The Toolbox

Running won’t save you. But you might.

The relationship between mental health and running has been a recurring theme for Willpower and me lately. We’ve relaunched a collection around exactly that: Filling the Void.

I don’t often talk about my own shadows of the past. It’s not secrecy, and it’s not discomfort. It’s respect for the people who are actually struggling right now. I’m worried I might come across as smug, as if to say:

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve been through that too, it’ll be fine.”

At the same time, though, I think any open discussion and exchange about mental health issues is extremely important. And by that I don’t mean superficial Instagram tips and tricks, but an honest and unfiltered exchange of experiences in both directions.

Let’s just see how it goes.

Free Fall

Leaving my childhood aside, I went through the most difficult period of my life so far in my late twenties and early thirties. Over many years, so many mental knots had formed inside me and so much emotional baggage had piled up that I had lost control over what was happening inside me and to me.

Constantly on the road with my bands, money worries, and some really messed-up relationships eventually broke me. When I hit rock bottom, the absolute basics began to falter: sleep, food, work, health, and social contact. Instead of living, I was just existing. Mostly alone.

Back then, I didn’t have running or any other coping mechanism to fall back on, and it was terrifying to see how quickly my downward spiral unfolded.

But the most alarming thing of all was that I became increasingly indifferent to everything. Including myself.

(Some tour, some place, I don’t even remember)

The Safety Net

In the end, it was luck. Just plain luck that that I found a way out. Through a chain of fortunate circumstances, I ended up seeing a therapist with whom I began working through my current situation. And also on how I’d gotten there in the first place.

I don’t have much to compare it to, but I think he did a good job. I remember many uncomfortable questions and even more uncomfortable probing. Anger, tears, blockages and breakdowns. After at least every other session, I cursed him and was determined not to come back. And yet I did.

“I wish you all the best”

And then it ended.

I still remember our last session very well. Everything felt like usual. We talked about current issues, a few things from my childhood, nothing much different from other sessions. At the end, we said our goodbyes, and I said, “See you next week.” He replied:

“That’s not necessary. I wish you all the best.”

I looked at him, confused, and without much drama, he added,

“You have everything you need and are on the right track.”

I was caught off guard by his statement and the abrupt end to my therapy. I felt neither healed, nor fixed, nor restored. It just couldn’t end here, the job wasn’t done.

It was as if they’d simply pushed that broken-down car (with its busted engine, squealing brakes, and grinding V-belt) back out onto the road from the garage.

The Toolbox

I didn’t realize the difference until a few months later. In the trunk of my clunker, where before there had been nothing but a flat spare tire, a flimsy warning triangle, and a torn-open first-aid kit, there was suddenly a fully stocked toolbox with everything you need to keep a car running. Someone had placed it there just before the car ended up at the junkyard.

I know this metaphor is a bit overused, but I don’t know of a better one to describe what therapy does. In the end, it’s up to you to figure out which tool to use to fix which problem. And sometimes none of them fit. Then you wish that someone or something else could take care of it for you, but that’s not how it works.

It’s similar with running. It equips us with a toolbox that can help us during difficult times. And sometimes it leaves us to deal with our problems on our own.

Running isn’t a cure-all. It never has been. But it’s always honest with us. When it gives, it gives. And when it takes, it takes. Just like life itself.

Almost exactly three years ago I wrote a deep reflection of what running can do for a person struggling with life, and what not. And most of all, what it does for me.

Running isn't Therapy

Let’s leave it at that for now.

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Everything Not Running

Two friends of mine, David and Christian, host a podcast together that fits this topic perfectly: HappySad Running. They’re both very empathetic, attentive, and thoughtful people, and I can’t think of many others whose perspectives I’d rather hear on the sensitive topic of mental health (and running).

That’s why I was all the more stoked to be invited as the (first) guest on HappySad Running. One reason was that we decided to jointly present the “Filling The Void” collection from my running brand, Willpower. But it was also because, thanks to the ZUT (which largely shaped our conversation) we were sitting at the same table.

Give it a listen (sorry, German only), it’s worth it.

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On Repeat

The year is 2011. German rap had moved past its worst “Aggro Berlin gangsta rap” phase behind, and the new, young, wild artists are gearing up to take the scene by storm. Who’s going to come out on top? Ahzumjot? Cro? Casper? Olson? Fatoni? Rockstah?

Well, it’s no secret: it wasn’t Rockstah aka Max Nachtsheim. At least not commercially. But his gamer-nerd rap struck a chord with many, and the smash hit “A-Taste” (A Button) still hits ridiculously hard.