Last Saturday, approximately 13000 people exhausted themselves to their respective limits to travel 42195 meters around Stockholm on foot. I know because I was one of them. The first 20 km or so were fine. The weather was nice, people were running in ther loony outfits (who would have thought Fred Flintstone was capable of running a marathon? At his age!), there was lots to watch (I'm impressed with the samba-dancing group, who must have been dancing for something like 4 hours), and in general it's nice to be alive on such occasions. The last 22195 meters became progressively worse, the legs becoming heavier, the stride becoming shorter, one's gait converging on that of an 80-year-old. OK, I'm probably exaggerating there, but it felt that way. At this point, everyone who would never contemplate the idea of running besides attempting to catch the bus, raise your hands. Alrighty-then, does this sound absolutely insane to you? Do you have difficulties fathoming why anyone would ever voluntarily expose themselves to such an experience (Let's face it: This situation can hardly come as a surprise to anyone)? I thought so too. My reason for entering was a bet between two groups of people, one of which I happen to belong. However, the feeling I had after crossing the line, knowing that I did not surrender, I kept running all the way, that feeling lasted all week. That is to say, it lasted longer than my sore legs.

julian