange arch of the start just outside the little hamlet of Castiglion Fiorentino on Sunday morning, I huddled closer to the runners standing closest to me and zipped up my running jacket a little tighter around my neck, trying to get warm in the chilly morning breeze. A tempestuous spring rain had pummeled the window panes of our house during the night, and I had driven to the village with my windshield wipers on the whole way. 400 runners were going to run the three distances of this, the inaugural race of Trail delle Valli Etrusche; The Etruscan Valley Trail. An ultra of 47 km (not entirely fit for one of those yet. Besides, I was on vacation…), a medium-length race of 25 km and a short 14 km for the non-masochists.

“Set, pronto, VIA!!!”, the short little race official cried through the megaphone. And for the first time this season, I was off. As far as I could see, I was the only one wearing shorts, but then again, according to the race officials, I was the only foreigner in the race. Along with the participants from Alto Adige, of course; “They are south Tyrolians, and not really Italians”, a grey-haired gentleman had confided the day before when I’d come to pick up my racing number. The first couple of kilometers of the race were flat and uneventful. Then the climb started, and boy was it a muddy climb. Annoyingly, they had us walking single file through tight vegetation during the first 45 minutes, causing a lot of frustration on my part since I was certain I could climb faster than the runners in front of me. This wasn’t an ultra, after all, and I didn’t have to worry about running for an entire day. And besides, what was a mere 1 300 vertical meters? I came to bitterly regret that hubris after only a few kilometers. The 25 km race was laid down as a simple pyramid with three climbs, basically having us climbing almost 1 000 meters in 11 km, and then running steeply downhill for the second part of the race. Regular readers of our blog know that I am not normally prone to exaggeration, but I have to say I almost died during that climb. Really, I did. My heart was pounding in my throat, my breath came in ragged starts a hundred times a minute and the rain was lashing my face. And I loved it! My poor INOV-8 Trailrocs have been singing on their last verse for quite some time now, but this was the race I finally realized that I would have to let them go. Great in dry and gravelly terrain, they could no longer cope with wet roots and muddy rocks. I never fell, but I came close several times, especially during the climbs. I pushed myself harder than I have pushed myself in a trail race before, and it was a strange feeling. Pushing yourself like this in an ultra means certain DNF, at least for myself, but here it felt appropriate. The race was run through the picturesque hills of the Castiglionese Valley, but the vistas I had been hoping for were completely whited out as you can see in the photos. The only thing I could see were fir trees shrouded in mist and wet, glistening roots and rocks underfoot.

One of the few glimpses of the Castiglionese Valley we got during the race.

Final climb with 5 km left.

Once we started downhill, I tried a technique I have seen the awesome Emelie Forsberg apply during her famous trail descents. I.e. release the brakes and just drop as fast as hell. If you click on her name, you’ll see a video on youtube of just what it looks like. The idea is to pedal and try to let your feet and legs absorb the terrain and trust your foothold when you descend, not braking with every step you take but rather let every step fly you on the next one. In order for this to work, you need to trust the grip of your shoes implicitly, which I couldn’t do under normal circumstances due to the worn out soles of my Trailrocs. Luckily, the extremely muddy trails came to my help. Normally, you try and have the same foot-strike running downhill as you would have on the flat, i.e. on the middle- or front foot in my case. Since it was so slippery, I simply sort of “glide-landed” on my heel where the mud was deep enough, and this helped me during long stretches down the hills. My new friend Alessandro, with whom I had a philosophical discussion about the beauty of the surrounding countryside while we were climbing – and whom I promptly left behind during my wild descent – accused me of having wings instead of feet when we met up after the race. I think it’s one of the nicest running compliments anyone has ever given me.

At any rate, the race was tremendous fun and I was especially glad that I managed to hold some fit-looking young fellows behind me during the 3 km long final flat stretch through the fields close to the finishing line. The goody bag did not only contain a cool, green running t-shirt with the race logo, but also – in true Italian style – a bag of pasta and an officially endorsed local olive oil.

Thanks for a fine race, Tuscany! Jakob, Jakob and Jozef will be back to Italy in June!

Olive oil recommended by the Trail delle Valli Etrusche.

New York Marathon record breaking Asics Racers to the left, muddy Trailrocs to the right. During this trip, both of them have been retired after long and faithful service. Thanks, guys.

Climbing Tuscan Hills

“Stupid, stupid, S T U P I D!!! Next time you know there’s a risk of running in the dark, bring a headlamp you imbecile…”, I cursed under my breath as I ran faster and faster down the steep and rocky slope, surrounded by black, slender trees, occasionally glimpsing the tiny golden lights of the Agriturismo Castiglionchio in the valley below. The purple disc of the sun had slipped behind the Tuscan hills to the west quicker than I expected, thus starting to drown our little valley in close to pitch black darkness at an alarming pace. Idiot.

Morning mists surround our little tower.

Leaving our little medieval tower at Montioni an hour and fifty minutes earlier, I promised the missus and Panda I’d be back before dark. “Well, shouldn’t you take your headlamp just in case?”, miss H asked me while at the same time trying to coax our feisty daughter into relinquishing her tight little grasp of a brand new – and now completely tattered and torn – movie magazine. “Nah, I’ll be fine. Besides, I’ll be carrying a water bottle in one hand and don’t want to be burdened with extra weight. It’s not like I’m afraid of the dark, Lovely”, I winked, stepping out through the door and heading down the stone stairs to the terrace.

Well, let me tell you, there’s nothing like a haunted forest, some hooting owls and the knowledge that hungry wild boars live in the woods you’re running through in order to quite vividly bring out a healthy and quite frankly paralyzing fear of the dark. Trust me. And had I brought my cell phone just in case I twisted my ankle or broke my leg in the middle of this black jungle? “It’ll just jump around in my pocket, Lovely, annyoing me no end.”

Well, I’d imagine being eaten by a flesh-eating owl would probably be pretty annoying too.

The Lion gate at Montioni.

And the afternoon had started so well. Closing the iron gate flanked by the stone lions behind me, I had turned up the gravel slope and started running uphill at a leisurely pace, carefully planning my long run in my head. When training for ultra races, I tend to switch from distance to time in my training programme, meaning that instead of scheduling today’s longrun for 25 km I was planning to run for 2 h 05 min’s, the equivalent of that distance on a flat surface during ideal conditions. Hilly terrain like these Tuscan hills would give me fabulous training for the vertical climbing during Lavaredo Ultra Trail in June, and I was – still am – planning to make the most of the topography where our little family had chosen to spend my first month of paternity leave together. It was pretty smooth going and after only a kilometre or so, I came across a middle-aged Italian wearing a beret who, at seeing me run up towards him, raised his clenched fist towards his chest, pumping the air. I smiled back with a puffy “ ’Sera! ”, crested the hill and continued along the serpentine road around a small church. After around 40 minutes, I reached the top of the highest hill in our valley. Monastero dell’Incontro, a Franciscan monastery, is perched at the very summit of the hill and according to local history, there existed a small chapel here as early as the 8^th century A.D. As you can see from the graph below, it was quite a climb to the top.

638 vertical metres in total for the run.

On the western side of the monastery, the asphalt road turned into a wide and rocky path that dove down again into the woods, and I maintained my planned counter-clockwise loop of the valley. The trail was marked along the side with white horizontal blazes sandwiched between two red stripes, like small Austrian flags, and despite the sharp and plentiful stones, I relished the feel of running through a beautiful Italian forest after so many months of snowy and icy trails (and a lot of air-conditioned and wobbly treadmills). Emerging from the trees by the half dozen or so houses of Moriano, I realized I had to make a detour of at least 40 minutes if I wanted to run for two hours without repeating myself when reaching our tower too early. Instead of running down into the valley again towards Castiglionchio due north, however, (idiot, idiot, I D I O T) during the last 30 minutes of daylight, I turned in the opposite direction and followed the trail that soon enough turned into a gravel road and after a while into an asphalt country road. At Cimitero di San Cristoforo, I clocked 20 minutes of my detour and turned back towards Moriano again. Only when I arrived, the sun had long since hid behind the hill of Monastero dell’Incontro, and I had trouble identifying the right path down into the valley. Far below me, I could see the lights of Agriturismo Castiglionchio well enough. Only problem was a black hole of an abyss between me and my goal. To cap it all off, I had drunk all of my water and eaten my last Bounty bar.

Starting at the little white square at 2 o’clock and then running counter-clockwise until around 5 o’clock and then running due south for the detour. The red part is the Haunted Forest.

It’s a funny thing, fear of darkness. It’s so real and scary when you’re a kid (My brother’s fear manifested itself as a dark and hairy gorilla living under our bunk bed. My brother slept in the lower bunk.), and you think you’ve outgrown it as you grow into a – hopefully – sensible adult. Not so. After two rounds of Hail Mary’s, I still hadn’t reached the bottom of the pit and the lights from outside the Agriturismo had long ago vanished behind spider-like branches and impenetrable bushes. I ran slightly faster, passing a completey dark and unlit ghost stone mansion and turning around the corner of the façade, I finally found a lit asphalt road leading straight towards the huge Agriturismo 300 metres further on. My bladder relaxed all of its built-up tension at once, and I suddenly understood the point of the high absorption index of my daughter’s diapers. Suffice it to say that my running shorts were quite dry, thank you very much, as I passed Castiglionchio on my right, running the final stretch towards the lion gate and sending a quiet but heartfelt thanks to Our Lady of the Mentally Slow Athletes that I hadn’t broken an extremity or knocked out a tooth.

All in all, a longrun with a little more excitement than I had bargained for.

The chapel next to Castiglionchio Agriturismo. In daylight.

“The road goes ever on and on…”

Cortina d’Ampezzo, here we come!

Jakob & Jakob are psyched! We’re going to Italy this summer! Wohooo! There weren’t that many 4-point races to choose from, but this one definitely caught our attention. We’ve never run an ultra in Italy before and neither one of us has truly visited the Dolomites, not even for alpine skiiing. It’s a dream come true!

The North Face ® Lavaredo Ultra Trail will start in the centre of fabulous Cortina d’Ampezzo in the evening of 27 June, looping counter-clock-wise for 119 km and climbing a total of 5850+ m. It will be one of our toughest challenges yet and by far the longest non-stop race we have ever attempted.

In order to qualify for UTMB 2015, we will need 8 points. The 3 points we gathered in Gorges du Verdon have run out, so we need to acquire new points this year in order to keep our registration alive, as it were.

The three peaks of Lavaredo

And dad will be joining us in Italy, participating in his first ever ultra! He’s opted for the somewhat shorter (47 km, 2650+ m) Cortina Trail which will follow a section of the longer Lavaredo Ultra Trail.

As my sister-in-law (yep, it’s official!) likes to put it: Good times, good times!

So now we begin.

If It Ain’t Rainin’ (Or Snowin’), You Ain’t Trainin’

The more observant of our readers have probably noticed a steady decline in the number of new posts on our blog. Apart from the more obvious reasons for this – i.e. diaper changes, cleaning up baby porridge from all over the floor and inventing new and silly sing-song-dances for our daughter – the sad fact is that we suddenly found ourselves without a big specific goal for the year. As you know, we were applying for the Ultra Trail du Mont Blanc, but even with our seven qualifying points, we failed the draw (apparently, there was a fifty-fifty chance we’d get a spot). So what to do now? We have considered our options and come to the conclusion that we would like to give the UTMB-draw one more go in 2015. That means that we have to re-qualify some points that we will be losing due to old races.

View of a Sognsvann pier standing on the frozen water.

Sunrise over Store Åklungen after a particularly nice climb uphill.

With that in mind, January has been a somewhat uncertain  month in terms of proper training. After an unusually wet and mild December, January initially started in the same way up here in Norway. Not until a couple of weeks ago did the regular snowy blanket normally covering Oslo at this time of year, arrive. And now we are knee-deep in the stuff! It’s absolutely awesome! Every morning, I shuffle through new and pristine drifts of snow on my way to work. It must have easily snowed a good metre and a half during the last ten days. Thanks to the Upphill Princess, I even spent a lovely day off-piste skiing at Hemsedal a few weekends ago. No cross-country skiing yet, but we’ll probably get around to it sooner or later. Snow-covered pavements are excellent for balance training and coping with uneven surfaces. I haven’t bought myself a pair of spiked shoes yet (miss H has threatened all of my running shoes with swift and merciless defenestration if I dare buy another pair. According to her, my running shoe-budget equals the GNP of a small country), but I prefer the slightly unsure grip my regular terrainers give me. You don’t want too much in the way of support wheels. You become lazy as a runner if the technology of your equipment always saves you. “If it ain’t rainin’, you ain’t trainin’ [properly]”, as a character – in a book I’m currently reading – eloquently puts it. Ever been out running in heavy snowfall? Or rain? It’s fabulous!

Selfie!!!

The bikes in our yard. The red one with the curved handlebars is the coolest. And you know why.

Most of my training this year has unfortunately been indoors, on the treadmill. 212 km in 30 days is pretty decent, but I should – and will – do better throughout the season. It would be fun to hit 3 000 km on New Year’s Eve. Boring, boring, boring. But it’s good mental training. And since I discovered the audio book last fall, the treadmill longruns haven’t been half as mindnumbingly boring as before. I can highly recommend high-adrenaline books, like Tom Clancy. Funny books, like Bill Bryson’s A Walk In The Woods, are hilarious but it’s easy to fall out of stride when you suddenly burst out with a loud guffaw that makes you drop the rhythm and stumble. Which is always a bad idea on a treadmill since the ground keeps moving even if you are not. Luckily, all my teeth are still intact after my latest cartwheel close contact with the rubber.

The Dolomites in Italy is a teaser from our next ultra. We hope.