That Girl Runs

His name was Johannes. 

He was the third of five boys. All two years apart. 

His dad was one of the most prominent eye surgeons in Germany. He practiced in a major clinic just around the corner from the house I grew up in.

And on May 16th, 1986 Johannes jumped out of his father’s office window on the 8th floor and to his death. He was 21 years old.

Of all my adolescent memories this is by far the most traumatic and has stuck with me to this day.

Johannes was one of the most brilliant people I had ever met. He breezed through high school without ever having to worry about not getting an A+. He spoke 10 (yes, 10!!!) languages fluently and had a natural gift for music that left those who knew him breathless. And yet, he was a very lost and tortured soul. A good soul, but a soul that could no longer deal with being around those who loved him most. 

I remember the day he died as if it was yesterday. I was at a friend’s house who lived right next to Johannes’ family. Caroline’s dad was the main anesthesiologist and critical care doctor at the same hospital Johannes’ dad worked. Words cannot describe what went through my head when he came home that night of May 16th and told us that he had been called to the scene first in the hopes that he could save the life of his friend’s and colleague’s son, a life said son could no longer bear to live. 

The news of this tragic even went around our small community like wildfire but the shock we all felt was nothing in comparison to what Johannes’ suicide did to his own family. The night of her son’s unimaginable death his mother went to bed a mostly dark haired woman only to wake up completely grey the next morning. She had aged decades in the course of a few hours. His father, grief stricken beyond anything one, who has not been through the same emotional turmoil, can understand was a mere shell of himself for months. 

Many days I saw both of Johannes’ parents walking in their expansive back yard, hand in hand, holding each other up, yet unsteady in each others company. For those of us close to the family it became apparent that a rift had opened up in Johannes’ family that could never be repaired and we started to wonder if his parents’ marriage would survive.

What their brother’s suicide did to the rest of the boys was not immediately apparent but turned into one of the most heart breaking episodes of my life. Although at the time I was clueless.

In August of the same year I went on my Senior Class trip to Prague. One of Johannes’ brothers, who was in my grade went on the same trip. Jürgen was admired by many of my female classmates. Like his older brother he had a brilliant mind, which in combination with his almost unreal good looks, made him a prime target for adolescent fantasies. With the exception of yours truly. Besides being on friendly terms he had never really caught my attention. And therefore it is still a mystery to me how I got myself so involved with this young man that it almost ruined my entire future.

It started innocently enough on the bus ride to the Golden City with jokes and innocent touches. By the time we were on our way back home I was so head over heals in love I would have done anything to keep the relationship alive. Little did I know at the time that I almost lost myself in the process to do just that.

I did realize that Jürgen was still in deep mourning over his brother at the time of our trip, although he never talked about it and I did not want to push it. Looking back I realize that deep down I knew from the beginning that this was a fragile relationship, one that could shatter at any moment.

What I did not know while I was blissfully walking hand in hand through Prague was that Johannes had been in love with a girl that had left him to pursue a modeling career in Paris and his younger brother had gotten it in his head that this was the reason for Johannes’ depression and suicide.

Instead I let myself love someone that was emotionally completely unavailable, and when I say “love” I don’t mean this lightly. I truly and utterly loved this boy, more so than I had ever loved anyone. It ‘s not that I had not had my fair share of boyfriends before my life was taken hostage, but it had become clear to me very early on that being with Jürgen felt different than anything I had ever felt before. It was truly scary and definitely overwhelming. Especially since it had also become very clear from the beginning that this feeling was not mutual, or, if it was, it was never going to be allowed to flourish. 

And hence began a torturous game of back and forth, giving and taking, not giving back and taking more. I tried my hardest to push back but every time I did Jürgen would pull me back, and every time I hoped it would be better this time around. It never was. His fear of commitment and getting hurt overshadowed everything else and left me broken and deeply wounded. No matter how much I gave of myself it never felt enough and I became completely occupied with trying to make Jürgen love me back as much as I loved him.

The fact that he would never really let go only made matters worse. It would have been easier if had just kicked me to the curb told me straight that he did not want to be in this relationship, but he never did. Instead he just manipulated me from a distance that was comfortable for him. And for me, there was no way out. I had completely lost all rational thought and let myself be manipulated beyond reason.

When it finally did end I had lost 10 pounds from my already slim frame and almost failed High School, my heart broken beyond repair, or so I thought.

It took me years to get over this and him. Years of healing and finding new trust. In the end it was  Jürgen himself who helped me the most. We had not seen each other for a few years when we ran into each other at a friend’s wedding. At first my heart skipped a beat but eventually I was able to actually have a conversation with him. We even danced, which almost made me cry. A week later his letter arrived, the first of many. A letter that started a most intense exchange of communication I have ever had. He wanted to explain himself and because I still cared for him I let him. I also wanted answers and saw this as my chance. I got them all. He needed emotional closeness to someone at the time we went to Prague. Closeness he could not get at home. Closeness, he himself was unable to feel to anyone. He wanted and needed to feel loved but was scared beyond words of loving himself. His brother’s death had taken all of it away from him. I cried! And we both healed over the course of many letters and exchanges!

I still think of him and what suicide can do to a family. It is said that the death of a child brings unimaginable sorrow to the parents. Imagine the cause of death being suicide… Johannes’ suicide became a part of me even though I was not immediate family. His horrible death had an impact on not only his family’s life but the life of those who loved and still love them.  I am sure his parents never got over the tragic loss of their son and I only hope that his brothers are living lives filled with happiness and love.

Jürgen and I stayed in touch for a while after I moved back to the States but over the years we have lost contact. The last I heard of him he was married with two children and my hope for him is that he himself feels unconditional love for his wife and family, because everyone deserves this. I wish nothing but the best for him and hope that true heartbreak will never enter his life again.

My experience at the tender age of 18 did not only cause grief and heartache, however. It showed me how much I am capable of baring my soul to another person and letting them into my heart. Something I cherish deeply to this day.

Today’s Running Tip: Feeling blue? Go for a run!

Running and exercise in general is a proven stress buster and helps relieve anxiety. Working out helps with self esteem, gets your heart rate up and eases muscle tension, which in turn will help you relax, stay alert and therefore better able to face every day problems.  And what better stimulant than taking a run in fresh air. 

1. Barack Obama

2. long weekends in Santa Barbara

3. spending with this girl

4. this morning’s run

5. last night

I live in a really hot place. Literally! What? You don’t believe me? Think I am exaggerating? Well, let us take a look at next week’s weather forecast, shall we!

And it is only the middle of May. By the time July comes around I could potentially be running on roads that have been warmed by 115(+) degree sunlight. It is awesome! And possible! But you would never see me out there unprepared. Since the temperatures have been rising steadily for the last two weeks, after a relatively cool and very windy spring, it is only fitting that the Runners Lounge is asking us today to write about running in heat.

Here is what I have learned over the last few years while running through the desert of Southern California:

1. Hydrate: Yes, I know! This should go without saying but… I cannot stress enough how important it is that you replenish your fluids on a hot run. Consider also that the longer you run the more salt you lose, therefore an electrolyte drink is an absolute must on longer runs. A good rule of thumb is to not wait until you are thirsty, but to drink 4 -8 fluid ounces of water and/or sports drink every 15 to 20 minutes.

2. Plan your route: This is especially important if you run alone and without support crew (like most of us). I have specifics routes of different length that take me past water fountains, supermarkets, gas stations, and coffee shops. On long runs I carry some money with me in case I need to replenish my electrolyte drink.

3. Run at the crack of dawn: Depending on where you live late evening might work as well. Where I reside nights do not go below 90 degrees during the summer so late night running is out of the question. I do love to wake up without an alarm but during the summer I actually enjoy getting up before the sun shows it’s shiny face and get my run in. If I do sleep in I avoid running on the road and head to the gym instead for intervals on the treadmill.

4. Dress appropriately: If you cannot avoid running during the heat of the day it is advised that you wear a long sleeved, light weight, light colored shirt made from whicking material. Personally I have not tried this but a friend of mine swears it keeps him cooler. Do not forget to wear a hat, visor, and sunglasses.

5. Wear sweat proof sunscreen: Although a nice tan looks good on anyone, you probably do not want to end up as lobster bake. And don’t forget to put sunscreen on your ears!

6. Ease into your new running environment: Take it easy and don’t go all out on your first run in the heat. Instead go for a short, easy run and slowly work yourself up to a long and/or more speedy workout. It takes about two weeks to adjust to hot temperatures but the good news is that you do actually get used to running in high temperatures. I have, and it will happen to you as well. 

7. Take shady breaks: Whenever you need to take a break find a shady spot. Use the shade for post run stretching, rehydrating, and refueling as well.

8. Adjust your race goals: If you have to race in really hot temperatures, adjust your goal accordingly and most important, realistically. My first marathon almost came to a sudden end because of a heat wave and my novice approach to marathon running and goal times. At mile 18 any lofty idea of crossing the finish line at a specific time, as well as every ounce of my strength had been absorbed by rays beating down on the hot streets of Los Angeles. I managed to finish the race but I still have a hard time talking about the experience. It was that painful. 

There you go! All of the above fall under the category of “common sense” running tips but if you have only lived in cool climates (hello Munich, city of my youth) running when it is hot can be disturbing and right out dangerous, especially if you have not taken precaution and/or prepared properly. But if you follow some basic guidelines and helpful hints you will be well on your way to running on the sun*. 

Today’s Running Tip(s): See above!

*one of the best movies ever and a must for long distance lovers!

1. Barack Obama

2. fog in Santa Barbara

3. California fire fighters

4. friends’ and family’s safety during the Santa Barbara inferno

5. Santa Barbara shelter volunteers

Yesterday would have been my grandfather’s 103rd birthday. Opa was one of the first men I loved, besides my dad and my uncle. He and grandma lived in the same house as my parents and I when I grew up and he was the one person in my life that I remember always being around. He was just always there! When I was in kindergarden my mom would drive me there every morning even though we could have easily walked. As it was we were running late most mornings, due to the fact that my mother refused to leave the house if she was not properly dressed and made up. So as the mornings of my early childhood were frantic I always looked forward to the time kindergarden got out and Opa would be there to pick me up and we would walk home together, talking about our day and planning out our afternoon together. We did this every single day during my time in kindergarden (which is the equivalent to pre school here in the US), rain, shine, snow, hail. It was our routine and nothing could break it.

When I entered elementary school this routine changed to doing homework together every afternoon and by the time I was in high school we took bike rides every sunny Sunday afternoon. On those bike rides we talked about everything and anything. He never tired of reminding me that he only wanted the best for me, his only grandchild, and that he hoped I would have a fulfilled life full of love and joy, just like he had had. When I started playing tennis he would come to all of my training sessions and my games and when I was not playing myself we followed all big tournaments on TV together.

My grandfather was an avid gardener and since we had a lot of land surrounding our house he could grow vegetables and fruits to his heart’s content. Most days you could find him tending to his potatoes, tomatoes, celery, parsley, lettuce, raspberries, rhubarb, with me by his side lending a hand whenever and wherever I could.

During those long afternoons he often told me the stories of his long, eventful life and I was always a willing listener. Both my grandparents were young children during World War I and parents during World War II. While my grandfather fought against the allies in France his first wife passed away from asthma and left him a widower with a 10 year old boy, my dad, to take care of. While in France he was captured by British forces and spent the rest of the war as a POW. Although I could not have been easy he had no ill feelings towards the British and always told me that considering the circumstances they treated him as best they could. Come to think of it Opa never had ill feelings towards anyone. 

After the war he moved in with his mother who had looked after my dad until Opa came home, and took a job with the city, a job he kept until he retired at the age of 60. If it had been up to him he would have stayed with the job but his health forced him into retirement. Opa suffered from chronic bronchitis for as long as I can remember and his coughing was one of those sounds from childhood you never forget. In fact for all those years I visited my parents after Opa had passed away I could still hear him cough. I once counted the amount of times he coughed during a soccer match: 78 times. Most of the time he dealt with his illness fairly well but the foggy days of fall and the bitter cold of the German winter often left him breathless, literally. As a child who loved him it was one of the hardest things to witness and the feeling of helplessness was overwhelming. During the last few years of his life he spent all of his Christmas and New Year Holidays in the local hospital, and so did his family.

Opa was the most humble, frugal, unassuming human being I have ever met – to this day. I can not recall him ever buying anything new for himself. Instead he was happy as a clam wearing my dad’s hand me downs. He ate any meal you put in front of him without ever complaining about anything, showing nothing but gratefulness. He wore the same prescription glasses for all the years he needed them, glasses the insurance covered in full. He was also extremely witty and had kept his sharp mind until the day he died. And he was tough beyond anything I can imagine. I once witnessed him falling out of our plumb tree, ripping his leg open in the process and continuing on pruning said tree without the slightest flinch. My dad had to force him into the car that night to have the wound checked, a wound so deep it needed 40 stitches. But I guess after spending months as a POW nothing can make you flinch anymore.

The last time I saw him I was on my way back to the States to spend the summer in California. He was not feeling well at the time even though it was June and when I said good bye he hugged me just a little tighter and held me just a little longer. Looking back I believe he realized we would not see each other again in this life time, and when I think about it I realize I knew it too. We were in touch during the three months I was in California and everything seemed to be going OK. But the moment I walked back into our house in Germany upon my return and did not see him sitting on the couch I knew. Opa had passed away the morning of my arrival. In the end his respiratory system had finally given in and after spending one last week in the hospital he knew so well he had peacefully gone to sleep and not woken up again.

My dad asked me if I wanted to go see him in the morgue to say one last good bye but I could not bring myself to do it. Instead I wanted to remember him as the man full of life, with the bluest eyes you’d ever see, Opa, who had said his last good bye to me when I had last seen him alive.

It has been almost 20 years since the day he died. He passed away before knowing that I had met the man I would eventually marry, a man who was born in the country that had captured Opa in World War II. I know he would have smiled and rejoiced in the fact that I had found someone that would share the rest of my joyful life with me, someone who will always treat me as I am the only person in his life. Just like Opa wanted!

Today’s Running Tip: Run a race in memory of a loved one!

Running a race in memory of a loved one, family or friend, is a great motivation and will make pushing yourself much easier.