Running Free
How one man ran away from a frantic world and found himself
FROM AN EARLY AGE , Markus Torgeby defined himself as a runner. He was hooked at his first race, which took place in 1985 on his home island of Öckerö, in western Sweden. He was just 10 years old. His talent took him to the 800m regional championships and though he did not win, when he crossed the finish line he was certain he had found his calling: ‘I have butterflies in my stomach. This is what I will do in life. It’s so simple.’
As an elite-level junior he performed brilliantly in training, but suffered problems handling the pressure of competition, while the burden of caring for his increasingly ill mother, who had been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis when she was just 30, also weighed heavily.
These dark clouds broke in a perfect storm when he suffered a serious foot injury at a high-altitude training camp while preparing to qualify for the European Junior Championships. He turned away from competition, and from the noisy, bustling, intrusive world around him.
At the age of 20 he began living alone in the forest in the isolated region of Jämtland, in northern Sweden, striving to find himself and his own path in life by disconnecting from the modern world and, most of all, dedicating himself to his greatest passion – running. Only now he ran without the pressures of stopwatches and competition.
He fashioned a tent in a clearing, slept on reindeer skins, lived on basic provisions and what he could harvest from the forest, and chopped wood to keep his fire burning through winter, when temperatures plummeted to -37C. Aside from six months living and training with a group of runners in Tanzania – following a similarly stripped-down routine – this is how he spent the next four years. It was a simple, harsh and, ultimately, redemptive existence.
Markus emerged from the forest a different man. He married and had kids, and then he returned to Jämtland. But this time he built a house. These days, not far from the spot where he spent those solitary years, he continues to follow his own path, sharing with his wife and daughters the joys of a life surrounded by nature and unbowed by the pressures of the modern world. And, just as he has done for the last 25 years, he runs. Every day.
IN THE FOREST
I RUN ROUND Norsjön towards Helgesjön, see the Åreskutan mountain 15 kilometres to the west, tripping through marshes and wading across tiny streams. I am wet up to my knees, my hands are cold, but my body is kept warm by all this exercise.
I haven’t seen another human being in three weeks. I am talking loudly to myself and singing songs so that I can at least hear my own voice.
I have never spent so much time on my own. It feels strange. Time moves more slowly. I breathe more deeply and I can feel my heart beating.
The sun is high in the sky and everything is actually quite simple. I’m not freezing. I’m not hungry. The mosquitoes are gone, I’m no longer itching, but I have no peace.
I see a birch tree and suddenly have the urge to climb it. I heave myself up onto a branch and climb higher and higher, branch after branch, until I can’t go any further.
The tree sways in the wind. I look out across the valley. I see the shifting colours of the fir trees. I close my eyes and disappear into myself.
I don’t read any books here. I don’t listen to the radio. I don’t watch the TV. I don’t feed on other people’s opinions, don’t have to fit into any other context. Am I running away from something? When I get back home again, I have run 25 kilometres, my legs feel weak. I take off my wet clothes and hang them on the line, tie the shoelaces together and hang up the shoes. They smell of marsh and earth.
IT’S THE AFTERNOON. The sun is tired, but the light is warm, and I run from the Slagsån up to the marsh below the heights of Romohöjden. On the top of Åreskutan the snow is sticking. I run across the marsh and my legs feel light.
I run in giant strides across the mountain slopes, all the way down to the River Indalsälven and past the Ristafallet waterfall. I continue down the path along the river and get back on the hill, three kilometres of steep uphill running. I move effortlessly and come back to the marsh with the sun on my back.
Then I hear the call of an elk. I stop. After a while, I hear another elk answering further away. I put my thumb and index finger across my nose and make a call of my own, and both elks answer.
They are both quite close and I stand still. At last they come out onto the marsh with 30 metres between them. I don’t move. Nor do the elks, and their big ears are pointing towards me like satellite dishes. We form a triangle – the bull, the cow and I. The elks have got the evening sun in their eyes and the wind at their backs. Their legs are long and thin, and they look strong.
I run on, and so do the elks. There are crashing sounds from the forest as they disappear.
When I reach the lake Helgesjön I take off my clothes and jump in, and swim around until the mud and sweat have been washed away.
THERE ARE MOUNTAINS IN EVERY DIRECTION. The Ottfjället, dark, steep and close. The Bunnerfjällen far away in the distance. I see the whole world. I see everything that is worth looking after, worth preserving.
I start to run across the marsh that angles downwards from the summit. I run fast on the downhill slope, increasing my speed until I lose control, fall over and slide on my stomach over the muddy grass and am soaked to the skin. I get up, carry on running and laugh aloud to myself. I’m feeling a bit crazy. Am I losing it? I don’t give a damn. I lose control again and slip down into a muddy hollow. This is life. I am completely consumed by nature.
I get down from the mountain, turn off the path and run all the way to Edsåsdalen. When I’m back where I started, after 15 kilometres of hard running, I lie down by the stream. I let the cold water wash over me until I’m clean and I stay there until my body starts to feel stiff.
‘ I HAVE NEVER SPENT SO MUCH TIME ON MY OWN. IT FEELS STRANGE. TIME MOVES MORE SLOWLY”
I stroll homewards, using the warm air as my towel. The sun is shining straight into my eyes.
I wash in the river and make a fire in the tent, which chases away the mosquitoes. I close the flap and make myself the world’s most delicious oatmeal porridge, relishing every mouthful. I drink a whole litre of honey-water with a bit of salt added.
I lie down on the bed. I don’t think about anything at all. I don’t feel any longing for anything at all. I am completely content.
‘October,’ I say. ‘I want to stay over the winter, perhaps six months.’
‘That’s fine. Get a plane to Nairobi, then take a coach to Arusha, which is in Tanzania. We train in a village near there. I’ll get one of the runners to pick you up at the coach station.’
So that’s that.
THE COACH WAKES ME UP with a knock at the door. I put on my shorts and vest and tie up my running shoes. Outside it’s cool and damp, and heavy drops are falling from the trees. Everything feels freshly showered. Light arrives quickly – just a few breaths and the sky changes from the dark of the night to the morning sun.
Today it’s ‘pole pole’. I am told that this means ‘calm’ in Swahili.
After a few kilometres, the speed is obviously faster and I am starting to feel the pressure. What are they playing at? It’s meant to be pole pole! We run on, it’s faster and faster, successive accelerations kilometre after kilometre. I begin to feel worn out, but I’ve got to keep up because I have no idea where I am. Everything looks the same: red paths and lush greenery.
My legs are hurting and I’m falling behind. I am gritting my teeth, but I simply can’t keep up. I’m making my maximum effort, but that’s not enough. My lungs are working away in my ribcage, but I am losing metre after metre.
The others are running in a big group and are pressing hard on the upward slopes and flowing downhill easily at high speed. Each and every one of them runs faster than the fastest Swede. And there I am, big and white and 30 metres behind them.
One of the runners up ahead points at an empty area right behind his legs. He waves me on and points distinctly at that spot. Presumably he wants me to be there instead of running on my own, but I am going at my maximum speed and the runners up ahead don’t decrease theirs.
I see the ease with which my friends flow along, and to compare myself with them feels almost ridiculous. They have relaxed legs and strong glutes; they’re thin and explosive at the same time. However much I train, I will never be able to run like them.
Eventually I lose sight of them. I don’t see a living person any longer and I don’t see any houses. I don’t hear any noise apart from birdsong. It’s beautiful.
ONE NIGHT I DREAM ABOUT MUM. In the dream she’s driving her electric wheelchair with shaking hands. She’s down at the port and drives on to the quay, right up to the edge. She’s been secured to the chair with her seatbelt. Then she goes too close and topples into the sea, f lying like the bicycle in E.T. through the air and into the cold water.