Thyme Bandits auf Spotify

Ironmonkeys Pirate Triathlon Team: Der Innere Soundtrack 1/2012 - Thyme Bandits

Der Innere Soundtrack 1/2012 - Thyme Bandits

Dafür habe ich jetzt aber sehr lange gebraucht! Dieses Jahr wollte sich irgendwie kein Soundtrack einstellen. Lag es daran, dass aus verschiedenen Gründen der Norseman-Traum für 2012 nicht wahr geworden ist? Dass der Iron Anton als Ersatzprojekt noch undefiniert ist? Ich weiß nicht, wahrscheinlich ist es ein wenig von allem. Nun aber ist es soweit, dass die diesjährige Saison-Playlist definiert ist.

Das Saisonziel liegt dieses Jahr nun erstmals seit langem nicht in Skandinavien sondern im Süden: es ist der Natureman Triathlon, eine anspruchsvoll scheinende Mitteldistanz am Verdon in Südfrankreich, in der Provence, dem Land des Thymians. Dem Insider fällt sofort auf, dass diese geographische Verlagerung unmittelbaren Einfluss auf die Auswahl des Soundtracks hatte.

Wir werden es genießen, uns auf etwas anders einzulassen, vielleicht geht es ja schon 2013 wieder nach Norden…


This time, was long hard work. No Soundtrack was willing to come to my mind this year. Was it because, for several reasons, my Norseman dream did not come true at last? Was it because the Iron Anton, our very own alternative project, is not yet completely defined? I don´t know, maybe it´s a bit of everything. However, time has come that this season´s playlist has been defined.

For the first time for years, the season does not focus on a race in Scandinavia but on Natureman LD, a half-iron distance race in the France, in the Verdon region in Provence, land of thyme. Those who follow the Inner Soundtrack will soon notice that this geographic shift had an influence on this compilation.

We will surely enjoy getting involved in something different. Who knows, we might be heading north again in 2013…

Lana Del Rey – Video Games
Eigentlich unseriös, als Millionärstochter eine absurde White-Trash-Romantik zu bedienen, über die reine Coolness aber für den Soundtrack qualifiziert

In a way it does not seem really honest for an upper-class girl to provide this weird White-Trash style but by sheer coolness she qualifies for this year´s Soundtrack.

Foo Fighters – Dear Rosemary
Allalongthewatchtowerige Hymne des Jahres für uns alternde Rocker. Rock´n Roll, dein Name sei Dave Grohl!

Allalongthewatchtowerish anthem of the year for all of us elder rocksmen. Rock´n roll, thy name shalt be DaveGrohl!

Superbus – Un Peu De Douleur
Un peu de douleur... Oui, je crois que c´est inévitable

Florence and the Machine – What The Water Gave Me
Schöner Song. Könnte ein bisschen als weibliches Pendant zu Woven Hand durchgehen. Hier zumindest.

Lovely song. Could probably do as a female equivalent to Woven Hand, Well, probably…

Marc Lanegan – Constant Waiting
Wir hatten in den vergangenen Jahren bereits Auszüge aus dem großen “We Are Only Riders”-Album. Hier ein weiteres Prachtstück. Und wenn man genau hinhört, spielt geisterhaft Jeffrey Lee Pierce im Hintergrund die Slidegitarre.

Another bit of the great album “We Are Only Riders”. If you listen really concentrated, you will hear Jeffrey Lee Pierce´s ghost in the background, playing the slide-guitar.

Everlast – Folsom Prison Blues
Wir drehen den Spieß um und covern Johnny Cash. Als ich von der Existenz dieses Tracks hörte, war ich sehr aufgeregt…

This time things go the other way round, Everlast covers Johnny Cash. When I hearsd about the exixtance of this track, I got really excited…

Fatal Bazooka – Fous Ta Cagoule
Wirklich absolut grandiose HipHop-Parodie (ist es so?). Ich verstehe kein Wort, habe aber eine Ahnung, als wäre das auch besser so.

Really really great HipHop-parody (if so…). I do not understand a word, but I do have the feeling that this is not a disadvantage…

Neil Young – All Along The Watchtower
In dieser Zusammenstellung für so Manchen die großartigst mögliche Konstellation von Song und Künstler, für Andere aus demselben Grund ein GAU. Das können aber nicht viele sein…

To some people this ist he greatest possible coincidence of song and artist, to some other people, fort he sam reason, the worst of all cases. But those are few….

16 Horsepower – Splinters
Einer der schönsten und atmosphärischsten Songs aus 16HP-Zeiten. So etwas möchte ich auch können.

One of the most beautiful songs of the ancient 16HP times. I wish I could write songs like this as well…

Mando Diao – Paralyzed
Frühes Meisterwerk. Sehr rauh und sixtig.

Early masterpiece. Very rough and sixtyish.

The Hives – Abra Cadaver
Da denke ich oft an alte UK-Subs-Platten auf 45. (Falls noch jemand weiß, was ich meine)

This reminds me of the UK Subs, played on 45rpm (is there anybody out there who still knows what I´m talking about)

Mano Negra – Mala Vida
Auf dem Weg in den Süden. Mit Vollgas.

On our way down south, at full speed.


Patti Smith – Changing Of The Guards
Patti Smith spielt Bob Dylan. Besser als das Original….

Patti Smith doing a Bob Dylan cover. Better than the original...


Me First And The Gimme Gimmes – Jolene
Einschalten, Vollgas, fertig. Die Welt kann so schön einfach sein.

On, Power, off. The world can be that simple.

Gun Club – My Dreams
Das erste Stück, was ich je von Gun Club gehört habe, und bis heute einer meiner liebsten..

One of Gub Club´s first tracks I ever heard, and still on of my top-3-favourites.

Johnny Cash – I Won´t Back Down
Aus den American Recordings. Authentisch, als wäre es sein eigener Song.

Part of the American Recordings.Genuine, like it was one of his own songs.

Les Rita Mitsouko – C`est comme ca
Les Grandes Rita Mitsouko. Diese Liste wäre niemals vollständig ohne sie.

Les Grandes Rita Mitsouko. This compilation could never be complete without them.

Red Lorry Yellow Lorry - Shout At The Sky
Es hieß damals, gegen RLYL klängen Sisters Of Mercy wie die Stylistics. Sehr treffend, was die Rauheit und Sperrigkeit angeht. Als ich in den 80ern noch selber Musik gemacht habe, wollten wir genao so klingen.

At that time, somebody wrote that, compared to RLYL, the Sisters Of Mercy sounded like The Stylistics. Good point in reference to roughness and lack of elegance. When I played in a band during the eighties, we desired to sound exactly like them.

Suede – Animal Nitrate
Eine jüngst wieder ausgegrabene Perle aus den frühen Neunzigern. Gitarre und Gesang im gleichen Maße hysterisch.

Lost and found jewel from the early nineties. Guitar und voice in a corresponding degree of hysteria.


Kyo – Tot Envoyer En l`Air
Die dritten im Bunde der nicht mehr existenten französischen Bands.

Third member of the Dead French Bands´Society

David Eugene Edwards – Rambling Mind
Wieder etwas vom “We Are Only Riders” Projekt, dieses Mal Herr Edwards, der hier logisch hingehört. Musikalisch der legitime Nachfolger von Jeffrey Lee Pierce, dabei ohne dessen selbstzerstörerischen Wahn sondern Kraft und Glauben spendend zu jeder Zeit.

Once again “We Are Only Riders”, this time Dave Eugene Edwards, who consequentally belongs here. In musical ways the true successor to Jeffrey Lee Pierce excluding selfdestructive madness, being a source of strength and faith at all times.

IronAnton Triathlon

Der IronAnton Triathlon, unser altes Hirngespinst, nimmt Gestalt an.
Im tollkühnen Selbsttest werden wir 2012 zur Erstausgabe antreten.

Endlich wieder eine Motivation zu trainieren!

IronAnton Triathlon, an old phantasm of ours is finally becoming real.
A daredevil self-test will take place in 2012.

So training motivation is back at last!

The Silverback Tales

Norseman will mich nicht, Celtman ist zu gruselig, IronAnton zu unbestimmt. Keine Ziele. Also zunächst auch kein neuer Soundtrack.
Stattdessen vertreibe ich die anfallende Denkzeit mit Mikrogeschichten.
Das erste Kapitel der Silverback Tales ist ab sofort auf Twitter zu lesen: #TheSilverbackTales


Norseman do´t want me, Celtman seems too frightning, IronAnton is yet undefined. No goals so far, thus no Inner Soundtrack. So far.
Instead, I spill my time with microtales. Read Chapter 1 of "The Silverback Tales" on twitter: #TheSilverbackTales

Off-Season

So. Das war´s. Winterpause.
Die Ironmonkeys sind überwiegend mit sich selbst beschäftigt und haben bis auf weiteres keinen Bock zu schreiben.

Neue Perspektiven

Kein Startplatz für 2012. Sieht so aus, als sollte es keinen letzten Versuch geben.
Brauche neue Perspektiven...

D-Day plus 18.53h: Winners all we are -ENGLISH VERSION

Susanne knew it. That means Susanne 1, my own dear Susanne. Did know that Black would not be the colour, from the moment we were told the swim location had to be moved farther out and the 20k bike leg would get those extra 20k. She was sure that any further concussion to the system eventually would not be tolerable. More than the disastrous journey including lumbago still on the ferry to Norway, hospital at night in Larvik, broken down car, forced two days stay in Notodden, damaged caravan and finally forgotten shoes for supporters of the relay team for the Eidfjord Mini Triathlon. And of course she was right.

To me, it took 17 hours more to recognize this. Until about km 35 of the now 200 km bike course, on the first third of the climb to Dyranut. Up to that point, I had been carefully optimistic. Getting up an hour earlier than planned, due to the changed conditions. On the ferry, when I suddenly was the last one still on deck and so not pushed with the pack, but forced to decide. In the water, when swimming felt really smooth and easy, but the dimly lit buoy soon became invisible in the distance and orientation was lost immediately. Back on land, as I had to realize that my Forerunner had quit working, but nevertheless could still tell that my swim had taken 1:56h, which was about half an hour more than expected. In the transition zone, busily supported by Uwe, struggling from one gear into the other. Even on the first extra 20 kilometres to Eidfjord I felt quite good, despite the pouring rain. It was not until the middle of this first climb, that seemed endless from the beginning and felt extremely hard to me, being passed by all the slower swimmers, it was there, that I began to panic and write off the black shirt. A mental hole before the battle really had begun, great… So, at this point, on the old tourist road up to Dyranut, shortly before Vøringfossen, the hardest day in my life so far, began.


About 15 km later, Dyranut Turisthytte suddenly appeared from the dense fog, much earlier than expected. It felt like a far longer way, when we came up here yesterday to enjoy the sunshine, magnificent views and most of all the legendary breakfast buffet. It’s getting cold now, really cold, like to prove that rain was not by far all the weather had got for us. There was talk later about 9 ° C. On top of that it is windy, a tailwind this time, but of little help. Cold and wet it is, freezing cold and wet. At Dyranut, my two support teams are gathered around me to hand me the ordered clothes: rain jacket, thick overshoes, thicker gloves, buff. And a water bottle with Vitargo, I don’t need more at this point. This was one more mistake, as I realize later, reconsidering the race one day after.

From now on, cycling could be fun, real time trialling starts here. “Rolling Hills” as they call it on Big Island, here it is simply the Hardangervidda and just not very steep. As I said, it might be fun, that's what I did best in my training, pushing it, Time Trial, baby! Well, could have been. If it hadn’t been that rainy and cold, at some point I can hardly hold the handlebar, shivering. Team 2 looks like they are beginning to worry about my condition.

Team 2, which is of Susanne 1 (my Susanne, miraculously recovered from her lumbago), Susanne 2 (Uwe´s Susanne, I apologize for this phrase, for dramaturgical reasons I could not resist it) and Marlene, in the car.
Team 1 consists of Uwe and Lukas on motorbike, for now. Without those 5 I would not have survived the day, that’s for sure.

Another 60 km further, race km 110. Geilo. Now it starts to get really serious, at the "major climbs". Meanwhile, the sun came out and the temperature rises. Bad-weather clothing is handed over to Team 2, provisions refilled. I am too exhausted to take care of refuelling; I give instruction to the team that they should force me to eat from now on. In retrospect this was probably one of the major mistakes not to pay attention to food and liquid intake. I know, of course, that it is about is not about being hungry or thirsty but steady supply. Obviously the brain does not always work equally well, too.



As expected, the hills soon turn to pure cruelty, the speed indicator shows a “1” as first digit. However, this time I do feel the tail wind: On top of the third hill, where another 6 km follow up with 4% and thoroughly can break your heart, total despair holds off. On the downhills I even put up new speed records. Seems like I did learn some bike-skills… A short time later I realize that the desperation had not planned at all to stay away, but only to wait. Until Immingfjell. Nasty 10 km with a nasty ascend. I do not know how much, somewhere between 7 and 10%. The pace goes single digit. I give myself to my self-pity. At the top there is still no headwind, but also no familiar face. Where's my support? Further ahead, only a few miles away. They had only decided not to leave a pity-committee at every corner.


At some point the plateau is done, after the last food supply I try to rush the last 30 km through Tessungdal down to T2. Well, at least I try. What promised to be an endless descent soon turns out to be a bumpy mess. The road surface is known to be really bad and the last 20 km feel more like a mountain bike route. Despite constant caution I am seriously worried about my carbon fork. Of course there is no need to honestly worry, but that does not really matter to me anymore.


At last! At last I turn left towards the lawn near our campsite, the second transition area, T2. The speedometer shows something around 9 hours, despite the extended distance that is the same as 2009, thus even a little bit faster. Well, at least a little. Later it occurs to me that the speedometer does not measure breaks but the stopwatch definitely does. The total time for cycling so soon turns out to be quite sobering...

The crew is fully assembled and helps me from the one into the other clothes. Slowly, very slowly do I move, even more slowly do I walk out on the course. Someone tells me that I am on 215th place. I do not care now. I know for almost 8 hours, where I stand.

Running is harder for me than 2009. I resolve to run all 25km to zombie Hill. But it hurts. Arrangement was that the crew, now just one team together in the car, should be waiting for me with supplies about every 2 km. The km-signs, marking the course, appear, but no support car. Immediately my inner monologue switches back to self-pity mode. Later I find out that Susanne had lengthened the support intervals in order to keep me going with fewer breaks. I had in fact begun to abuse the food intake to extensive talking and walking breaks. I personally think it's perfectly legitimate... I feel completely powerless, with sore legs and back. And then, at km 8, a new problem shows up. Unknown to me and very uncomfortable. An iron rule commands, never, NEVER to do any nutrition experiments in a race situation. Never try new stuff, never in the race. Completely unprofessional, I’d never do such thing, not me. For years I rely on my Squeezy Gel, they all have the same ingredients, there should be no danger. Well, that’s what I thought. To make it short: the new “tomato“ flavour, which is quite a revelation when you can no longer bear all the sweet stuff (the night after racing Kalmar in 1997 I even dreamed of the provided Energikakan!), obviously consists of something different, which, in conclusion, forces me to look for a hidden access to the forest. Not easy when you are on a road between mountains and lake. In total I was forced to take three breaks that way, which cost time and make me decide to abstain from eating. Of course this is not reasonable, but obviously I had given up reason hours before.


A few km further someone is running up from behind, identified by the race number as 96, Alessandra. We run together for a while, pushing each other, silent and suffering, tiny hills on the banks of Tinnsjøen hurt. Later, in the Rjukan valley, we start talking a little about the rest of the course, which is still ahead of us, and then I can no longer keep up. Later I find out that Alessandra Perbellini had before Norseman raced the Marathon des Sables this April. Well, different level then.

There is one thought that finds its way into my mind more and more often: What if this challenge is just too big for me and that the white shirt simply is the most I could reach? The genetic limit in a way. I am beginning to get afraid of the answer. The real border, is this it?

Painfully I reach Rjukan and stand in front of Zombie Hill. Uwe and Lukas, team 1, will accompany me from here, now on foot. It is steep, steep and long. Bend after bend, never ending. We are cheered from almost every oncoming car. Fortunately, I do have quite entertaining accompaniment, but in the end it took 1.5 to walk those 7 km up to the table of destiny at the turnoff to Gaustablikk. A quick chat with the crew, looking pretty much freezing, a little food added and further on, turning left. Will I ever know how the road to Stavsro looks like?


In 2009 I came back to running at this point, after hours of marching. Today it's different. A short try, again with Marlene by my side, ends with the familiar pain. Achilles tendon, you're still there! So we decide not to run but to walk up to the few competitors still in the race. Slowly fun comes back. 3 x 3.5 km march gives a lot of time to chat. We actually overwalk some athletes who are in even worse shape than I am. In between, we are stretching our fists in the direction of Gaustatoppen and swear at him, who, although dramatically illuminated by the setting sun, looks down on us bored and maliciously.

It is dark and cold. The athletes on the track are reduced to points of light that emerge from the woods, then, approaching, evolve to silhouettes first, then, in the corner of the eye, to small groups of real people before they disappear again until we meet again on the next lap. At last we reach the final turning point where the lonely crew try to keep themselves warm at an open fire. I'm not sure who of us deserves more pity. This Norseman crew bears a lot, just to enable us to do this crazy race.


One km before the finish Uwe emerges from the dark, carrying the pirate flag, which he had assembled quickly at the parking lot. We'd actually planned to put it up at the summit. Thus, the final meters become a triumphal march; the four of us approach to the finishing line on the pitch-dark parking lot in front of Gaustablikk Hotel, where Susanne 1 and 2 are waiting. After 18:53 I cross the finish line, to complete the hardest, physically and mentally exhausting Ironman of my life. On the way back to the campsite in Austbygde, I’m so tired that I talk nothing but nonsense fall asleep every time no one appeals to me.

It is more than seven weeks ago now, that I almost despaired of the Hardangervidda and even more of Immingfjell. Despaired of the weather, of the cruel distance, of myself. Questions remain: Did I train wrong? Did I train enough? Do I have a chance to ever reach the Gaustatoppen and to win a black shirt? Is that just a different league?
Susanne 1, coach MB_A and I draw get different results on this. I just hope once that mine is the more correct, because I'm the only one of us, who knows me from the inside. My result is quite similar to Jørgen Melaus prophecy on the day after: "I think you will come back."


I will give it another try. Only one. The date is not in my hand. This horrific, brutal, heart-breaking race is simply too beautiful not to come back.


P.S.
There is yet another thing: At the award-ceremony on the next day, I had a short chat with Susanne 3, record-winner Susanne Buckenlei. Much later I realized that I forgot to congratulate her victory record. I do regret this but here it is: Herzlichen Glückwunsch, Susanne.

P.P.S.
And thanks to Susanne 1 and 2 and Marlene, Luke, and Uwe. Again: I would not have survived without you.