99 Luftballons in the womb.

Achim Achilles' body gutgeölten like a precision machine. Believe it. Mona wife would be happy to medically confirmed. In the waiting room is our miracle runner still good things in which he makes the ergometer Armstrong - then the stomach and Darmblogsung on the program.

 

The hour in the waiting room with distributed I desert my wife curses. Why did I have to check by Mona hunt approved? I am a runner, so fit. The excellent
Training of clipboard-Karraß turns me something sooner or later into a precision machine: the heart of a diesel, the cycle as stable as my ten-kilometer time in eight years, gastrointestinal Buddhist relaxed. Why this Untersucherei of body areas that you simply should leave? Never change a running Achim.

AFP
Balloons: A lot of hot air

Other hand, such a waiting room as psycho-doping. It feels the lame Hoppel joggers like an Olympic champion. A right pants overweight lady, a left staring Bushido clone prolligem in white on his rancid Unterarmgips. I include quad fractures, three back, half a dozen room-diabetics and depressed. My Hüftreißen is a joke against. For me, the doctors would find nothing Squadron. I am the VfL Bochum of the German health system - unkaputtbar.

FRIENDSHIP WITH ACHIM

Heinrich Völkel / Ostkreuz

Germany's cult runner is now in one of the largest communities on the web: Visit Achim on Facebook, will be his fan and never miss his columns or more readings. On Twitter you can also live, so what else is driving Achim: sweating or Training tails?

Sister Hildegard led me to the first station, a cardiologist with a slender nose tip eyeglasses and duration skepticism in view. "Please Make Clear," he commands it. I would prefer the shirt like a lasso over the head swing in order to humiliate Doc. But Hildegard is just outside. So spare me the number for Dreamboy later. The nose glasses slaps me a pound Gleitcreme on the ribs and goes with me on his depth sounder around. "Do you sport?" Outrageous question. You can see that surely. "I walk", I reply, and wait in vain for a praise. On the screen, my heart beating. Through deep breaths, I try to reduce the pulse frequency. Nose glasses remain unimpressed. "Slightly magnified," he says finally. Yes, and? "It looks quite good", are wringing the male wear out. "Could I have that in writing?" I joke. Nose glasses replied: "Look a bit more on your liver." I nod silently and think Papperlapapp - only alcohol-free is also not a solution.

Gangs sublime I advance to the next test: ergometer. The plastic device is spillerige after my inaugural ready for the hazardous waste. With fingers pointed flanscht Sister Hildegard a dozen measurements Eumel on my upper body. I prefer the one and my stomach, a soft erotic crackle can be heard. After a quarter Gestrampel I'm ready. "Since we had already poor in your old age," says the doctor. Blödmann. That can surely with much more admiration noted.

ACHILLES-NEW BOOK

Finally, it is so far: Germany's runners have the perfect excuse for the tedious pace of training to tails. You must first of Achilles-the new book. Germany's funniest amateur runners has its columns to a new piece of forest and meadow run literature zusammengetackert: "Learn to walk without suffering" is available now in a good assortment of ramps and remains in blogs shop. The question "Can you actually run without having to suffer?" Achim normally answered philosophically: "You can, but it is not fun anymore." The 224 pages in the pocketbook is strong Heyne-Verlag and costs 7,95 Euro.

"Then I can go now," I say in the hope that the residual program gets forgotten. Sister Hildegard shakes his head. "We still want the stomach and intestines blogsn," she says. Lens nonsense. "We want to have nothing at all times. Mona and the white coat mafia want. I want to go home, I would even volunteer to make a tempo run.

"Pull your trousers?" Hildegard says the freezing cold. My knees are shaking like a half marathon, and this comes not only from the Abführzeugs to me since 24 hours weakens. "But, I ähh, still have a connection date, I Stammel. "The doctor is the same. You must not be afraid," says the sister and spread a thick throwaway document. Until a minute I thought that they were in their 40s with exactly between the two phases of life there, where the man diaper material needs. About me Frankenstein's face appears. He piekt in my arm and says that I should count to ten. With two on and I run into a Venus Express flight direction.

Four hours later. A finger in my ribs piekt - Sister Hildegard. "How do you feel?" She asks. "Wide like a snake", but would unmedizinische the correct answer. Instead entfleucht me a hearty belch. My throat burns. About the rest I feel better off. "The doctor wants you to speak. It may be that you still have air in the stomach," says the sister. I burp "Aha."

With 99 balloons in the body drag me into surgery. On the desk is a blurred photo: Looks like a mushroom in a stalactite cave. I will not know what it is. "Good thing you came," says the doctor with a serious face: "In a year or two it would have been the thing a lot of trouble can make." Screening took place I always superfluous. Up until just two minutes. Running alone, but apparently not enough to extend life expectancy.

For strong nerves and stomachs, there is
here a picture of the mushroom cave.