Being in a car travelling at what felt like high speed on icy roads was very surreal, and I suddenly felt very tired. Back at Jockfall, I was driven right up to one of the chalets, and Pulkee was unloaded for me. The restaurant was just about to close for the evening, so I had a very quick shower before eating, replying to some messages and collapsing into bed.

After sleeping through the night, I then spent the morning dozing, picking the Never Stops out of my remaining snack backs and eating the sweets I’d been given at the finish (I’d half-planned to pop to the supermarket in Överkallix after finishing to stock up on non-race food, but didn’t have the time and energy to do it). I also surfed the web, and cried. Not happy or sad tears, but an overwhelming ‘oh my god I actually did it’ feeling. When my official race photos were posted on the internet, it felt like the person in them wasn’t me (they were far too athletic-looking to be me).

After a large lunch, I started trying to organise and pack my gear, but I kept running out of steam. I also had to be careful about how I moved, as my knee was somewhat unhappy. The rest of my body was in pretty good shape. Various bits of chafing had clearer up significantly with airing overnight, and my feet looked almost normal. The worst damage was actually to my hands; the insides of both thumbs were somewhat numb, and the 3rd, 4th and 5th fingers on my left hand would seize up into a claw if I didn't use them for a while (presumably an after effect of gripping trekking pokles). That evening, there was a post-race party. I went along for a bit. It was good to catch up with various people, but it was all a bit much for me (in particular, the noise), and I went back to the lodge to finally finish packing.

foot looking pretty good

Most people left early the next morning, but I decided to split my journey over two days again, so the OH could pick me and Pulkee up from Manchester on Friday evening. Despite having a full separate holdall and, I thought, less in her than on the way out, Pulkee was significantly overweight. I didn’t have the energy to rearrange stuff, so I paid the excess baggage fee (that I’d put so much effort into avoiding on the way out). There were lots of military planes noisily taking off and landing at Lulea airport. I spent the long journey catching up on emails and eating lots. That’s not cheap when you’re at airports in a Nordic country, but I did get more than my money’s worth from the hotel buffet breakfast. Despite all the eating I was feeling rather thin; when I got home I was 59 kg, 4 kg ligher than when I left. (My body weight fixed point has drifted up 4 or 5 kg over the last few, thanks to weight lifting (and also middle aged spread…).

a midriff fit for a 90s girl band, and refueling on airport food

The plane from Stockholm to Manchester was full of the loudest drunken Swedes I’ve ever encountered (on their way to something football related, I think). A group of them tried to barge past us into a lift, but Pulkee was a very effective block. The OH had stocked the car up with Pringles and HobNobs, but I got through the hour and a bit journey home without needing to eat again. As usual after overseas multi-day events, the worst of the tiredness only hit when I got home. The first night, I woke up with no idea where I was. Unlike post-Spine, I didn’t panic. I reassured myself that wherever I was, it was warm and dry, so I could go back to sleep and figure it out later. When I woke up properly later on, I was lying diagonally across the bed, with my head at the bottom… The other hindrance to ‘getting back to normal life’, was my head continuing to play its 90s indie playlist. It’s hard to concentrate on meetings and emails when your head insists on playing the Leveller’s ‘One way of life’…