What a summer: My memories are filled with superlative sporting events and emotionally charged Olympic Games. I celebrated gatherings with loved ones, experiencing festivals we so desperately missed just a few years ago. At the same time, I have a nagging feeling that this man-made climate change is finally starting to get serious. And while all this is happening, three millionaires are philosophizing on Lanz and Precht's show about how to make our children hungry again. An attempt at perspective.
Long gone are the days when I looked down on people who didn't regularly peruse the arts and culture section of a well-known weekly newspaper—just kidding. And yet, the astute reader will notice that the opening line, indeed the inversion, "Greetings to my German teacher," comes from a renowned column by a former professional tennis player. "Life is my triathlon" struck me as quite fitting to express the irony, indeed the emotional rollercoaster of the last few months.
As I discussed in a previous blog post, since the start of my season, many things haven't gone quite as smoothly as I had initially envisioned. To my bitter disappointment, this situation didn't change much in the following weeks. From a sporting perspective, I have to consider the summer's results a bitter defeat. And while dealing with this emotionally wasn't easy, I'd rather spare you—after all, there's Instagram—a litany of lessons and justifications of any kind. We all fail sooner or later. It's all a matter of perspective.
"Life is my triathlon." | Photo: Simon Gehr
My natural inclination, the headlong rush: Here in Girona, Spain, I experienced another setback last year. Exactly one year ago, I became seriously ill here and had to say goodbye to my dreams. That summer, too, I had literally busted my ass, constantly attending altitude training camps and competing in races. It is undoubtedly an immense privilege to be so dedicated to something, to feel passion and share emotions. A circumstance that by no means all young people possess, and thus a fact that Toni Kroos neglects in his vague remarks on the ZDF podcast. Lanz, Precht, and Kroos disregard the causal link between the politically manufactured crises of modern times and the perceived inertia of the younger generation. The big questions of young people, which German business leaders reduce solely to the choice of future career, are trivialized. And completely ignored is the fact that a majority of German parents struggle day after day, week after week, to send their offspring to bed full.
For my part, I must disagree with the accusations of laziness in all its facets, as I perceive an almost toxic compulsion for self-optimization, albeit only—and this is a loaded term—within my own bubble. However, one cannot avoid addressing the dangers of such an addiction; indeed, one must call it that. The tendency towards extremes manifests itself in very different forms. While just a few years ago the grandmaster published details of his commitment to a strict rice and fruit diet before the Games in China, today we see athletes making headlines who happily devour 42 pizzas during a three-week altitude training camp.
Caught in the grip of extremes. | Photo: Simon Gehr
Now we are (hopefully) all aware that for the duration of our professional athletic careers, we (hopefully) push our bodies to their limits. It's not unreasonable, therefore, for the body to have natural protective mechanisms, be it a minor infection during travel or stress reactions, which are making the rounds again this year in the aftermath of the Paris Summer Games. Bone injuries are generally considered the ultimate sign that one has pushed oneself too far. For others, however, it's only then that satisfaction sets in. My coach recently ended his career without such a fracture. He probably never really pushed himself to the limit.
No, if such thought patterns take hold, if, as a result of an injury, cycling volume is tripled as an alternative to running training, or if impulsive and far-reaching decisions are made without due consideration, if training groups are abandoned abruptly, or if every failure is attributed to one's life circumstances, then there is legitimate cause for concern. For me, borderline personality disorder and triathlon belong together like racing bikes and coffee. But while the latter pair can be traced back to the simple common denominator of consumerism, nerdiness, and self-promotion, my thesis may initially seem opaque, but will find support upon closer examination.
Reflect and train. | Photo: Simon Gehr
Don't get me wrong: Of course, you have to be somewhat obsessed in such a complex sport. You have to breathe triathlon; after all, the potential for improvement in each discipline seems almost endless. And yet, it's important to separate identity from performance. A life of self-criticism seems essential, but it's only sensible temporarily. Because "in the end, it's just sport," my mother recently reassured me when I told her about my doubts and worries after my last race in Italy. Of course, she knows the current importance of endurance sports in my life. But she also consumes the news, frequently argues with school authorities, and lovingly cares for refugees.
This summer, I spent more time with people who simply couldn't care less about my results, a stark contrast to my everyday life. Because athletic competition inherently invites comparison, and this characteristic is amplified by social media, it's easy to succumb to feelings of envy. As always, it's worth looking at our common ground: we're all in the privileged position of pursuing a passion, dedicated to a dream project, and projecting its success onto our own personal advancement. We're hungry in the sense that millionaires are. But, let's face it, we're all human.
