Sitting on the bus on the way home from work, out falls a sleet. Thoughts go back to the Vasaloppet ski race on Sunday that was carried out with great enthusiasm. Unlike so many others, I had a wonderful 90 kilometers long ski from Sälen to Mora, which took me 9 hours and 58 minutes.
the Snow that whipped in the face was a delight for an expatriate dalmas as then 22 years living in the skåne countryside. Get to experience the wonderful physical solid form of water, that is to say, the snow under the skis, in the face and the ears was a true joy.
me with the obstinacy and excitement toward the goal in Mora, surrounded by thousands of like-minded nerds from all corners of the world. The experience consists of a mixture of excruciating pain and mental meltdown that by the last staktagen towards Mora’s own triumphal arch is transformed into a sense of heroic exhilaration that only your own experience in the present moment can be described – it must be experienced!
When I read about the tragic and osportsliga the end as the Race got feels sudden my experience less heroic. It feels like the snow has suddenly become a little contaminated, something dirty has crept in and the snow has been transformed and I become a little afraid.
Is this not as bad as doping? The difference between a stroke of genius, and cheating is not, perhaps, bigger? But what really happened with sportmoralen, integrity?
the next year, when I tear up the damn Lundbäcksbackarna, reminded that in the front ranks is the battle for the goal in Mora, to the judges and manipulative stonewall opponents. Then maybe I take off my skis and walk up or even give up.
I hope for a more sporting behaviour of our role models and our expertkommentatorer rises a snap.
