-Essay-
HAMBURG — The last time I went for a jog was almost four years ago. I remember it clearly, because afterward my then-pregnant wife said, “That’s it, I can’t do it anymore. From now on, I’m switching to other sports.” I thought, “Okay, then I will, too.” I had always found running boring; I only enjoyed it with her. But things turned out differently for me than for her: She kept going with other sports, and I started nothing. Not to this day. Apart from a few push-ups and sit-ups now and then, I do nothing.
I know: It is not good. Not for my body, not for my mind. Because if there is one thing science is clear on, it is this: Exercise is good, essential for us humans. It boosts brain performance, builds muscles that support the body, and it is especially important when we are feeling low, because that is precisely when we should not take it easy. I know all this. I even work with this subject professionally when I edit texts about it. And still, I do nothing. And I now think that is okay. Because I hope (and believe) that it will change. And I believe it would be worse for me to force myself into something I am not ready for.
I am 41 years old, with a wife and a small child, and I want to experience as much as possible with them. I have a demanding job that eats up much of my time. I co-founded a housing cooperative, we just bought a piece of land, and there is a mountain of work waiting. I want to see my friends, my parents and my grandmother. And since all of that has to fit together somehow, I have to set priorities. Right now, sports is not one of them. The emphasis is on “right now.” Because I have nothing against sports, quite the opposite.
I did gymnastics from age three to 23. First mother-and-child gymnastics, then proper apparatus gymnastics. Floor, parallel bars, vault, that kind of thing. When I was younger, I was in the gym up to four times a week. I was never particularly good because I am too tall, but the sport taught me a lot. Above all, humility. I had to practice endlessly before I mastered a new move. Handstand on the parallel bars? That took years. A backflip on the floor? Also years. The patience I learned there still helps me today.
Getting mad doesn’t help
As much as I love sports, I hate putting myself under pressure. I see that in too many people around me, and in some ways in myself as well. You get to a stage in life where so many things are coming to a head, and then you focus only, or at least mostly, on what you cannot manage. Where the gaps are. The American theologian James Martin, whom I admire, calls this phenomenon “not enoughness,” which roughly means never being enough for yourself.
It has even gone so far that I no longer own trainers.
You wrestle with the feeling that you are not a good enough father, not a good enough husband, not a good enough friend, not a good enough part of the group. You spend your life obsessing over your shortcomings, instead of enjoying what you do, what you build, what you actually accomplish. This focus on the negative is human, but it distorts. It puts the value in the wrong place.
For years I was frustrated by the fact that I just could not get myself back into sport. It has even gone so far that I no longer own trainers, neither for running nor for working out indoors. But over this time I have also realized that being angry at myself does not help at all. It only feeds my guilty conscience, drags my mood down, and blocks me from getting anything done. Not exercise, and not many other things either.
Finding the right moment
So I told myself that the right moment would come to start again, with whatever it might be. And there are subtle signs that I will manage it. A colleague asked if I wanted to join an experiment with AI-based training plans. I agreed right away. And then recently an acquaintance invited me to a men’s evening.
We did breathing exercises, which I had never done in my life. We went ice bathing, which I had never done either. We jogged a short stretch to the lake, maybe 10 minutes. I felt free and refreshed after the run, and when we sat together later for a final round, I said: at work and in the housing project I live mostly in my head, but in the coming months I want to live more in my body.
Several months have passed since then. I still have not managed it. It may take several more months. But the fact that the wish to exercise again was there, that it came so spontaneously from me, showed me something: I do not have to force it. It will happen when my life allows it. And then it will feel much better.