The scent of the jungle.

With Arctic temperatures remains willing runners often the only way into the gym. There is to be like in the jungle camp said Achim Achilles and the order of the different characters - from security officials to the dumbbell-aunt.

 

My Jungle Queen Mona is not Ingrid. She is undaunted. It is cool. It makes aquagym. They do not like maggots, but it seines, my jedenfalls.

DPA
Model jungle camp: colorful life in the gym

The principle jungle camp is ideal for the enthusiastic amateur competitive athletes nature. Who likes it rather cold, goes to the Arctic Challenge at minus 40 degrees, somewhere in the
Large Yukon: Joey Kelly, Susi Erdmann, Magdalena Brzeka are already there. The runners-calligrapher Norbert Schramm would certainly have managed to start as soon as he had to leave the jungle.

The jungle camp of the man in the gym. After two Schonwintern I logged on again this November. It was all, as always, for example, the elevator.

Not to act, but true: The entrance is on the ground floor studio and the visitors have a choice: Either two dozen spiral stair climb, which for sports interested parties an insoluble task means. Most, however, press a button, wait forever for the elevator, leave frischgeduschte athletes off, get off and leave up to six meters lift. Interesting fitness variant, if the calories on the level of Dirk Bach shutdown.

Studio visitors and athletes run live on an entirely different planet. Some want to look and look to the others want to move and have their peace and quiet. In Grunewald, there's not much to see: trees stop Laubhaufen, sometimes stray Köter or two sticks at home, always plenty of visual stimuli.

WWW.ACHIM-ACHILLES.DE

For four years, he writes his columns, is now a cult runner Achim Achilles online - with its site-www.Achim Achilles.de. The portal provides the millions of runners in this info, tips and fun - for beginners as professionals run. The vibrant community of runners exchanged last wisdom from a half-dozen expert advice free of charge. Always according to the motto of the best-selling author Achilles: "Running, suffer, laugh, live."

The studio is constantly geguckt, where the eye to the haze from thousands of used deodorant cans, which hangs in the locker. Who does not at least one square meter of peasant painting on the body bears hair is completely made up of eight or crucibles hair and body care products parting, feels terribly naked. I wanted to but just not on the treadmill and wellness weekends.

Particularly troublesome is the bodybuilder. Certainly all nice guys. Security and debt collection businesses need even professionals. It's just so exhausting, all the way around the mountains of meat to march around the front of the mirror can bounce their biceps. Where the muscles, but it remains a mystery. The guys in the studio beproud incessantly up and down, removed the oily hair smooth and pluck to her navel to cut undershirt fragments around the textile does not take a lot of Tanga hergeben. Probably they are not only Self but also Selbstmuskler.

I feel a thousand eyes when climbing the treadmill. From 15 Tretmühlen Twelve occupied. But only one running. The other front walk out shopping in the moderate pace. A dedicated Lady holds Bonsai dumbbells in their hands. I have a guilty conscience, because I with ten kilometers per hour run. Lieber down to 9.6. Otherwise I still warring Studio wedges because Strebertums.

ACHILLES 'SHOP

New: 2009 race calendar
Audiobook: The Walker-hater manifesto
Classics: The race adviser
Standard work: Verses

Sweating is anyway not announced here. Any form of transpiration would be for the ladies dach pan large Farbbrocken blast from the face. And when the boys smeared the body paint. How long do tattoos really drying?

Gyms make me afraid. They are eerie way to clean, atmosphere like an iPod from inside. Running is never clean, but a permanent mess. I miss the pound tallow between his legs, which prevents the inner thigh areas in turn floor cloth. I miss the flies in the face, mud on the shoes and the ability to eject from my throat to liberate.

What I do not miss, are Walker. Ironically, there are hundreds here. I have not even the first drops of sweat on his forehead, as sniffs the dumbbell-aunt already being demonstratively. But I do not care. The law of the jungle is: If it smells like me, who at least still alive.