The first moving image of the day was the alarming jump in numbers from 05:14 to 05:15 on the bedside clock. My usual enthusiasm for rising early had turned into reluctance. I just could not summon the euphoria that had carried me through an autumn, a winter, my whole life, in fact.
Twenty weeks of long days and short nights had left their mark. I found it difficult to wake up, even though my eyes were open. Had I slept at all? My exhaustion stared back at me from the bathroom mirror. I went into the kitchen. Double espresso, a second one. The day had arrived: 26 February 2020, Ash Wednesday. It felt too warm for this time of year, a winter morning that smelled like spring.
My family was asleep. I wanted to at least keep some form of semblance to my usual routine on this day that was to be a high point in my life, and so I trudged to the gym in my house to calibrate body, mind and soul for what was to come. Exercising bright and early, before the world awakens to its busyness, has been how I've started my day for decades. Usually, a lack of energy, tiredness or sluggishness causes a reversal of thrust in me: the more tired I am, the more an inner force compels me to get moving. On the racing bike, on the equipment in my home gym, on my gymnastics mat. There is nothing I can do to counteract this impulse to move, except to get changed and start.
Many people claim that they lack the discipline to stick with sports. For me, it's been the other way round over the decades; I can't fight it. The type of sport I choose doesn't follow a fixed plan, but rather my intuition. My entire physical wellbeing I owe to my lifelong training routine. I have learned to trust it, to follow it. My body has the plan; I give it the time. Sport is a non-negotiable ritual for me, like brushing my teeth, shaving, showering, like breathing. Ingrained in flesh and blood, so to speak, an instinct present in trillions of body cells.
It was the first morning after the traditional spring carnival here in Austria had ended, and I got on the road bike that I use indoors in winter with bicycle rollers. My legs felt stiff at first, but I gradually pedalled a little faster until I reached a good pace. Usually this kicks in to change my mental state, but something was blocking me. I could not let go in my head. My analytical mind jumped back and forth between imaginary checklists, but hardly anything was ticked off. But eventually, the cyclical movement and rhythm of breathing began to calm my nervous mind. I slipped into that sphere I call the 'alpha state'. In sixty sweaty minutes I had successfully lost track of myself and my thoughts.
Under the cold shower, and after another espresso, I got dressed. My nervous tension remained high. Every time I inhaled, the air didn't seem to reach my lungs, resulting in a palpable tightness across my chest. Even my skin felt too small for me. I recognised this; stress over too long a period produces such conditions, allowing old patterns to take over the reins of life.
I grabbed my iPad in an attempt to distract myself. In the news overview there was an obituary - a certain Erico Spinadel had died in Argentina at the age of 91. I had never heard the name before. I read that the Viennese engineer had been an expert on nuclear energy, and later a wind energy advisor to the United Nations. An exciting career development, I thought. Spinadel had made an international name for himself with multidisciplinary ideas for the energy supply of developing countries.
But why Argentina? I asked myself. What had brought the man to South America? The answer could be deduced from his date of birth and contemporary Austrian history. I guessed that his name was representative of so many people uprooted from their homeland who had had to start anew, and develop their talents elsewhere when Europe lay in ruins. It is strange how death sheds such a dignified light on people's life achievements and that appreciation is often in the form of an obituary.
I scrolled through the news. Germany had introduced compulsory vaccination against measles. Domestically, a 'task force for eco-social tax reform' was the main news. I pondered a little on this awkward linguistic image combining a term from the military with the word 'eco-social'. And the next oddity: the fact that the tragicomic politician from Austria's 'Ibiza-gate' scandal had announced a return to politics, in all seriousness - proof if ever it were needed of how confusing midlife can be.
In amongst the news was a report that the first two cases of the ominous coronavirus from China had been detected in Austria. An Italian couple working in reception at an Innsbruck hotel had become infected and tested positive. Both were in quarantine, it said. I wondered whether they had only been separated from the outside world or also from each other, since they had the same virus. That was all I could think of.
'A wonderful good morning to you, Mr Wurpes': My wife Katarina stood in the kitchen and smiled. Just the sound of her voice was soothing, her embrace reassuring. 'Are you excited that it's finally time?' she asked. My answer was reticent: 'When it's all over this evening, for sure.' Why didn't I just say, 'Yes!'? Katarina has a lightness in her being that acts like a warm blanket when I am tense - which I have been throughout this project. She senses that. 'Get going,' she said, 'and I'll see you at the opening. You'll see: It's going to be great.' My wife said goodbye to me with her usual all-is-well charm.
As I covered the short distance to the car, I swiped through a ream of messages on my smartphone. Updates from the team, messages from guests. A few apologetic last-minute cancellations and several wishing me success for my big day. The big day: For once, I would not be driving to the construction site at Kornstraße 1 in Leonding that morning; this time, a finished building awaited, spruced up for its inauguration ceremony: the rebuilt headquarters of my fitness company, including a new experience centre for our Technogym equipment. A lifetime goal.
On the drive to Leonding, my car resembled a mobile one-man call centre. I made short phone calls to a dozen people, getting straight to the point each time: 'Everything going well?', 'Everything on track?', 'Everything delivered?', 'Everything ready?', 'Can I help?'. The feedback was encouraging. During a pause between calls, a question forced itself into my consciousness, What future awaits me in this building? This focus helped to steer the torrent of thoughts into a calmer flow. It helped me visualise what lay ahead.
Other big questions resonated: What world is waiting for me?, And what life?. I thought about the timeline that had brought me to these new horizons: the conversion, the Experience Centre. The opening was, I saw clearly, the culmination of what I'd considered my successes in life. An important goal had now been achieved - the official ceremony in the evening was just a bonus.
At this thought, I relaxed. My shoulders dropped in relief, I breathed more deeply. I connected mentally with the kindergarten child in Linz-Urfahr that I had once been. With the primary school pupil in Linz-Spallerhof. With the secondary school pupil in the Marianum Freistadt. With the clerk apprentice at the industrial vehicle manufacturer Rosenbauer in Leonding. As I did so, I realised this: no younger version of myself had imagined what would become a reality on that Ash Wednesday in 2020. Not even the 21-year-old start-up founder Gottfried Wurpes, who in the early 1990s had the courage to turn his enthusiasm into a profession and founded a company for sports nutrition, sportswear and fitness equipment. At that time, I had confidently given my one-man show the name Fitness Company, on the only table suitable for filling out company set-up forms in my bachelor pad in Linz.
And so, only three decades later, as the CEO of an international group of companies, I officially opened a new headquarters in the presence of celebrities and the media. There had never been a contour-sharp picture of the future, but there had always been a vision, an intention, a knowledge that it would be up to me to achieve my goals, no one else. Life is lived looking forward and understood looking back, the philosopher Søren Kierkegaard wrote. Very true. This building, I decided, will remain a symbol of my confidence in my own success and a unique industry for the rest of my life and beyond.
A sense of deep gratitude flowed through me. All banalities and concerns dissolved into it, and only that which was essential came to the fore: I had invested a lot in this building. At the very outset, when I made the decision to embark upon this large-scale project, I was determined not to sacrifice quality to economic efficiency. For people who had known me for a long time, this may have come as a surprise. They know that I always pay bills immediately and I'm as good as my word, but also that I have my eye on the numbers.
In financial matters, I was brought up to be thrifty, to keep a sense of proportion. This came, above all, from my grandmother, a smart, capable woman who worked day and night as a self-employed accountant for commercial agencies and car repair shops in the 1970s. And, as...
