The goal for this trip? Spend time with my brother (aka Norwegian Thor) and soak up life a bit. Woke up at 07:00 to birdsong and sunshine on a veranda overlooking Oslo. Blue skies, 13 degrees – absolutely perfect race weather. Almost suspiciously perfect.
Start time was 15:30, which gave us plenty of time for nerves. My brother showed up at 12:30 in his own apartment (he’s efficient like that), carrying what I assume was “race fuel.” Oatmeal, soy milk, bananas, salted nuts and berries – the man came prepared. I’m not picky. I eat things.
Then came the gear envy. He had just dropped 4000 NOK on new carbon shoes. I quietly looked down at my own, which cost 2500 and feel like running in flip-flops with attitude. 😑
We sat around chatting about race goals, expectations, route profile, shoe friction, leg hair aerodynamics – you know, the important stuff.
Then, 2 minutes before heading out, my brother decided to show me a new Strava AI feature predicting my finish time. Over 65 minutes.
The vibe shifted.
He apologized like he’d just insulted my ancestors.
Jogged to the start. Felt pain in places I didn’t even know had nerve endings. Was it the suitcase? The bed? The soy milk? Who knows. Chaos in the brain. Classic pre-race nonsense.
At the start line: 15,000 people buzzing with nervous energy, laughter, dreams, and various levels of compression wear.
Ready – set – go!
Up the hill to the royal palace, and bam, my brother disappears like a Snapchat from 2015. Poof.
I’d traveled 600 kilometers for this moment of solitude. 😂
Around 4K – disaster.
Twisted my ankle. Full stop. Immediate agony. Brief existential crisis. Then I kept going. Limped, jogged, cursed the gods of uneven pavement. Surprisingly, it held up. I was back in the race – cautious, but moving.
Crowds were amazing. “Heia! Heia! Kom igjen!”
Me: silent. Rigid. Painful face. No time for smiling – only for finishing. Everything hurt. Ankles, knees, ego. But the finish line was suddenly there.
Time: 55:56.
Victory. Absolute floppy glory. 🏁
Grabbed water, banana, chocolate, and the world’s most satisfying medal. My brother called from the pub:
“Hurry up – your beer is getting warm!”
Suddenly, new energy surged through me. Where was that during the race?
We hugged at the bar like two happy wrecks. Far from top of the results list, but who cares.
This isn’t about rankings. It’s about showing up. For yourself. For your body. For your dreams.
That’s gold. 🥇
Later: hot shower, Indian street food on Grünerløkka, chicken and cold beer. We talked through the night – about life, past, future, everything in between.
Then I slept like a rock. A happy, sore, slightly limping rock.
