For a year now, I've had the pleasure of running this blog with my wonderful sparring partner, Franziska. While always hoping to bring a smile to my readers' faces and, ideally, offer them something to think about before their next training session, writing these posts has turned out to be a bit of a therapy session for me. Pausing to reflect on the past few weeks, sitting still and letting my emotions flow freely, my writing may often come across as sarcastically exaggerated. But I'm also happy to share some more profound posts with you. So, how am I doing today? Let's find out.
I started the new year full of energy. However, it remained just that—energy—as my actions fell victim to the continuing winter blues. Emails were still sluggish, and the streets were deserted even after raclette and fireworks. Amazed by how many people still prove themselves to be passionate skiers, I contented myself with watching the Four Hills Tournament. On the indoor trainer. A true high performer finds it hard to put their feet up and let things settle in. At least I'm internalizing the common desire—or, watch out, the dreaded word—New Year's resolution: to escape my comfort zone more often. In economy class. Off to training camp!
Step outside your comfort zone | Photo: Marcel Hilger
The infamous Playitas Resort on Fuerteventura is bustling with activity throughout January. After two previous stints there with the national team, I had the honor in 2021 of meeting my current coach, Sebastian. In the vivienda uno, I was allowed to keep him company as a training partner, still under pandemic restrictions. While I stuck to his rear wheel for hours on end, always (unfulfilled) in the hope of a coffee break, I could at least hold my own in our heated political debates, which had become a morning and evening routine. When this guy, renowned worldwide for his integrity, then announced to the PTO-hired camera crew, in my presence, that the future belonged to me, a young whippersnapper, and that the next generation wasn't in such bad shape after all, since I was, believe it or not, the first triathlete he'd ever seen to bring a printed book to camp and wasn't doing too badly athletically either, I turned bright red.
Yes, it's true after all. People study in Heidelberg, and they get bored. Unlike the first post-pandemic year, when I lived in that tiny, one-room apartment in Heidelberg's Weststadt district—a place that defied all logic of price calculation—where weekly newspapers piled high, and I could leisurely sip my coffee for a good hour each morning, devoting myself to my morning reading, and even daring to publish my first essay at a young age, my morning reading today is limited to a quick glance at the FAZ app. Because emails are constantly flooding in, and more or less productive Zoom conferences have to be organized. Those were the days.
Sebastian Kienle: From the finish line to the coach's bench | Photo: Marcel Hilger
Aside from the fact that life catches up with you sooner or later, not much has changed regarding this year's training camp. Sebi was already in charge back then and never tired of offering me advice. Even then, the cook of our three-person crew was exempt from all washing-up duties. And if there's no milk in the fridge, the cornflakes are still mixed with water and protein powder. Sebi doesn't miss the swimming sessions, though—you can hardly blame him. But even at the poolside, he cuts a fine figure with his 120dB whistle and oversized football jersey. And after two weeks of raiding the buffet and half a tube of chamois cream later, even the last resident of the resort was suddenly caught up in the Hyrox fever.
At Playitas, everyone likes to keep a close eye on each other, and precisely because of this, or perhaps especially because of it, it's considered good form to begin every conversation with the question of how long you're staying. Two weeks, everyone agrees, is plenty. And so it was soon time to pack my bags again. Another training camp. What a privileged asshole I am.
Focus is key at training camp | Photo: Simon Gehr
On the Spanish mainland, or rather in Girona, it was a bit colder, as my grandparents used to say up in the Alps, but rumor has it that northern Spain is also quite suitable for preparing for the triathlon season. Until recently, we associated that small town with the rather undefined concept of home. But since my coffee machine and my "if-then-there" folder are currently in Budapest, acquaintances referred us to triathletes who offered us a spare room in their apartment. And there we were. In the middle of the night, after a long day of travel and a considerably delayed arrival. In a 24-hour supermarket. To buy cleaning supplies.
Did you know that if you wedge an empty toilet paper roll between the toilet seat and the lid, and then place two full rolls on top, the toilet looks like a frog smoking a cigarette? Once again, I was about to step outside my comfort zone. But anyway. It's kind of funny, really, to stumble into the bathroom in the morning, all crumpled up, and find the toilet prepared like that. It's also quite practical, for the sake of simplicity—or, as some might say, hygiene—if all the residents keep their running shoes on until bedtime. It's all a matter of mindset.
But even though I was sometimes relieved to put an end to two more weeks of washed water bottles on the counter by the sink and Zoom conferences, naturally with ring lights, hanging from the headboard, and a sense of anticipation slowly but surely set in at the prospect of no longer having to live out of a suitcase, at least for the time being, I have to say that, in light of world events, and thanks to the FAZ app, this experience was quite instructive upon closer examination. My three-person crew and I had already joked sarcastically on Fuerteventura about which historical event would befall us this year. In 2021, it was the storming of the Capitol that made Sebi and me disappear into our trusted news provider. A year earlier, reports of the spread of a novel virus were increasing, and in 2022, the horrific war of aggression against Ukraine would send shivers down our spines. January of this year was marked by nationwide demonstrations in Germany against the rise of the right wing. And as pathetic as it may sound, this made me see many things differently. Because how cool is sport? How wonderful and almost self-evident is it that I, a German potato, shared an apartment with my better half from Hungary, a Slovenian, a Briton, and a Swiss person, and that, regardless of cleanliness standards, things went very harmoniously. Tolerance and diversity, just without the protest signs.
Discipline is key during swim training | Photo: Nina Ludwig
The training, just for the sake of completeness, went fantastically throughout January. While it's true that you could usually complete most of it in your comfort zone, sometimes—because flying to a training location isn't primarily about the beach and sunshine—it's also beneficial to join a group for a certain period, work under the watchful eye of a coach, or experience the altitude. Always assuming you can eventually return to your usual training environment, it's generally advantageous and makes you appreciate the comforts of your own home. But speaking of comfort zones, I've since landed back in Budapest. Here, too, I'm challenged every day. A stimulus leads to adaptation, and that's precisely why it's important, from a sports science perspective, to occasionally step outside your comfort zone. The Hungarian swimming school, as I've already learned, relies heavily on the ability to tolerate pain, or, in coaches' terms, fatigue resistance. Each early morning session is led by Gyouri, and Gyouri is the kind of guy who, if he says "five-stroke breathing," then you damn well swim five-stroke breathing. Just like Sebi, really, only 40 kilograms heavier and wearing T-shirts plastered with motivational slogans: Dream, believe, achieve. Anyone who talks about mindset has lost their mind.
