Space and place

Since my dear physiotherapist J accepted the challenge of turning my surprisingly battered limbs into a fully functioning body, I have experienced something of an exercise revival. Mainly because I can now run. And this I do, happily, as often as I can. Last week in England I didn't; essentially because there was very little time, but also because I felt as though there was no space for it. I like open space, a consequence of being Swedish in general and southern Swedish in particular, perhaps. My friend I often speaks of how southern Sweden is too starkly lacking in trees for her taste (she is from the north where there is little but trees), and how this makes her feel exposed with nowhere to hide. I, on the other hand, feel somewhat claustrophobic in the dense forest where she lives - and experience the opposite threat: I can hide, but so can whatever might be pursuing me. Getting lost is also more of an issue in a forest than in the open field landscape I have grown up in, probably a contributing factor to the naive navigation approach which led my friend M and I so astray in a Norwegian wood once. I still don't know how we managed to find the way back to the cabin and will forever remember the valuable lesson it taught me: when in Norway do not take the road less travelled by. Take the main one. And bring a compass.

Anyway. The wonders of modern technology (represented by my phone/mp-player/radio/camera) allow me to take pictures of my beloved fields while running and listening to music – and to then put them on this page for further nostalgic reminiscing. Yes, I haven’t even left yet but am already acutely aware of the fact that I will have to find new fields to run on soon. This is perhaps the best way to explain why a move to central London won’t happen if I can help it. Too many people, not enough fields.

I had an epiphany to the effect while I was in London, on the tube. That is in itself extraordinary (not the content, I’m sure many people on the Bakerloo line wish they were somewhere else), as there wasn’t really room to have anything, not even a small epiphany. Events conspired and I found myself needlessly in rush hour twice that day, crammed into the confined space of a train carriage with hundreds of strangers. An inferno on rails, scorching heat, people frantically trying to ignore the temperature and each other – as well as forgetting the report in the paper that an accident in the underground had been narrowly avoided that morning (a driver having got in at the wrong end of the train and set of in the wrong direction). Very Danteesque. Yes, standing in an underground train somewhere between Piccadilly circus and Waterloo, trying not to tread on more than one person’s toes at any one time, is the antithesis of my running path. There may be people who love it, or at least are untroubled by it, but most of my fellow sufferers last Thursday looked like they would have been happier elsewhere. Apart from being an, admittedly, effective way to get around London, the tube is also a marvellous place for exploring humanity. The hordes of people around me resembled mistreated cattle more than human beings, but every time I smiled at someone they smiled back. We're all just trying to cope with the lack of space.

Wherever I end up in the near future I hope there is open space, but also a place with people. They are quite nice, really.