_DSC1773_worked_NikLowKeyWhen the weather is fine, I like to go into the woods behind the house. I get on my bicycle and enjoy the smell, the fresh air, the shade and also the effort, when I pedal hard uphill, then flying down from the top of the hill to the bottom, when the wind whistles in my ears and I can keep up with the speed of the cars travelling down the hill.

If the day has been tiring or the anger too great, the weather doesn’t matter at all. I have to get out with my running shoes on my feet or on my mountain bike. Up the hill, sweating and out of breath. With every push on the pedals, the anger or frustration subsides and when I reach home again, I feel as if I have been reborn, a nice good-tempered person, who again values the world and all its creatures. One can say that for me movement is a psycho-hygiene, necessary to be able to cope with stressful and annoying events without damage. It also has fantastic side-effects, which, as far as health is concerned, are incalculable.


Yesterday pretty well everything went wrong that can go wrong. I was able to live with that, because that is my professional risk. Unfortunately, even that which one doesn’t expect to go wrong, went wrong. That was then really difficult to put up with. When I arrived home, I found the letter from the tax administration, from which it was obvious that their view of my personal situation is incorrect and that I therefore have an intensive working weekend, to which to look forward. That was the final straw. I put my sports clothes on and within 10 minutes I was sitting on my bike and pedalling furiously up the hill in a high gear. It was relieving and relaxing. The anger, not the Red Bull, gave me wings and therefore I was speeding along.

The slope that I was approaching was long and steep, but I didn’t care at all, because the level of bad energy was relatively high and had to go. About half way up I felt that someone was behind me. I don’t like that. I enjoy being alone when I have to free myself from my evil mantra. Instead of recovering from my anger, I am now under pressure. I didn’t want to stop half way up the hill, but I didn’t want to be chased from behind. „Why doesn’t he overtake?“, I thought. The path was wide enough, in the woods there is no oncoming traffic. He didn’t overtake, but stuck to my back wheel and I felt his breath on my back. „Good“, I said to myself, then I’ll put on speed and get rid of him. I pedalled even more furiously and accelerated again. So did he. He still stuck to my back wheel. My reserves were practically exhausted, but I called on them. Just a bit more, I had just a little to offer. I spurted up the hill like mad. When I reached level ground, my face was red from the effort. I slowed down and now I was overtaken. But not by one person, but by a group of five men wearing the strip of the Italian team. The first one, who had led the group, had snow-white hair and could have been between 60 and 70. As he overtook me, he said “Brava Ragazza” and winked at me mischievously.

That didn’t feel like a great compliment and I needed another steep hill, this time alone, before I could finally relax.

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