I always seem to get a little spring peak. Despite my hamstring tear this winter, I seem to have preserved enough base. Bring out the good weather, and suddenly I am feeling fast. Last week, I had one of those effortless runs, where everything clicks, and I know I am about as fast as I have ever been.
This Saturday, I ran Faxeløbet, barely beating Kenneth Kirkeby in a sprint finish up a steep hill. Kenneth is a little faster than me and would certainly beat me 9 out of 10 times in a time trial, but for some reason I have managed to end up slightly ahead of him a few times these last few years. Saturday, he felt faster on the flats, whereas I felt faster on the technical sections and up the last, steep hill.
The Girl is unsure of what she wants to do with her season. She went into the season thinking it would be all about speedwork, working toward a marathon PR. But she seems to excacerbate her mysterious injuries every time she runs long than a 10K on the roads. She did really well at Fyr to Fyr 60K. She was only 6 minutes behind Pia Joan Sørensen, who ran a 100K in 8:36. So she is in good shape, but without a focus.
In two weeks, we are both doing the Mallorca half Ironman. And by doing, I mean "hoping to survive". I don't have my usual wetsuit, so I am borrowing a female suit that's too small for me. The swim is half a mile into the deep, black, windy, shark-infested Mediterranean. Serisouly, I don't know if I can compose myself through something like that.
So. Do you know how old Homer Simpson is? I didn't until a few months ago, but I assumed he was older than me. He seems to have worked the same dead-end job for years. He is balding and overweight and his best days seem to be behind him. He just seems old, right?
Well, he is 38. When I turned 38 a few months ago, Natti was quick to point out that I was now as old as Homer Simpson. And why wouldn't I be as old as him? My kids are older than the Simpson kids. Moving between continents frantically doesn't stop the clock, apparently. I am sure Homer has more money saved up for retirement. His house is probably worth more than our entire savings, retirement and otherwise.
Sometimes, my gloominess can depress even myself. Like Natti once said, "yeah, dad, but it doesn't mean it was a good movie, because you cry at the end of every movie!". Natti is quietly watching our moving plans for this fall unfold. She is way too cool to come out and say that she wants us nearby, but I could tell that she didn't like it when we were talking about moving to Colorado. She is in such a self-conscious, insecure phase now. Her problems are mostly imaginary, but even the imaginary ones are beyond my control. I try to listen to her and offer my advice, which always go along the lines of either "everyone is insecure, especially pre-teens" or "relax and enjoy the ride. You'll be gone before you know it".