When I wake up tomorrow morning, I’ll be headed to Stockholm, which will mean only 5 days until race day.
As race day nears, I’m realizing more and more how silly it was of me to decide to run a marathon abroad. Despite my tapering, my muscles ache. I’m walking everywhere, due to my desire to save money and also my lack of confidence in my ability to forge public transit properly, but with each run, it feels as if I’ve never run in my life –and not in the good way. Not to mention, I’ve been avoiding scales–because who understands kilograms anyway–but as per usual traveling Claire fashion, I have no doubts that the (delicious) food I’ve been eating here has affected me. And finally, my feet. Needless to say, they’re kind of important. But my nagging stress fracture continues to bother me.
And yet, the show must go on. Yesterday, when I arrived here in Göteborg, I found that one of the world’s largest half marathons was taking place here, the GöteborgsVarvet. ‘Varvet’ translates to ‘shipyard’. Yeah, I have no idea. But for some reason, that felt like a sign. A good omen.
This trip has been fantastic so far, and I have no reason to believe that the race won’t be, as well as the rest of my time here. The people here in Sweden are amazing. Much to my mother’s discontent, I’m staying with strangers here in Göteborg. Turns out they’re an adorable family and I even got the house to myself for much of the weekend. Also, it’s been quite a strange feeling honestly, but I haven’t been hit on once since I’ve been here — that I’m aware of. It’s humbling to feel so welcome. With the number of times I’ve been spoken to in Swedish or Norwegian and responded with reflexively with “sorry!”, I’m lucky the people here are so nice. I’m simultaneously amazed at how much I can infer about my surroundings from the common sense of the world, and also how completely clueless I am.