This weekend, I completed the Broloppet half marathon over the Öresund Bridge between Sweden and Denmark.
The organisers of the run made a big deal of the bridge (and the run) symbolising the connection between Denmark and Sweden. At first, that sounds quite cheesy, but life here in Malmö where I live would certainly be different if it didn’t exist.
It means that you can live in Malmö and commute to work in central Copenhagen in less than an hour, opening up Copenhagen to Swedes looking for new work or study opportunities.
Swedes can head over to Louisiana or Tivoli for a day trip, and Danes can nip to Malmö or Lund to see the sights and make the most of the low Swedish krona for some cheap shopping.
I hadn’t even run 5km before I bought my ticket in February last year, but I just knew when I saw the run being advertised that I had to do it.
This may sound odd, but the Öresund Bridge means a lot to me. I’ve lived and worked in both cities, speak both languages, and aside from the fact that I cross the bridge whenever I visit friends in Denmark or travel via Copenhagen Airport, it’s played a central role in many important moments in my life.
I met my Swedish husband when I was living in Copenhagen and he was living in Malmö. I crossed the bridge when I caught the train to Malmö for our first date.
I crossed it when we left Malmö for our wedding in Frederiksberg town hall, and I crossed it while in labour with our daughter, who was born in Denmark. I even crossed it mid-pandemic, when my parents were able to visit Copenhagen but not Malmö, so that my family could meet my daughter for the first time.
On Sunday, I crossed it on foot with my dad (who, unlike me, is an avid runner) by my side. That was the culmination of over a year of training, much of which was done along the seafront in Ribersborg looking out at the bridge. Now when I look out at the bridge, I along with 40,000 other runners can say “I ran over that”.
The Öresund Bridge run also means a lot to people in southern Sweden and, I assume, Denmark too. Three generations of my daughter’s family have done it now, including my father-in-law who skated over on roller blades (!) 25 years ago. I know that we have some readers who were there on Sunday with their own connections to the bridge, whether that’s in their own lives or through their family history.
Admittedly, the connection between Sweden and Denmark isn’t always smooth. What was supposed to be temporary border checks at Hyllie are nearing their tenth anniversary this year, and non-EU citizens can’t live in one country and work in the other without a work permit. It’s also extremely expensive to cross it (at least for those of us who are paid in Swedish kronor), and the trains are often delayed or cancelled.
The bridge run itself didn’t go completely smoothly either, to be fair. Long toilet queues before the run meant that many people didn’t have time to go before they were due to start, and chaos with buses and bag pick-up afterwards meant that those heading back to Denmark had to wait in the finish area for hours. Many runners even had to queue in the last 200 metres before they could cross the finish line, which must have been frustrating to say the least after pushing yourself for 21 kilometres.
For the most part though, I’d say that the bridge has clearly benefited both countries greatly, and has brought them closer together in the 25 years since it was built. I don't particularly fancy doing it again anytime soon, but who knows ‒ maybe I'll feel differently if another run is planned for the bridge's 50th anniversary in 2050. By then, there could even be a metro line stretching between both cities, bringing us even closer over national and geographical borders.
I certainly feel closer to the other runners who spent a couple of hours (in my case, almost three) running under and over the Öresund from Denmark to Sweden on Sunday. Even considering the organisational chaos and the frankly terrible conditions, I doubt there are many people who regret they did it.
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