Never Enough

Still Hungry

My knee rehab is finally moving [Yay!].

I write that carefully, because after months of setbacks, back and forth, micro improvements, and mornings that decided the meaning of the day before, every bit of optimism still feels slightly suspicious. But it is true. The small steps have become bigger lately.

Quick reminder, here’s where I stood in January:

An Injury That Refuses To Get Better Or Worse

I can run three to four times per week again, mostly without symptoms. Sometimes I even forget to stare at my watch every few minutes to keep the run safely inside its prescribed limits. Uphill works, which it already did last year. Flat running works again, which feels new and beautiful. Rolling terrain is back in the repertoire too. Small climbs, small descents, and a little bit of that flow feeling that makes running feel effortless.

The knee’s reaction to the new load has been mild enough. Acceptable. More important than the run itself, most mornings after are okay. That 24-hour-rule has become the real metric. A run can lie. The next day usually does not.

So yes, this is progress.

I am happy about it.

And still, I want more.

The Gap

I want more – that is the part I keep running into. The injury makes the feeling more visible, but it did not create it. I know this state from healthy training blocks too.:

• The plan does not progress fast enough.

• The hard sessions are too rare.

• The long runs are too short.

• The track paces feel too soft.

• Some runs seem to serve no purpose, while others come with a heart rate that looks wrong for the effort.

• Too few weekly miles.

• Too little time on feet.

• Too little elevation.

• Too little proof of progress.

Even when things are going well, part of me immediately starts looking for the gap.

Never enough.

I know this feeling so well that I had it tattooed on myself years ago as a warning:

Never fast enough.
Never far enough.

Written in a direction only I can properly read (the tattoo artist hated it), which made sense to me when I got it done, because the pressure was always private first. Nobody had to tell me I should be more. I had been doing that job for years.

(Photo by Stephan Wieser)

The easy reading would be to call this a flaw. There is truth in that, especially during rehab, where progress arrives in painfully small units.

But is “never enough” really just bad?

My “Never enough” is also my ambition. It got me out the door when vague motivation would not have lasted a week. It made me train, care, build routines, write things down, take the sport seriously, and create a life around running that did not appear by accident.

Ambition is not some toxic monster hiding under the bed. Often it is the force that gives shape to some real epic sh*it.

Ambition opens doors. Unfortunately, it keeps opening them on and on.

The difficulty is that the same thing that moves me forward can rob me of the place I am standing on.

Kramerplateau Flow

(Photo by Max Auer)

A few days ago, I had a run that showed me this predicament perfectly. I left home without much of a plan, just a handheld bottle of water, decent legs, and the kind of hot summer day that still feels friendly. I ran over gravel paths toward the Kramerplateauweg, climbed up, followed the rolling path for a while, came back down into the valley. Meanwhile, I listened to just the perfect playlist, cruised at an enjoyable 4/10 effort, and thought surprisingly little about my knee.

You have to know: how often I think about my knee has probably become the most important measure of my life.

For more than an hour I was simply running again, in a way that felt close to ordinary. That was probably why it hit me so hard afterwards.

When I got home, there was this small physical and emotional sense of relief. The after-run-bliss. You all know it. For a short while, I was content.

Then the day went on, and my mind started its work.

• A year ago this would have been a regular easy run, now it is a highlight.

• I want four or five of these every week.

• I want a longer one, too.

• I want more distance, more downhill, more speed, more confidence, more proof.

• I want to stop treating ten kilometers like something precious.

• I want to run without checking the next morning for consequences.

The run itself had not changed. I had changed my view on it.

Grateful, Still Hungry

I want to be grateful. And I want more.

Both are true.

I want to honor the fact that my body is giving me running back in pieces, and I also want to grab the whole thing at once. I want patience to feel noble, and at the same time hate it. I want to celebrate the small wins more and want them to carry me longer than they do. I want the feeling after that Kramerplateau run to stay with me.

This is where my “how-to” conclusion should go but I do not know how to make that happen.

Outsiders probably have a few clever tips to offer, but they’re no use to me if they don’t come from within me.

So for now I am trying to catch that Kramerplateau moment before I ruin it.

I wish I could live there longer.

I cannot, at least not yet.

But I was there.

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Everything Not Running

And then there are the things that really matter in comparison. Unfortunately, Harry isn’t doing so well. After an extravagant dental surgery and several vet visits, we’ve finally figured out why he could rarely keep his food down and would spit it back up right after eating. A lymphoma is pressing on his food pipe and blocking access to his stomach. Even worse, that wasn’t the only tumor we found during the examination; other organs were affected as well. Basically the same situation as with his twin brother Toto.

Toto Was Here

At this point, I’d normally write about how sad we are and how helpless we feel in this situation, but there are two reasons why I’m not doing that.

First, we’ve found a great treatment that allows Harry to live out the rest of his life with dignity and comfort. With corticosteroid depot injections, the lymphoma shrinks for a while and he can eat normally again. The injection lasts about two weeks and then needs to be repeated. This has worked three times already, and we’re hoping for many more times.

The second reason is denial. Our grief over Toto is simply still too deep for us to be able to fully confront the fact that Harry won’t be with us much longer either. Especially since he’s in such good spirits – waddling into the bedroom in the morning, hungry and wide awake, letting us pet him (and purring), chilling on the balcony in the sun, and occasionally working on the scratching post.

We’re enjoying this time as long as he’s still doing well. We’ll have to deal with reality soon enough.

(Harry doing his balcony thing)

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On Repeat

You guessed right. Honor to whom honor is due.