21st January 2021. Playitas sports resort, Fuerteventura. One hour - interval training- spinning class.
Fritz Pohl is my spinning instructor.
Germany, from the 1950s
onwards, became an industrial powerhouse, dominating the automobile industry
worldwide. How? They employed many
clones of Fritz, all marching to the same (142bpm) beat.
Spinning ® What is it?
Johnny Goldberg, a US endurance
cyclist, fell off his bike - ouch - and created the concept of spinning cycling
in the late 1980s: safer than being on the roads. He invented the spinning bike
in 1992 and ran his first classes at Crunch Gyms in New York in 1993. Karen
Voight, an American Hollywood fitness and dance guru, took it to a different
market but thought the early spin classes were very intense, which caused
people to feel intimidated because they weren’t fit enough to keep pace, so
devised her own and took it onto a world stage.
Fritz comes from the “Goldberg”-school,
which makes sense being in ‘#Europe’s best sports resort’. It must be true;
it’s printed on my wristband.
The class - one hour of interval training - starts. My breathing - four quick short breaths in and one very quick
sharp one out - is like a steam engine turning up the power – sshh, sshh, sshh,
sshh, puff. I am puffed out, steam and sweat everywhere. The burning pain in my
quads is unbearable. My pulse is rising 150+. My lungs are not happy: wheezing,
coughing up lumps of crap acquired over two months of caffeine, crisps,
pepperoni pizza and you know what. (Stella is called ‘Tropical’ here; she is
just as cute - 4.7% abv). All of which is combining and making me seriously
think of stopping just as…
Fritz starts screaming, ‘No
surrender, No excuse.’ I feel intimidated and not fit enough to keep pace but I
– ‘The story of a man who refused to surrender’ – am now, pumping to the beat
and complete the class. Not a pretty sight! After the class, Fritz – everything
has to be in order and ‘NO EXCUSE’ on the wall, above his elevated bike, like a
DJ god on his throne – comes over and speaks to me.
‘His English is good with bit of
an American accent,’ I thought to myself as he gave me very firm and precise
instructions as to what I must do.
‘You come back tomorrow 11:00,
Yes?’ I nod. ‘As the wind is blowing from here to there (he looks and points),
you go on the spinning bicycle over there (he points again) so you’re downwind
and away from all the Olympic athletes (Sweden on blue and yellow tops this
week) doing my class.’ ‘No problem Sir,’ I respond. He then bellows, ‘Man, it
was like watching a fucking steam train pumping up the power and I’m not sure
being upwind complies with our strict Covid rules as there was a lot of sweat
and steam’. I dutifully complied, for two weeks. I also turned round the big
boom boom speaker to point my way when he wasn’t looking, so not everything his
way.
That’s funny; ‘like watching a
steam train’ takes me back in time. I was once videoed – I had won some trophy
at an athletics tournament – at Normanton Grammar school, for a BBC news
programme. Just as I appeared, they played the sound of a steam engine pumping
up the power. Some things never change….
Game on. Six weeks later.
6th March 2021. Playitas
Sports resort. Spinning class 1600 – Interval training – Seven levels.
The power will increase, my heart
rate will reach 160 bpm [beats per minute], my body will ache and the sweat
soak my body before entering a place of peace and tranquillity. In many ways this journey runs parallel with
life’s struggle to be the best you can be or, as the Playitas logo so aptly
states, ‘Free your mind’. Here we go…
Level 1: Four minutes. Bass:
132 BPM. Heart rate: 95-120
The music of life is slowly
building. A bit like childhood, fresh, alive almost unaware of what is to
follow.
Fritz was born in 1952, his dad a,
third generation coffee importer, grinder, and retailer, with two shops and a
yard in Cuxhaven, mouth of the Elbe river onto the North Sea. He was a
cheerful, likable lad with many friends. In his teens he started re-building an
abandoned Renault 4, ‘I was so obsessed with completing my project, I once walked
17 km to carry a bonnet home’, he adds. Rebuild completed, he was chuffed to
drive it for three months until a crash – ‘an 80-year-old man, fucking idiot’
(Fritz’s words) rolled the car twice and wrote it off. He was back on his bike,
a constant companion before learning to drive.
‘Fritz, your English sounds
American; you called me ‘son of a bitch’ – very American – last week’, I say.
‘Yes, I know, some folks thought
it rude. I got funny looks.’
‘How did you learn American
English then,’ I respond.
‘Throughout my teens I would hide
under my duvet listening to Radio AFN (American Forces Network Bremerhaven). I
learned a different story but most of all some great music as well as English.
I dreamed of being a lumberjack in Canada and imagined watching logs floating down
the Rocky Mountains.’
‘Next car?’ I ask.
‘In 1969, mum gave me 150 DM to
buy an old VW Beetle, 261,000 km already, and rebuild it.’ ‘Girls?’ I enquire.
‘One, Dagmar; she made curtains for the Renault but we both wanted a different
life so split.’
College for Fritz aged 17-18,
Business Studies. His mother had a friend, who had a friend, who makes a call
to a friend at Volkswagen who…
Level 2: Six minutes. Bass: 130
BPM. Heart rate: 120-140.
Life gets progressively harder –
I’m standing climbing on the spinning machine. It has a fixed pedal – dangerous
if not aware – so no stopping without hitting the big red button. I push hard, 65rpm,
music 130 bpm and 180 watts of resistance. This is the first of the hard ones,
the transition from your comfort zone into an uncomfortable space. I see many
quitting at this point. Some folks never leave home, they never leave their
comfort zone. Fritz looks regal high on his spinning throne – a light blue,
Lycra, onesie, ‘Playitas, Free your mind’, across his chest.
October 1970, aged 18, Fritz left
his comfort zone for a bedsit, some multibed squat on the outskirts of
Wolfsburg, Northern Germany. An internship with Volkswagen (VW) his incentive
to power through the fear. Sales, bookings, marketing all endured, all exams
passed with ease, without even reaching his second wind (the key to spinning).
Logistics and Fritz would become peas in a pod, worldwide.
CKD (Complete Knocked Down) did
for the automotive industry what IKEA does today: flatpack it. VW built wooden
boxes with 12 unassembled VW cars inside, numbered parts and bags of screws.
Fritz’s job: to make sure 1,000 boxes end up in South Africa. Ship to Port
Elisabeth, charter a train – every month ongoing. The team also ran logistics
for Indonesia, Brazil and Mexico, e.g., he chartered a DC10 to ship replacement
fuel tanks (made in the States) to Acapulco or taxi production would have
ceased!
I had the good fortune to visit
Acapulco in 2008, I hailed a cab. The VW Beetle was maroon with a golden
rooftop and the city logo, the Angel of Independence, on the side. In 1979 the
Mexican government decided to reduce pollution and clear the streets of the
huge, gas-guzzling cars from the USA. Volkswagen seized their chance and sent
their best team to clinch the deal. Many beers and handshakes later, VW
obtained the exclusive taxi rights for the whole of Mexico and VW Beetles –
over 1 million of them - would cover the country. Logistics will be difficult.
Fritz - still 19 and raw - is at
his desk in Wolfsburg. He is always at work on time and, when at work, ‘work
means work’ – no tittle-tattle. He sits upright, a long, straight back (he is
1.86m) smartly dressed in a single-breasted suit and tie. His title is
’Logistics Manager’ – part of a team looking after South Africa, Brazil and
Mexico. The phone rings. ‘Pohl,’ answers Fritz, in a very ‘don’t mess with me’
way. His boss needs his attendance at an urgent meeting. He attends. He is
asked to stand to receive a question. He stands.
‘Pohl, I require you – Fritz has
a team but there is no question as to who is responsible – to deliver 1,000,000
bits of (VW Beetle) whatever we throw at you …. cost and method is not an issue
… by whatever date we require to a variety of locations in Mexico. Are you able
to do that, Pohl?’
‘Yes Sir,’ Fritz remains standing
until directed to sit.
Convention underpins the German
way and yes means yes.
And that’s what Fritz did. He
said yes and he delivered. This lad from Cuxhaven was Germany at its best. The
creative and hard-working side of OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) is,
perhaps, another way of viewing it.
Fritz had a secret: he had never
been on an aeroplane, even though he had chartered them at a moment’s notice
and guided boxes around the globe. He still wants to be a lumberjack in Canada.
One day he hears a rumour….
Level 3: Six minutes. Bass:
136 BPM. Heart rate: 140-160.
The pain barrier – doorway to the
second wind - awaits. I am pumping (65bpm and 200 watts resistance) steam
building, no turning back. Letting go of our deepest fears is required to
progress in life. It’s time to, ‘Free your mind’.
17th October 1975. Fritz – he is
so precise, can just reel off dates and events from his organised mind - walks
into his boss’s office and says, ‘There is a rumour Volkswagen is building a
factory in Westmoreland, PA, USA (Canada and lumberjacks just the other side of
Lake Erie). I wish to go there please.’
Oh dear, I now have an Anglo-German
relationship problem and want to thump Fritz.
It’s late. Fritz and I are in the
Pool Bar editing. Roberto – a local lad, worked here for 7 years - brings Fritz
a second Cava plus water for me. Meanwhile, Fritz is banging the table whilst
screaming at me, ‘No man, it has to be right.’ In the paragraph above I had
previously written Pittsburgh and said something about steel. I explain to
Fritz how the reader (you) would have no idea where West-something PA, USA is,
yet could identify (can you?) with Pittsburgh and steel – the industrial city
bordering Lake Erie, one of the five Great Lakes.
‘No man, it has to be right.’ I
give in.
Oh no! He is now insisting I
remove the word ‘please’. ‘I never said please, it needs to be right,’ he
bellows.
We have a brief discussion on the
benefits of OCD in logistics - order precision timing - and its disadvantages.
‘No surrender, no excuse,’
screams Fritz. He looks splendid in his crimson Lycra, standing climbing on top
of his throne, a bead of sweat drips from his chin.
24th February 1976, Frankfurt
airport. Fritz boards a Boeing 747 LH 404 to JFK. Violent snowstorm over
Newfoundland. ‘Were you scared?’ I ask. ’Of course,’ he says, in a ‘why ask
such a dumb question’ sort of way. The plane is diverted to a military airport
in Gander, Newfoundland. Snowbound overnight then on to Montreal Mirabelle.
Took off and landed five minutes later, then Montreal International followed by
JFK New York. His first flight became his fourth without even changing planes,
poor lad. Final flight to Pittsburgh. The Hotel in Greensburg has 24-hour noise
- opposite a Truck Park ‘running their engines all fucking night to avoid the
freezing cold (-25c) and McDonald’s for food and warmth.’ No turning back
methinks. His company car, a VW Golf - the replacement for the Beetle – sold 21
million worldwide to re-conquer the world.
Logistics at the sharp end.
Fritz’s job was easy: hire a container ship, as you do, to Baltimore and train
or truck to the factory with flat-packed cars inside, per day. Same job as home
but living in a hotel - KDKA, Radio Pittsburgh under the duvet. He loves USA
radio stations - and freezing. Time off?
Writing Folk Tales is a
journey. On my third meeting with Fritz a hidden gem enters his conscious mind.
Fritz is driving a VW Camper
1,100 miles (The guy is mad, 2,200-mile round trip!) to New Orleans – second
visit, he loves it - and stops for a break. ‘You see man, it was a town called
Biloxi, I made a little break. I meet a Coca-Cola truck driver – my age - also
having a break. We sat on the same bench. Opposite were old colonial mansions
from a yesteryear. Our short break lasted three hours. We talked about life,
slavery, how life may have been for the many slaves – his great grandads’
family - maintaining the mansions and their masters. I was moved – it was one
of the most touching moments of my life. We hugged before leaving. I truly feel
our meeting was not a coincidence, it changed my whole view of life’.
‘Did your dad hug you?’, I
tentatively ask. ‘Of course,’ his response.
The German work ethic also has a
clear distinction between work – no texting or Facebook, no pub with colleagues
– and play.
‘Girls?’ I throw in the mix. ‘Oh
yes, Darlene (Wesko or Wasco) was half Italian, half New York, jet black hair,
drove a little Honda Accord, lived in Greensburg. Two years of bliss – Radio
KDKA – long lazy nights in her apartment.’
We have a long discussion over adding
the word ‘little’ before Honda Accord; I give in. Hey ho.
‘Then?’ I ask.
‘VW decided to open a second
factory in Detroit, a 400-mile drive (a short trip down the lane in comparison
to New Orleans) around Lake Erie – I was headhunted to be the logistics manager,
just as the oil crisis ended in 1979.
The price of fuel halved, Americans went back to gas guzzlers and VW Golf
production halved. Darlene said no to moving,’
1980. Fritz, 28, was sent home,
still employed by VW but grieving his lost love. He tried to find her again
last year --he is such a romantic at heart – but sadly, no luck. ‘Who could help me find her?’ Fritz has just
insisted I type.
‘In May 1980 I rejected a move to
Nigeria, VW’s latest market. I was a bit lost,’ he interjects.
‘And then?’ I enquire.
‘On 17th December 1980, I skied
for the first time in Seefeld, Austria, on holiday with my brother. First
evening, in a bar with a dance floor, I cross the floor en-route to the loo. I
pass a pretty girl, stop and say, ’Would you like to dance?’ Stefanie entered
my life and we married two years later. She was 21, a local Steiermark lass –
amazing skier. Her dad made it pretty clear what would happen if I didn’t look
after his little girl after she moved to Munich.’
‘Did you?’, I respond.
‘That’s for later. April 1981, I
was 29. I quit VW for a factory making Tornado jets – I moved to Munich, an
easy drive to Seefeld. I went from sourcing 300 cars a day to sourcing… valves for the wings of nine jets a month.’
Fritz and I are in danger of
killing each over arguing over valves and wing flaps. ‘Nine jets a month,’ he
has just screamed at me. He stands up. ‘We have to be precise,’ he announces,
banging the table again.
‘Stefanie?’ I enquire.
‘We married on 10th December
1982; our first child, Martin, was born May 1983.’
Oh dear…
Level 4: Seven minutes. Bass:
124 BPM. Heart rate: 140-150.
A mixture of standing and seated
climbing, 220 watts of resistance and 62 revolutions – down, down with the
feet, in time to the beat – per minute. I always close my eyes and listen to
the orchestral overtures building behind the thumping baseline. It helps
achieve the second wind.
Getting through life’s early pain
and achieving the second wind means life’s challenges can be faced head on.
December 1983. Parenthood brings
many challenges. Fritz didn’t face this one head on! Instead, (saying yes to
his boss two months earlier may not have been the right answer, but when Fritz
said yes he meant yes) he joined BMW as head of logistics for Pretoria, South
Africa. Stefanie said no to a relocation with a newborn child, but told Fritz to
go. On 15th July 1983 Fritz flew to
Pretoria and came home five months later, 23rd December, his son then seven
months old. He didn’t go back, he did change jobs…
Between 1983 and 1991 BMW
produced the world’s most successful – won everything - touring car, the M3;
£100,000 before extras and 400 staff on the production line. Fritz becomes head
of logistics and then sales to dealers.
Another argument starts, I lose, over
including the words ‘then’ and ‘to dealers.’
Despite wishing to kill him, I am also crying with laughter. Patricia, another team member - resplendent in
her corporate top - delivers Cava and
water. We share stories: Fritz entertaining – getting drunk – Japanese dealers
- closing deals for many cars at midnight with many toasts and much bowing of
heads. I once closed a deal with a prospective client in a lap-dancing club
while getting him drunk and stuffing £20 notes down G-string knickers. Alcohol has
many uses…
Where was I? Oh yes…
Fritz looks tanned and tall,
regal and athletic, high on his spinning throne. He is also a trance dance DJ
spending hours and days mixing his own playlists. Paul van Dyk - he grew up in
East Berlin - a favourite download.
His second son, Thomas, (he introduced
his dad to Paul vD and is a constant source of the latest dance music) was born
in March 1988.
Fritz is now moving 10 x £150,000
cars a day worldwide and has the lifestyle to match. Life was good until being
headhunted, aged 37, by an old boss (yes means yes, after a long lunch in
Turin) to run Fiat’s logistics – production control and distribution – for the
Fiat Lancia division (We have another argument over the word division.) It was
an offer too good to turn down. The family moved to Frankfurt. New beginnings?
Not quite. Fritz was now boarding a plane to Turin 0730 Mondays and returning
home on 1800 Fridays.
I made a similar journey in my
late 30s. I boarded a train 0630 Mondays, first class, Doncaster to Kings
Cross, London and returned home the following Friday. ‘Not a good move for a
marriage already lacking together time’ - in both our cases - methinks.
Fritz’s must have spent some time
at home. His daughter, Verena, was born in June 1990.
Level 5: Six minutes. Bass:
136 BPM. Heart rate: 145-165.
‘Standing climbing six minutes.’
‘No surrender, no excuse,’ Fritz screams. This is hard, wattage resistance at
240, pump pump, 70 each minute. Everything hurts, yet at the same time a
warmth is flowing through my veins. The endorphins are the body’s own opioids,
free, and with the same effect as morphine. It kills pain.
My pain relief thirty years ago
looked different. Alcohol. Two pints of Stella before boarding the train home
from London, a G&T as I took my place in the restaurant car and a half
bottle of wine left me pain-free (hidden) for meeting a wife and two children
after five days in London.
‘How did you switch off Fritz?’
leaves my lips.
‘I ran and cycled, often leaving
home at 10pm, after the children were asleep, and returning at 1am. Weekends,
two hours in the morning and two in the afternoon,’ he responds.
‘Mmm, that’s not a lot of family
time after five days away,’ I say to myself. I also say, ’Being hungover and
distant, all weekend, after five days in London is hardly any better. Folk in
glass houses should not throw stones.’
It’s 1994. Fritz is 44. ‘One of
my smartest moves,’ he announces. ‘Smartest?’ I query.
’Yes. I move into dealership,
still in Frankfurt and still with Fiat – less travel, more home time. It’s a
loss-making one; £6million loss on the balance sheet, 1200+ cars sat in a yard,
and a Union refusing to budge an inch.’ ‘And?’ I ask.
‘By 1998 we were in profit – many
Union battles fought and won. Life was good. Skiing six times a year and my
family were well looked after.’ The German work ethic requires a man to provide
a ‘good’ life for his family. An English work saying is, ‘Everyone gets
promoted to their level of incompetence’. A bit like overloading the resistance
on a spinning bike, something has to give.
1999 and Fritz is 48. ‘One of my
biggest mistakes,’ he announces. ‘Mistakes?’ I reply.
’Fiat merge with Opel! I now,
after saying yes, run a Fiat dealership owned by Opel. Two years later they go
bust.’ ‘And then?’ I enquire.
‘I am employed by Fiat Bank,
dealing with insolvency loans to dealers.’ ’Fritz, what on earth do you know
about banking?’ I ask, while looking at the ceiling and shaking my head.
’Enough to survive.’ Two years
later Fritz, now 50, goes back to school. Business Management Coach, a one-year
course. ‘And to switch off?’, I say whilst knowing the answer.
‘Marathons and triathlons plus
lots of practice.’
Drinking 120 units of alcohol a
week also requires lots of practice. We are similar in many ways, methinks, it’s
just the drug that’s different.
Fritz joined Renault, now back in
Frankfurt, in 2004, to become general manager of a loss-making dealership in Mannheim.
Fritz has now launched into a detailed description of what he did. ‘4,000 cars
needed, 2,800 is all I could give.’ He is now slapping the table. I give in and
change the subject.
‘Home life?’ I esquire.
‘We never discussed our
relationship; kids, work, running, and cycling filled my days. On my wedding
day Stefanie said, ‘Faithfulness is integral to our marriage, the number one
rule. One mistake and you’re out.’ I lived by that rule and assumed it went
both ways.’ ’Did it?’ I ask.
'No! She made a 180 degree turn and our 'bicycles' went in opposite directions', he responds.
Level 6: Five minutes. Bass:
124 BPM. Heart rate: 142-148.
The music gets louder . Dash Berlin – When the world falls apart - blasts from the speakers, very appropriate...
My body feels good, 230 watts and 62 rpm. gives me an adrenaline rush [it feels like and gentle electricity shock in your belly and brain] to awaken my arms – hands on bars – to dancing in tune. But, like any addictive drug, tolerance comes quickly. Faster, harder is the only solution. ‘No surrender,’ demands Fritz, wearing pink Lycra today. It’s time to face one’s demons…
In 2006 Fritz’s employer, the
loss-making dealership, went bust. He also leaves the family home, rents a flat
nearby. I can her the sadness - with a hint of anger - in his voice as he
shares the pain of his world imploding. He runs three marathons plus many
thousand kilometres of training to face his demons.
By 2007 he is divorced and almost
broke. He cried a lot, never considered suicide, but was clearly a broken man.
He ran two marathons that year, the second one New York.
‘Hang on Fritz, you say two marathons
– three the year before – like I say, I had two pints of beer yesterday and
three the day before. You are unreal; my
daughter Emily finished the London marathon and took nine months to recover, while
you jog round five in two years. Like how?’
‘Funny you say that man, I knew a
guy at Volkswagen – I was 21 - who ate big sausages for breakfast and drank
himself to sleep every night. One day he stopped, started running and lost tens of kilos
in twelve months. Two years later he ran
his first marathon, he then ran across Africa, made a film [with the help of
VW] and wrote a book about it. I was
inspired and I have never stopped running since’.
‘Yes, but Fritz, five marathons
in two years requires grit and determination’. I respond.
‘No surrender, no excuse’ blows
Fritz, standing high on his throne. My legs ache, the steam train pumping to
the beat and my pulse is a steady 148.
Where was I? Oh yes…
The financial crash of 2008 was
the last straw for Fritz, A job with BMW faded overnight to compound to his problems.
Fritz completes many triathlons, his new drug of choice.
“Ok Fritz tell me about
triathlons”, I say whist shaking my head. Jordan, todays waiter– the 2021 team
tops do look good, ‘Free your mind’ down the arms – brings a me a green smoothy
and Fritz a 0% beer.
‘Some days I didn’t run so
decided to go swimming – two thousand meters - and saw it as a new challenge’
responds Fritz. He then combined all three sports and many triathlons follow.
Fritz is now editing this blog. I
stand, bang the table and say, ‘Man, I am fucking dyslexic, and that’s ok. I
pay two lovely ladies to sort those bits out, so I don’t need a third editor,
thank you’. ‘MAN, there is another one there’, his response, as pointing to his
wife’s name. I now have a third editor. Hey ho.
I notice when Fritz becomes
agitated, he sits bolt upright – I could imagine him at work, in his immaculate
suit and tie – booted and suited – his neck grows longer – he starts to tap the
table – he gets louder – anyone within five meters can hear him. He often breaks
off mid-sentence to greet someone, he flirts with all the girls and is liked by
all. The word gregarious springs to
mind.
We talk about life’s twists and
turns and the pain of seeing yet another ‘mountain’ to climb. Fritz has a
steely determination, ‘but in a soft way’ he responds. ‘At BMW we had a mantra,
“there is always another way” and that’s what keeps me going, I find another
way’. He tells me – with a sparkle in his eye - of his daughter, Verena, hiking
3,240 km the length of New Zealand, alone with just a ruck sack and small tent.
Tales of her getting lost, no phone signal and no food. She takes after her dad
methinks.
Where was I? Oh yes.
At last! A new job for Fritz, restructuring
and integrating for Emil Frey Group. 43 dealerships but a daily 200km round
trip from Frankfurt. ‘Emil who?’ I lose.
It is spring 2009 and Spinning
becomes his new drug of choice.
Autumn 2009, a chance meeting for
Fritz, a spinning festival in Hamburg and he meets a lady called Karin. Weekends
become a 1600km round trip, a train journey - Frankfurt to Hamburg and back –
to hopefully embrace a new love. In 2009 he quits his job and moves to Hamburg.
The relationship ended soon after. He is alone and unemployed in Hamburg. He
admits to lots of crying between 2005 and 2009. The lovable big softy is
emerging.
A real turning point has arrived.
Level 7: Nine minutes. Bass:
138 BPM. Heart rate: 155-165
The longest and hardest level of
all the levels, yet the door to infinity opens. It’s time to ‘Free your mind’
and swim in the serotonin and endorphin ocean. Open your eyes and the Atlantic
greets you.
‘Keep going, turn up the power,
no surrender,’ screams Fritz. I comply.
Fritz digs deep and begins a new
career: Spinning instructor at The Meridian Spa, Hamburg, now owned by the
David Lloyd UK group. ‘Very important you say that,’ bellows Fritz.
A new ‘old life’ job also arrives
just in time: general manager dealer acquisition, Hyundai Germany, a job he
will keep until retirement in 2018. Just as well, as ‘Just in time’ - logistics
Japanese style - was already breaking the German stronghold on the automobile
industry. It became known as the Just-in-time or Toyota method – the parts
arrive – no storage – fit the same hour. OCD taken to new heights and Japan
rules the world.
6th January 2016, Fritz attends a
spinning festival in his club. An old friend arrives, brown and very tanned.
‘Where have you been?’ asks Fritz. ‘Playitas, Fuerteventura,’ the response. ‘You
would love it there.
With German efficiency, the next
day Fritz sends his CV to Playitas and says (he didn’t ask) they need a
spinning instructor. Mary, Sports Manager, receives his request.
I visit Mary’s office. ‘What
happened next?’ I ask. ‘His email arrived ‘just in time’ as we were about to
advertise for an additional instructor,’ she responds while shaking her head, smiling,
and looking to the sky.
Recovery: Three minutes. No
bass. Heart rate: 100-80
Seven levels of life’s metaphoric
journey completed, it’s time to recover, relax and bathe in your endorphin
haze. Water essential for maintenance and recovery. Off the bikes, stretch and
enjoy.
Fritz joins me for dinner. We
start at 7.15 pm and, four hours later, ‘I must tell you this,’ leaves his lips.
Hamburg is home to Fritz for
seven months of the year. He is back in contact with Karin and they remain good friends. He runs six weekly classes, maintains 160 bikes and
cycles many thousands of miles travelling far and wide, mainly alone but
occasionally with mates. ‘Your longest adventure?’ I enquire.
‘In 2019 I applied to take part
in the World triathlon championships in Pontevedra Spain, I did not have the
standard to apply for a German team. Verena said to me, ‘Dad, its only 2703km,
you could cycle there’ and that’s what I did. The hardest bit was 600km
crossing the Pyrenees in April with 15,000 meters elevation and a 25 kph head
wind. At times I felt I was dying; I was so close to quitting but made it’. Two weeks ago he jumped off his bike (middle
of level seven) and announces, ‘I was once cycling across the Pyrenees, rain,
wind and mountains, this track powered me over the ridge, yes yes, yes, no
surrender’ and was back on his bike within seconds. He is also an entertainer
and raconteur; his students love him and I can see why.
We share more stories of life’s
ups and downs and how cycling – life could be another word to use – is about
hitting the pain barrier and emerging stronger and fitter on the other side.
Fritz is now in his fifth season
running classes at Playitas. He loves it here: sunshine, order, routine, but
most of all teaching spinning. He also
clears the roads of litter, four hours yesterday, totally unprompted. Another
German trait is caring for our planet from a place of unselfish love.
He has a good relationship with
his children and only last week his daughter sent him a handwritten letter. Fritz is a big romantic softie once the German conditioning
is peeled away; he had a tear in his eye as he told me of his daughter’s
letter. Martin, his eldest son was a quarterback in a German football team, a top
swimmer, and a proficient cyclist. Thomas – in his early years found a passion for Boy Scouts and "graduated" as a group leader for may many years -
continues to supply the latest dance music for Fritz to spend his twilight
hours – instead of pounding the streets of Frankfurt – mixing his ever-changing
playlists. Today he is computer wiz-kid in addition to his music skills.
I now understand the German work
ethic, ‘Yes means Yes, no excuse, no surrender, find another way to make it
happen’ is how it works.
I had one last question for
Fritz. ‘Life’s lessons?’
He takes his time to respond,
unusual for Fritz.
‘My German conditioning taught me
Yes means Yes.’ He takes a breath. ‘There was only yes or no with nothing in-between;
I always said Yes. On reflection the answer ‘Maybe’, instead of ‘yes’, could
have been a better word at times in my life.’
Maria, today’s barmaid, delivers
his final glass of Cava and I have approval to publish. Om Fritz.
And the point I am making is…
It’s never too late to Free
your mind.
Colin
PS. A massive thank
you to Fritz for sharing his story, driving me to the point of exasperation and
then having me crying with laughter seconds later. It was such fun.
I would like to thank staff
members Roberto, Maria, Patricia and Jordan for keeping the bar tended over the
many hours Fritz and I spent arguing - and him banging tables.
A big thank you to Mary for
delivering Fritz into the lives of all at Playitas.
And finally thank you to Playitas
for being such an amazing host and joining in the fun.
PPS. I did ask
Fritz one further question, ‘Do you still want to be a Lumberjack in Canada?’ His
answer ‘Maybe’.
Notes:
For further information on this
amazing sports resort visit: www.playitas.org
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