The first moving image of the day was the alarming jump in numbers from 05:14 to 05:15 on the bedside clock. My usual enthusiasm for rising early had turned into reluctance. I just could not summon the euphoria that had carried me through an autumn, a winter, my whole life, in fact.
Twenty weeks of long days and short nights had left their mark. I found it difficult to wake up, even though my eyes were open. Had I slept at all? My exhaustion stared back at me from the bathroom mirror. I went into the kitchen. Double espresso, a second one. The day had arrived: 26 February 2020, Ash Wednesday. It felt too warm for this time of year, a winter morning that smelled like spring.
My family was asleep. I wanted to at least keep some form of semblance to my usual routine on this day that was to be a high point in my life, and so I trudged to the gym in my house to calibrate body, mind and soul for what was to come. Exercising bright and early, before the world awakens to its busyness, has been how I ve started my day for decades. Usually, a lack of energy, tiredness or sluggishness causes a reversal of thrust in me: the more tired I am, the more an inner force compels me to get moving. On the racing bike, on the equipment in my home gym, on my gymnastics mat. There is nothing I can do to counteract this impulse to move, except to get changed and start.
Many people claim that they lack the discipline to stick with sports. For me, it s been the other way round over the decades; I can t fight it. The type of sport I choose doesn t follow a fixed plan, but rather my intuition. My entire physical wellbeing I owe to my lifelong training routine. I have learned to trust it, to follow it. My body has the plan; I give it the time. Sport is a non-negotiable ritual for me, like brushing my teeth, shaving, showering, like breathing. Ingrained in flesh and blood, so to speak, an instinct present in trillions of body cells.
It was the first morning after the traditional spring carnival here in Austria had ended, and I got on the road bike that I use indoors in winter with bicycle rollers. My legs felt stiff at first, but I gradually pedalled a little faster until I reached a good pace. Usually this kicks in to change my mental state, but something was blocking me. I could not let go in my head. My analytical mind jumped back and forth between imaginary checklists, but hardly anything was ticked off. But eventually, the cyclical movement and rhythm of breathing began to calm my nervous mind. I slipped into that sphere I call the alpha state . In sixty sweaty minutes I had successfully lost track of myself and my thoughts.
Under the cold shower, and after another espresso, I got dressed. My nervous tension remained high. Every time I inhaled, the air didn t seem to reach my lungs, resulting in a palpable tightness across my chest. Even my skin felt too small for me. I recognised this; stress over too long a period produces such conditions, allowing old patterns to take over t
