Winners, Cinnamon Rolls, and Bacardi

"Lagom är bäst." ~ "Just enough is best" or "Enough is as good as a feast"

Lagom is a Swedish term that means "just enough" or "just the right amount". If you've been to IKEA, you might doubt lagom exists in Sweden, but it's actually an important part of the country's socio-cultural philosophy. Lagom is about eschewing flashiness and extravagance in favor of moderation. It's about stopping short, maintaining harmony, and staying away from extremes.

Let's be honest. We can't say that ALL Swedes practice lagom. That would be like saying ALL Americans are assholes. It's a cultural stereotype to some extent, but from my experience in Sweden there's a helluva lot of lagom going on. People are reserved, not keen on idle chit-chat, and drive the speed limit. Alcohol is only sold at government run liquor stores (Systembolaget) that are only open prescribed hours (The rum section at the Systembolaget is an exercise in moderation in and of itself. Dear Sweden, there's more to rum than Bacardi). A small soda is actually small, i.e. not 32 ounces like in America. With the exception of the chocolate kanelbullar I had at one particular konditori (It was almost literally the size of my head...which could be argued was in fact "just enough"), restaurant portions are big enough for a good meal but not so big as to require a doggie bag.

That might be why I like it so well in Sweden, why I feel so at home. I've long said that just enough is enough. I try to do everything in moderation - work, run, play tennis, go to the gym, eat, write, watch TV. It's all about creating balance. The craven desire for excess that permeates American society runs contrary to my personal philosophy. Here, we are playing a perpetual dog-eat-dog game of winner take all. In Sweden, they go home early to spend time with family. Here, we constantly compete with the Joneses. New car? Check. More Christmas lights? Check. In Sweden, the Sundstroms get to rest easy.  I'm as stereotypically untypical in America as I am stereotypically typical in Sweden.

Except when it comes to my tennis game. I grew up idolizing Stefan Edberg, but I played a lot more like Jimmy Connors. I was flash and attitude. I wanted the big shot, the extreme winner. I played hot - threw rackets and dropped enough f-bombs to earn myself several code violations. As I matured as an adult and tennis player, I learned to temper my temper. Somewhat. These days I try not to swear ("Poopy-potty" is one of my favorites) and keep the racket throwing to a minimum (Those things aren't cheap), but I still love the Big Shot. A winner isn't enough. It has to clip the line or land right in the corner.

Truthfully, a winner doesn't have to land anywhere except out of reach. If the ball bounces twice before your opponent gets to it, it's a winner. In fact, it can be hit with a middling amount of pace and land in the middle of the court (Shocker...). About a year ago, one of my doubles partners, who also had issues with moderation, introduced the concept of "Just Enough" to our partnership. Rather than trying to knock the shit out the ball when we had an easy set up, we began placing the ball. We stopped going for WINNERS! and simply hit winners. Interestingly, we hit fewer losers, i.e. unforced errors, and we won more. Wow, right?

Our partnership broke up last spring at the end of league season and, in all honesty, I've allowed myself backslide into my old ways. A WINNER! is much more addictive than a winner. Recently, after watching a lot of the U.S. Open, I realized that most of the top players do just enough to win the point. I don't mean that negatively. They aren't slacking or taking it easy. They simply hit the ball hard enough and in the right place enough to win the point. If they've set the point up properly, they don't have to do more than "just enough". It's brilliant.

And it's Lagom. Ok, ok... The Swedes haven't had a top player in a couple decades, but you can't argue with their philosophy. Just enough works. Going for too much and over hitting lead to errors, egregious, cuss word inducing, I-should-have-won-the-point errors. I say it often on court, "Lagom, Stacee, lagom". Sometimes it's a reminder. Sometimes it's a pat on the back. I haven't yelled it at myself  yet - "FUCKING LAGOM, STACEE ANN!!!!" - though I'm certain it's coming.

Truly, we shouldn't be too anything, not Swedish and certainly not American. It's all about finding the right balance, the right amount of just enough. Occasionally, we have to go for the WINNER! Or eat a cinnamon roll the size of our head. Of course, other times we have to settle for Bacardi at the Systembolaget.

Remember - All things in moderation. Including lagom.

In the Long Run

I originally posted this one on my blog (Notes from the Red Birdhouse) on the last day of my Spring run-cation in Scandinavia. Stay tuned for my Fall run-cation in Reykjavik, Iceland, in October 2018!

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I know I've written in the past about windowless hotel rooms and that I don't travel to look out a window. Right now, if my hotel was windowless, I'd be out at a cafe writing this. I'd be inside (It might be almost 60F but I'm not nearly Nordic enough to sit outside), with headphones on, shoes on, feet on the floor, lap top on a table drinking a coffee that would more than likely keep me up well past my bedtime. I wouldn't be looking down at a Copenhagen street from four stories up, a light breeze blowing the curtains (hotel room windows tend to open in Europe...at least at the class of hotels I can afford), the sound of traffic mingling with the BeeGees and Lady A on Pandora, a can of Somersby Elderflower and Lime Cider on the table next to me, my feet resting comfortably on the bed in front of me. My post back in October (A Room Without a View) wasn't a rationalization to make me feel better about my living situation. I was in Stockholm; God knows I didn't need any kind of rationalization to make me feel better there.

Nor do I need one here in Copenhagen. And I sure don't need a hotel room with a window to add value to my visit. Yes, in the rack n' stack of Scandinavian cities I've visited, Copenhagen finishes in third place. I mean it's Denmark (no offense Danes), not Sweden, so of course Stockholm and Gothenburg are going to come in ahead. But it's a pretty kick ass city in its own right. There is something special here - the mingling of culture, green space, art, and architecture; a tight grip on the past but an eye on the future ("reclamation" is a better word than "gentrification" to describe what's going on in Copenhagen); a muted vibrance that envelopes the city. It's neither loud nor soft, boastful nor shy. It's self-deprecating and honest, a city that wants you to like it but since it likes itself so well it doesn't base its self-worth on what you think or say (or blog).

So, yep, I'm sitting several stories above Copenhagen (Vesterbrogade, if you know the city) as I write this. Spring has finally arrived. A light breeze blows in and finally, for the first time in two weeks, I'm warm (I actually went out a bit ago without my coat and felt half-naked). Because spring has given way to "early" summer (meaning it's not yet a blast furnace) in Central Texas, warmth won't be an issue when I get home to Austin tomorrow afternoon. I won't see a pair of jeans, a jacket, or a long run until October.

That's partly why I came back to Copenhagen earlier than I planned today - the chance to get in one last long run before I pack up the running shoes for the summer (Funny, running season is just getting started here and I'm closing up shop. That's the difference between Scandinavian and Austin seasons).  Maybe that's why I'm enjoying the post-run soreness in my legs (Yes, Manny, I forgot to stretch and, yes, they are all being fuckwaffles at this point) and my windowed hotel room so much. It might be Copenhagen's first glimpse of spring but it's my last gasp. Before I'll blink, it'll be air conditioning, humidity, and mosquitoes for the duration.

Until I travel again in October. Man, if I had my way (Dare to dream, right?), I'd summer someplace where they have normal summers (like Northern Europe) and winter someplace with easy-going winters (like Austin or Northern Cal or maybe Seattle but they had a fucker of a winter this year). Unfortunately, that's not my reality just yet which means I'm starring down the barrel of a long, hot Texas summer. Time to dig out the summer clothes. Who am I kidding? I never put them away.  [Life goal: Seasons that aren't all so summer-like that I need tank tops and flip flops year-round.]

Right now, though, I've got a few more hours of Spring and I plan to enjoy them. See y'all in the summer...er...tomorrow!

*** Thank you, Lena and Go Running Copenhagen for the super fun run that afternoon. I know you didn't have anything to do with the weather, but it truly was absolute perfection. ***

Racing Halves

Before my last half marathon, I sat on a towel behind my car and stretched. The morning wasn't exceptionally cold, the garage was covered (the second level of a downtown Austin bank affair), and it was early enough not to be too busy (i.e. I wasn't in danger of being run over). I'd rarely, if ever, stretched before a run or a race, but I'd also rarely, if ever, been a month away from my forty-ninth birthday. And I'd learned in the course of my training that my legs responded better on longer runs if they'd been stretched. Easy math.

I was nervous that morning, perhaps somewhat irrationally so. It wasn't about racing. Or the distance. In my twenties, when they said I should win, should set a PR, my nerves were exclusively attached to the race and my ability to perform at a high enough level. I knew I wasn't racing for anything other than myself that morning. I set a goal of sub-1:50, entirely too conservative and pedestrian for me, but such a goal should have prevented pre-race jitters. And it did. I wasn't worried about my finish time; even if I totally blew up, I'd be able to run at least a 1:50. I'd trained enough - Ok, I didn't run enough but I'd done enough long runs - to know how fast I could cover the distance. The majority of my training runs had been good, maybe even better than good, so I knew what I was capable of. Finishing definitely wasn't a worry and, because I'd set a ridiculously slow goal, neither was the clock. 

I stretched that morning partly to get my legs ready for what was assuredly coming, but - as much as I don't want to say it - I think I also did it to stretch my mind. To relax. And to psyche up. As I ran through my flexibility routine, I listened to contemporary classical music - a few from my favorite composer, Ludovico Einaudi. Once I was suitably relaxed, I switched it up; I needed ferocity. I turned to the "GI Jane" soundtrack, then I to a trailer for the new Lara Croft movie. 

"It will be an adventure," Lara says.

"Death is not an adventure," replies her trusty side-kick (all action heroes have one). 

Just a couple seconds of a couple minute long trailer, but damned if I didn't come back to those two lines a couple times during the race. And, if I'm honest, more than a couple times since. 

What was I so nervous about that morning? What was I afraid of? Variables. 13.1 miles is a long way and a lot can happen. Weather - too hot, too cold, humidity, rain, sun, sleet.  The body - muscle fatigue and cramping, digestive disturbances, needing a porta-john, frozen hands/feet. Equipment - shoes, laces, socks, appropriate clothing for the weather. Injury - a twisted ankle, losing footing and falling. Obviously some are reasonably controllable. If you do what you've always done, you'll get fairly consistent results. Like, I can wear socks I know I like, shoes too. I can eat what I always eat the night before and the morning of. I can dress in a way that I think will accommodate the weather, but, man, 13.1 miles is a long way to be over-dressed. Or under-dressed. I'd done everything as "right" as I could, but let me assure you, on race day - when the race is a half marathon - nothing is a given. Nothing.

I felt ok for the first few miles, but just ok. There was a log-jam at the starting line - too many slow amateurs who didn't quite understand that they should have started closer to the back of the pack - so my first mile was slow as I picked my way through the crowd. The Austin Marathon Half Marathon starts off going (literally) up South Congress, which slowed me down as well. I turned the corner onto South First and once I got on the downhill, I breathed a sigh of relief - my legs felt good and I was ready to execute my race plan. Though common knowledge says to hold back on the big downhill stretch - so as not to shred the quads - I'm a downhill runner; it's my strength. I pushed the pace (within reasonable limits) and came through the 10k mark at near record pace. I still had the flats along Lake Austin Boulevard to go before I hit Enfield. The Enfield section of the race is a potential shredder for me - Unlike the steady incline on SoCo, the Enfield hills undulate with steep uphill sections followed by not-as-steep-as-you'd-expect downhills. In 2017, I was taken completely by surprise, novice error completely, but this year I was better prepared. I knew my pace would slow but I'd banked some time on the SoFi section, all part of my race plan. I'd done a lot of Spinning to increase my leg strength and it paid off. In the toughest section of the race, I managed to keep my pace, my legs, and my nerve steady. I wasn't entirely undaunted - I still ran perhaps too conservatively - but I was no longer as scared as I'd been.

Somewhere on Enfield, something happened. Usually in the mid-to-late stages of a race, I regret ever learning to walk much less signing up for a half marathon (What in the fuck was I thinking? I paid to suffer like this?!?). However, on the morning of Sunday, February 18th, as I told myself to just keep peeling off the miles, I had an epiphany. Even with the misery and doubt that invariably plagued me through much of the race (Can I hold this pace? Will I blow up on Enfield? Am I going too fast? What if I can't stop my quad/hamstring/gastroc from cramping?), the race had become an adventure. And, dammit, it was fun.

I guess that's the mystique of the half marathon that shorter races just don't have. It's the adventure, the unknown. It's crawling out toward the tip of the sword. It's the risk, the balancing act. It's the maybes, could bes, probably wont's, and just mights. It's the possibility of death, figuratively speaking, of course. Without that, there's no challenge; there's no adventure. Where's the fun if you're not dangling over the precipice...at least a little?

I came away from that morning with a nearly three minute course PR (good for sixth in my age group) and an absolutely excellent realization. I love racing half marathons. So much so that I have an entirely new goal (I'm sure I need one of those about as much as I need a hole in my head) - I want to race internationally, as soon as this October. I'd thought about doing the Amsterdam Marathon (race day is just a couple days shy of the twenty-fifth anniversary of my marathon victory in Wichita), but now... I really think the half is my calling, my distance.

I know someone out there is going to ask why I don't just do the marathon. Wouldn't the challenge and the risk of figurative death be that much greater? Is that what I'm in the race for? Here's the thing about the marathon - you have to train. A lot. Like a lot a lot. You have to be willing to give up time, other hobbies, and maybe even suck a couple years off your running career, if not your life. You have put in zillions of miles. And I don't really like running all that much. Especially not in the summer. In Austin. To commit to Amsterdam would mean a bunch of long runs - really freaking long runs - in hot - really freaking hot - weather. Plus I like to write, play tennis, binge watch Netflix series - i.e. have some semblance of a life that doesn't involve running. Additionally, if I'm going to afford a trip to Europe in October, just five months from now, I'm going to need a part-time job.

Besides, there's something about racing half marathons that lights my soul. And - get this - I could feasibly do two halves while I'm over there. The Reykjavik Autumn Half is the Sunday after Amsterdam. I'd have to fly past on the way home, why not stop over for an Icelandic half marathon adventure?

Truly, next fall could be beginning of something really cool. And it all started with an epiphany in on Enfield, the worst section of the Austin Marathon Half Marathon, on a misty February morning. I love racing halves. Who would have guessed?

** By the way, the stretching really works. I'll never run long without it again.**