Afterglow
I wrote down most of my reflections on my 2025 A-race, the Zugspitz Ultratrail (ZUT), the day after the race.
But one thing kept simmering beneath it all — my strange, almost personal relationship with The Heat.
This much is certain: Western States changed my relationship with The Heat forever. I constantly struggle for words to describe how I feel about her. What she does to me. And why, despite everything she put me through, I seek her nearness.
Over the past few days, my scattered thoughts about our last encounter at ZUT have turned into sentences. This is what remained.
Power Grip
There are races where you run against something. The clock. The terrain. Other runners. Your ego.
And then there are races like this one — where you don’t run against, but with. Or under. Or within.
For me, the Zugspitz Ultratrail wasn’t about competition, ego or self-approval. It was an ordeal with her: The Heat.
One so intense and intimate, it felt almost like an obsession.
The Encounter
The moment she introduced herself during the race, I was coming out of a shaded forest stretch, dropping down a grassy hill. The air had been still and mild under the trees, but as I emerged, I was suddenly standing face to face with the sun.
The light was immediate and physical. I could feel it wrap itself around my arms, crawl over my neck, sink through the fabric of my shirt. I stopped for a breath, when goosebumps hit me, and without warning, a quiet tear. Not from fear or exhaustion, but from reverence and humility.
In that moment, the race changed. She had arrived and I understood that I was no longer running against time or distance, but standing at the threshold of something much more elemental. A trial not of speed or endurance, but of spirit.
The Word That Carried Me
In the days leading up to the race, my coach Karim and I had settled on a single word that we hoped could carry me through. One that could serve both my shaky knee and The Heat we anticipated:
Adapt.
The perfect mantra.
It seems so simple, even obvious, until you find yourself in a moment where nothing works and nothing makes sense. And then it becomes a lifeline.
It was that word I returned to again and again, not in defiance, but as a quiet promise: to stay in motion, to stay engaged, to stay open to change.
Because The Heat is not something you defeat. It doesn’t break in dramatic fashion. It wears you down inch by inch, hour by hour, until you’re no longer sure where your own strength ends and surrender begins.
Before that could happen, I would look down at my hand — where I had written it in thick black ink before the start — and see the word staring back at me like a vow: Adapt.
Not as a command, but as an invitation. To adjust, to yield, to respond with grace rather than force. And every time I did, I found just enough space to continue.
The Game She Played
I did everything I could to meet her on my terms. I drank like a man possessed, filled my shirt a tube scarf with ice at every aid station, cooled off in every stream, every trough, every fountain I could find. I searched for shade wherever it existed — sometimes just a narrow sliver clinging to the trail’s edge.
And for a while, it seemed to work. I was managing her outbursts. Holding my ground.
But The Heat doesn’t fight like an enemy. She plays. Sometimes she would offer me a brief stretch of forest or a cool alpine breeze, only to strip it away minutes later with an exposed, endless fire road glowing under her gaze.
There was no overt cruelty. It was more like the Sirens' flirting. It was a seductive rhythm that pulled me deeper and demanded more. And then, more.
Dignity in the Dirt
At one point I was so overheated I lay down flat in a shallow, brown puddle — more mud than water — just to get my body temperature under control. A few hundred meters later, I found a mountain spring and rinsed the dirt from my arms and legs.
It was a strange moment. Almost absurd. And yet, I didn’t feel ashamed.
Because this wasn’t about pride or vanity. It was about how I moved forward. How I adapted.
Not Surrender — Recognition
The Heat pushed me close to the edge, but she never quite took everything. A kind of silent defiance remained. Not to thrive, but simply to stay myself in her presence. Even as my body gave in, I was still the one choosing. Still the one meeting her, not just surviving her.
Maybe that’s what she wanted all along — not surrender, but recognition.
The Reckoning
Eventually, The Heat let me reach the finish. But only at a price I hadn’t paid before.
My mind stayed clear. My will was strong. But my body was wreckage. I had adapted so deeply, so relentlessly, that I crossed borders not meant to be crossed. There are limits built into the body for a reason. On that day, I didn’t ignore them, I dissolved them.
Crossing the finish line felt like redemption. But also like just a fragile truce. She let me go, but only just. Because she was done with me. For now.
She’ll return, as she always does. And when she does, I’ll be there too.
Some bonds are burned too deep to break.
What I Learned
Looking back, I see that I didn’t just run through The Heat — I lived with it. And in that living, something shifted.
I realized that she commands respect and recognition, but no longer fear. Not since Western States.
I also understood that The Heat is not selective. She consumes us all, even those who believe they’re immune.
And I reaffirmed my belief that Heat isn’t measured in degrees or kilometers.
It’s measured in time. And that time belongs to her.
She is stronger, yes. But I am not powerless.
The Becoming
I paid a heavy price out there. In salt, in silence, in sweat. But I finished with my head high — not because I triumphed over something, but because I met her fully. I didn’t turn away. I stayed with her.
And in that presence, I discovered something I hadn’t expected during this race: a deeper kind of strength. Not a loud one. Not a glorious one. But a stoic one: The strength to adapt.
So will I face her again?
You bet. I won’t chase her. But if we find ourselves in the same arena — on a long trail, in the stillness of a high summer sun — I will not shy back.
I will look her in the eye, and I will say:
I know you.
I do not fear you.
I will adapt.
Everything Not Running
"Not running" is the buzzword. I am keeping my promise to take a break.
On Sunday, it will have been two weeks since I last ran. It feels strange. Every day, a different part of my body hurts, and it's in places that never bothered me before. Of course, this could be due to my alternative workout routine. Strength training and cycling are simply different types of exercise. It's probably good for my body to experience something other than thousands of hours of just "left, right, left, right, left."
And my head? And my heart?
Of course, I want to run again. I think about it every day. But it's not a struggle. I don't feel like I'm missing out on anything.
Quite the opposite, actually. Over the past three years, I've had positive experiences with both voluntary and involuntary breaks and new beginnings. Each time feels different. Fresh and unspent. Sure, I'm losing my shape. But what is "shape" anyway? It's certainly not a permanent state, as I've learned from the many ups and downs of being a runner.
And: Summer is still long. After summer comes fall. Then winter. Many more years of fulfilling and insightful running lie ahead. As a runner, 2025 has already given me more than I could have imagined. Not too long ago, I was lying on an operating table having part of my torn meniscus removed. Things could have turned out very differently, but they didn't. I am very grateful for that.
On Repeat
In the thriving hardcore scene of the 1990s, a few bands remained under the radar for no good reason. This was particularly the case for bands that couldn't be classified as either "old school," inspired by the youth crew hardcore of the 1980s, or "new school," with metallic influences. FARSIDE was one such band.
With their idiosyncratic mix of alternative rock, post-hardcore, and power pop, they could, at best, be labeled with the vague genre heading "emo," but even that doesn't do the band justice.
But FARSIDE was good. Damn good. They could have been huge, but they broke up too soon in 2000, shortly after releasing their third album, “The Monroe Doctrine”, before they could become famous.
"Better Than Crying" is from that album and kills.
There's no beating The Heat, sounds like you did a great job of working with it though.
What did you do in the lead up to help you handle it better on race day?