Team 3 Sweden arrived at Arholma with grit, experience, hope, and confidence. We were calm, yet fueled by a burning dream of reaching the Lighthouse of Landsort. Our drive was to embrace every feeling, to stand together as a team, and to finally get to celebrate this huge accomplishment — the race itself and all the preparations we had invested in over the years. Learning from failures and mistakes is hard; learning as a team is even harder. But to stand on the start line experienced, ready, and focused feels incredible.
As all teams collectively counted down to start, we were filled with pure joy. Sixty hours of the thing we love most — swimrunning with great friends — was about to begin. We got off to a smooth start, reaching CP1 in first place. Though we know the position doesn’t matter at this point, it gave us a lift — a momentum to build upon.
For the first 12 hours, we had decided to be careful to stay in our bubble as a team. We reminded ourselves often so we wouldn’t get carried away by excitement, other teams, or a pace that wasn’t ours. The first day, heading south, was flowing, filled with good decisions, good times, and a sense of rhythm.
After completing section 1, collecting new maps, and setting our bearing east toward Möja, we dressed for a colder section and mentally prepared to push through the water before darkness was upon us. Powered by our super Susie, under a stunning sunset, and accompanied by a RIB full of cheering spectators, we made our way into Möja, savoring the last rays of light. Another cornerstone of the course was conquered.
Reaching the “hell islands” in pitch darkness, we were pumped and focused. This part isn’t easy, but we have handled these gnarly islands before with strong teamwork, and we were ready for the challenge. As we approached the CP, we caught up with Team 2 Australia. They were equally focused; few words were exchanged, but warm feelings and mutual encouragement toward Landsort were shared.
We worked seamlessly as a team throughout the night, escaping with only a minor navigation error, a throw-up, and an almost-lost supporter. We did not battle any sleep monsters, mostly thanks to our pace and high spirits. We stayed on a good roll.
By morning, we faced Runmarö with cold winds and a long run that didn’t quite warm us up as expected. We were hot on the heels of Team 2 Australia. The course offered another section with lots of swimming and only small islands, just as we had mentally prepared for. We geared up a little more, enjoyed a warm meal in the morning sun, and set off energized.
We tackled the string of islands to the next checkpoint efficiently and landed safely on Nämndö. Our legs were starting to feel numb, but with deep trust and shared conviction, we could push and motivate each other hard — yet with love — never letting go of our flow and pace.
The course pushed us east again, out among small islands, and we grew colder and also nervous. We focused on taking care of the team, making smart decisions, slowing down when needed to stay on track. This kind of racing takes time and threw us off the pace we had with our Aussie friends. Yet over the years, we’ve learned it’s the right move to stay strong for the long haul. We managed to warm up, calm down, and reset before more long swims and cold, windy islands. Another reset a few hours later cost us even more time, but we stayed committed to our slow-and-steady strategy.
If the first 24 hours had been a happy flow, the second day was marked by struggle — but also by the strongest teamwork and smartest racing we’ve ever executed.
Our biggest obstacle came with the 1,400-meter swim to Fjärdlång. The cold cut deep, and our minds wrestled with doubt as much as our bodies. Yet in that struggle, we found something steady in each other. Stroke by stroke, we kept moving — not just forward, but together.
Setting foot on Fjärdlång felt like a victory in itself. Though we were under heavy strain, we held our drive, kept our minds sharp on problem-solving, and stayed fully determined to push on. Dressed in dry robes over double layers of neoprene, we started moving south. Before leaving, we got the question from the race organisation if we would be okay with medics meeting up and making a quick check-up. As we felt it could comfort us and put us in a good mood, we accepted it and went on.
Our trip over Fjärdlång was eventful. A string of media followed along, and we felt lifted by the presence of our friends in a boat who came to cheer us on. Halfway through the island, we hit a cold pocket that threw us off our belief in getting through the night and our struggles. We honestly didn’t know if it was even possible to get back in the water with the temperature dropping well below 10 degrees. But as we’ve met obstacles before and learned to only make decisions where we are with what we’ve got then and there, we just went on. At some point, Fredrik called for a short stop to make sure we were on the right trail, and Marika took the chance to quiet some demons by lying down flat, face down, simulating swimming and making sure she was breathing perfectly fine. Which she was — but also, lying down almost 40 hours into a race will surely make you fall asleep in an instant, no matter the level of comfort. So, unplanned, we took a power nap before tackling the last bit of Fjärdlång.
Our mood and physical level rose well over Fjärdlång, and we arrived at the south end in a good state, determined and ready to make the push for Ornö. We were just going along with Fredrik’s medical check-up, which had been suggested to us.
The outcome hit us like a wave: Fredrik had a fever. We were stunned. We had to face it — slowly, painfully: we were no longer in the race. No longer heading toward Landsort. The journey we had imagined was gone.
We did it all right; we executed the race we prepared and trained for. We were strong and overcame struggles. We worked as a team, lifting each other in every situation. Most of all, we stayed in the right mindset and made smart decisions. And now, when it was over, a deep emptiness settled in. Not from failure, but from the quiet of an ending. Every stroke, every struggle, every moment of teamwork we had poured ourselves into was gone. Our hearts ached not for what we hadn’t achieved, but for the dream we had shared and the journey we had lived together. The rhythm, the laughter, the shared strength lingered in our memories — bittersweet reminders of what had been — and a quiet gratitude that we had faced it all side by side.
No matter where the race ends, this is a journey that we don’t regret in any way. Every challenge and shared moment has shaped us, strengthened our bond, and filled us with joy. We leave it with hearts full of friendship, pride in what we’ve accomplished and executed, and memories that will stay with us forever.
