I’m sitting in a meeting in Sweden at the moment discussing North East Atlantic Coordination on Biodiversity Monitoring. What do I know about this? Head of a pin springs to mind.
The meeting has two types of people at it: Practising scientists and people euphemistically known as policy specialists.
It breaks down like this.
The specialist says something like “we need to do more research on bethnic habitat damage in the Celtic seas” and the policy person gazes silently at them and thinks: money, they want more money. I’m a policy person.
Today is the second day of the meeting so people are disappearing up their own speciality at the moment. People asking questions like what does surface mean or can we get a definition of ZooBenthos on hard bottoms.
Still, it’s this or panzers across Europe and to be fair there are a lot of tall blondes around and that’s just the men. Everybody looks like they’ve stepped out of an advert for hair gel and skinny jeans.
But all of that is just the context to my blog post on running (the real reason you tuned in).
With the fading evenings up here in the land of Ryvita I had to plan last nights run so I could get out of the city and into the hills for some decent running.
If you’ve ever run in a strange city you always get the feeling you’re running around the shitty areas. Always having to stop at traffic lights and upping the pace as you wander through the dodgy areas. Eventually you give up and abandon your loop run and turn it into an out-and-back run.
I had spotted a lake on Google Maps about 2 miles outside the city called Delsjon that looked promising. The chances of getting lost were moderate to high but being rescued by a bunch of svelt blondes (lady ones) mitigated my fears.
I set off from the hotel and headed out of town towards where I thought the lake was. I made it to the turn off to the lake after about two miles and realised that I was onto a good thing as I got closer and closer. Over the next mile the bag-of-cans teenagers disappeared and the cross-country roller skiers, horse riding super-models and mountain bikers took over. There was a nice hard hill up to the reservoir and I had one of my rare “I love running” moments as I raced a cross country roller skier up the hill.
Then I came to the lake itself and I decided that I could tolerate the snazzy volvos, the strong beer, liberal sex and unisex naked saunas if they had areas like this near their cities.
I had about 4 miles of the sort of enjoyable undulating forest paths and board-walks that make you forget how long you’ve run, where you are, how old you are and whether it all makes sense or not – full immersion- until the light got too bad and I decided that the hotel bar was empty without me so I made it back down the hill past the volvo drivers and the super-model horse riding centre.
10 miles that could have been 16 if I’d had more time.