GöteborgsVarvet - The Mother of All Half-marathons

The athletes stop for a pose, smiling gamely as they work to stay relaxed. It is a very warm, humid Gothenburg morning, and the largest half-marathon in the world - which had already started as this picture was taken and would continue in waves for several more hours - lay ahead of them in sweaty anticipation.

The GöteborgsVarvet, or Gothenburg Half-Marathon, is indeed the largest half-marathon in the world. It began in 1980 with just over 1,000 runners. Today over 60,000 people run it every year, and this time Marissa, my wife, was one of them.

How did this happen, you ask? The Marissa we know wouldn't run if chased, you say? Well, that was true of the old Marissa. But this Marissa had made friends with a certain Swede whose optimism surpasses even my own, and who believes that anything is possible if one simply follows-through. It was this Swede who had said, about a year earlier, that she and her husband were going back to Gothenburg to run the GöteborgsVarvet - and that Marissa had plenty of time to train so, hey, why not join in as well?

Something clicked and Marissa said yes. Even this certain Swede, who is the most positive person on the planet, was a little surprised by how quickly she said yes. But she did, and months of steady, mostly patient training later here she was, about to run her first half marathon, and the largest one in the world at that.

Though I was not running, I was quite nervous. I knew she had trained very thoroughly, but that was in temperate Bay Area climes, with plenty of rest and plenty of hydration. For the few days we had been in Sweden she hadn't slept much, and now the weather was freakishly warm. Actually, it was hot and humid - more like Atlanta in May than one would ever think Scandinavia could be. I kept nagging her to drink more water, stay out of the sun, sit down, conserve. I was trying to sound casual about it, but I was anything but on the inside. This was the kind of weather that felled experienced runners easily.  I was seriously worried about heat stroke. But it was now time, and the runners left us in our cool, shady spot to take their place at the starting line.

Then a small (though apparently not unexpected for Sweden this time of year) miracle happened. Not long after I took this picture, the breeze stiffened, clouds rolled in and a clap of thunder ushered in a luxurious downpour. It lasted just long enough to bring the temperature back into the 70s, where it stayed for the rest of the race. Hallelujah, I thought. And they were off! Starting with a smile and an easy pace, looking fresh and fit. She gave us a big smile and flashed some fun rock-n-roll hand gestures our way as she went by.

I was hanging with Theres, the beautiful best friend of the Optimistic Swede, who had her own grueling adventure only a few weeks away (an ultra-long bike race that would take over a dozen hours to finish) and her boyfriend Antti. We ate lunch together on the grass, enjoyed the brief rain shower, watched our loved ones take off, and then headed for a good place to cheer them on to the finish.

We chose a spot at around Kilometer 18, which would be just under a mile to the finish line. Along the way we saw the carnage that the earlier heat and humidity had wrought. I counted easily a dozen runners who had collapsed and were now getting fluids - and consolation. And so close to the finish line, too, I thought. I also began to worry again, just a little. Though it had cooled considerably it was still humid and I remembered how hilly the course was. How would she be after 18 kilometers?

Then we saw her, trucking along like it was mile 3 of a 5 miler on the San Francisco Bay Trail near our home. Not a care in the world. She did some disco moves and cruised right by us. I was in awe.

After that, the three of us worked our way back to Theres' apartment, where Antti and I had a couple of Latvian beers, and then we went home, where a big post-GöteborgsVarvet party was to be had. This was also to be combined with a Euro-vision party, a bizarre spectacle if ever there was one, but that is for another post. What is important is that all of the runners I cared about finished the race with no lasting damage, that Marissa actually had quite a good race, particularly considering that she chose the mother of all half-marathons as her first, and that I got to witness one of the biggest events in the running world first hand. It was a great day.