Writing in the Stockholm hotel that I favor completes a circle:
Departing my first stay here — headed to the Vasaloppet cross-country marathon, one of the world’s preeminent athletic events, which I ski almost every March — I reached the Central Station opposite and discovered that I was not wearing my muffler. The train to Mora was delayed. I asked a couple to watch my bags and rushed to the room.
The train was nowhere near the track when I returned. The couple and I began chatting, got along famously, and sat together throughout the train ride.
They had completed a swim competition on an Arctic river in Northern Sweden, the previous summer, and spoke enthusiastically about it. They insisted that I should participate. It became a dream albeit elusive. The pandemic delayed doing so sooner rather than later. Yet the crisis caused people to recalibrate perspectives and pursue things never realized were pipe dreams rather than priorities.
Mine would have gone unfulfilled without someone with whom to travel there. Fortunately, a friend from Sweden — resident stateside — appreciated the attraction. This year, the dates worked. We completed the Arctic Circle Swim on the second weekend of July. The race begins in Finland, crosses an international border into Sweden, thus a time zone, and the Arctic Circle.
The participants are extraordinary: Everyone was enthusiastic, friendly, and kind. I met no one who I did not enjoy immensely.
Travelling up the east coast of Sweden was gorgeous. We visited small cafes serving fine fresh fish. Most Swedes have not experienced the areas which we explored.
Arriving in the charming village of Övertorneå in which we stayed during the swim competition, I recognized that desire to drive to the Scandinavian Arctic arose from seeing early Ingmar Bergman movies, as an adolescent. Its built environment is of this decade, but the natural landscape is timeless — affecting and magical. I fantasize about acquiring cottage alongside the Torne River that we swam: “talk is cheap.”
Darkness never arrives at that time of year. Memorable moments were spent walking in the soothing twilight, after midnight, during the two hours between sunset and sunrise.
The gourmet restaurant in which we ate on the two evenings prior to the midnight race is at the exact spot where the Arctic Circle was discovered. The Arctic Circle is the southernmost spot where the sun never sets at the Summer Solstice. It moves 14 meters northward annually. The process shall reverse in approximately 10,000 years.
I had not experienced such a swim — although I have worn wetsuits, swum in open water, and been an avid whitewater paddler. I had no time to practice before departing home. I was confident although concerned that absence of anxiety might signal that something was overlooked.
I entered the water. It was black. I saw nothing. I hit buoys — marking the racecourse — twice, as well as the feet of other swimmers. When I could no longer breathe, I panicked.
After five seconds, perhaps 10, I acknowledged that I am in shape. The problem was the new wetsuit — yet to stretch after repetitive use — constricting my chest.
Not finishing was not an option. I switched from freestyle to breast stroke. My goggles fogged, so I pulled them to my forehead. Swimming slower, enjoying the expansive views on the Finnish left bank and the Swedish right bank for three kilometers, was more fun than finishing rapidly.
I periodically chatted and cracked jokes with three people in the support boat nearby. I regretted seeing the swim end before heading for an early morning — think the midnight hour — hot tub soak with four Brits followed by a sauna with two Germans.
The following days, we descended the west coast of Finland before taking an overnight ferry from Turku to Stockholm.
Please do not delay accomplishing aims. Wait too long and you never will.
Jay Wiener is a Northsider
