I’ve crossed the Gobi Desert in Mongolia on foot, twice.
Once dragging a 240kg trailer across the steppe.
Once with camels, navigating silence, solitude, and the weight of self-reliance.
I’m a two-time IRONMAN finisher. A certified professional freediver with SSI and AIDA credentials in both pool and depth safety, trained not only to dive long and deep, but to safeguard others in the water. I’m also a dedicated spearfisherman, blending precision, breath control, and respect for the sea.
I ran the full length of Sweden, 2,000 kilometres from Karesuando to Smygehuk. Solo. Self-supported. Carrying just 8.9 kg. I completed the journey in 27 days, 5 hours, and 4 minutes, setting the record for the fastest self-supported run across the country.
I also ran 381 kilometres around Lake Vänern, the largest lake in Sweden and the European Union. Solo. Self-supported. Carrying just 7.1 kg. I finished in 109 hours.
Attempted the brutal 246km Trans Scania Ultra Trail, twice.
Faced the legendary Kullamannen by UTMB ultra multiple times.
Completed several ultra running races exceeding 100km.
I became the first person to swim Ireland’s Kenmare River, 42 km of cold, tidal water, fully unsupported, with no safety net. I’ve crossed from Gozo to Malta. I’ve twice attempted the Oresund Strait between Denmark and Sweden, and taken on multiple long-distance swims across open water beyond 10 km.
I’m an avid bodyboarder, drawn to cold swells, large waves, and the raw rhythm of the sea. It’s just pure adrenaline, excitement, and no finish lines. No ego, no race, just breath, impact, and wild joy.
I’ve spent days and weeks in remote terrain, learning patience, humility, and the rhythm of slow progress.
Some attempts have ended in triumph. Others in DNFs.
But I don’t measure success by finish lines.
I measure it by the failures I’ve faced, and the courage it took to rise again.
Because failure isn’t the opposite of success.
It’s the proving ground for it.
Every setback is a step forward in disguise.
Every DNF is a scar that says: I showed up when I could’ve stayed home. I tried when I could’ve quit.
And I’ll try again.
These efforts aren’t about medals.
They’re about testing the edge of endurance, and finding meaning in the quiet places most people never go.