Since I began the Morgenrot Trail, there's always one time of year that brings certain memories and pressures. Winter.
Autumn and winter have always been my favourite seasons. Winter, with its pristine white, the damp and refreshing snow, the mystical silence it creates by absorbing the sounds of coniferous forests dressed in their purest finery.
*Image by Greg Reese from Pixabay
For as long as I can remember, learning to ski was always my greatest dream. Probably the oldest one that has accompanied me. I remember watching all kinds of ski competitions on television, always dreaming about what it was like to be on those skis, behind those protective goggles, enjoying the caress of the freezing wind on the little exposed skin and the spectacular views from the snowy peaks. One memory that always stays with me is the alpine skiing world championships that took place in Sierra Nevada, Granada, which had to be postponed a year due to lack of snow.
I remember how, years later, while working at the IRAM 30-metre radio telescope, located right on the ski slopes of that same Granada resort, I was finally able to fulfil that dream. I keep special memories of a day of virgin snow, descending my first and only black run, slaloming and enjoying it like never before with my colleague Frederik, on the very slope where, in those world championships, Alberto Tomba — after calling Granada "Africa" for the event's initial suspension — bathed in gold following a historic slalom exhibition.
After that, I believed skiing would be part of my life forever. And it was... Until anxiety, that constricting serpent that suffocates you without mercy, came to me.
My first winter experience in the snow after anxiety came just weeks after panic besieged my mind. I tell this story with all its details in the first part of The Morgenrot Trail. We had gone up the mountain to enjoy a heavy snowfall in Heidelberg. A year earlier, I had driven hours alone with Alma to enjoy a sledding day in the Black Forest. It was a wonderful day whose memories, captured by camera, adorn our walls today. But this time it wasn't the same.
With anxiety, everything changed. Every time we went sledding, I arrived overwhelmed by internal doubts. Would my heart be able to hold up? Was it too much effort? Was I going too fast? Too slow? Were we too far from home? From that year on I was never able to enjoy the snow again. And as you can probably imagine, even less could I ski again. The terror of finding myself on a chairlift, the terror of breathing too hard, of suffering an attack in the middle of the resort, had blocked me for years.
That's why Sunday the 4th of January 2026 brought a very special moment. I had planned to go ice skating with Alma. When we suggested it to her, she didn't think twice. It was clear she wanted to go, and that we were going.
There was no turning back. Anxiety made its presence known. It didn't say much, but it arrived with all those symptoms. Upset stomach, chest tightness, palpitations, dizziness... Anxiety was clear. It wasn't time to go ice skating. No, no, no.
But there was no turning back. I wasn't going to deprive Alma of it. So we headed to the rink. I made the journey under every possible anxiety symptom, but I was completely clear that there was no other option. We had to go.
We arrived, put on our skates, and my dizziness, chest tightness and stomach upset intensified to the maximum. But I laced up my skates and stepped onto the ice. At every moment the panic hit harder and harder. As I moved further from the entrance, even more so. Halfway through the first lap, while taking a breather at the edge, I told myself I would leave after finishing it — that it was enough.
The moment came to pass the entrance again. The heat was suffocating even though we were below zero. I was certain that heat meant a possible heart attack, as my head was spinning and my chest was pounding. I was going to leave. But at that moment something revealed itself within me. Again? New year and everything stays the same? No. This year is going to be different. Let's keep going. This is the same as always.
Stay here and skate.
And so I did.
Joy took hold of me instantly. The suffocating heat had turned into sweat from the movement. I opened my jacket, letting the air caress me. The jaws of terror turned into an indelible smile. I felt the palpitations and Anxiety wanted me to check my pulse, but I didn't need to. No. I was fine. Skating requires effort and with so many layers of clothing, all of this was normal. I was able to enjoy those beats in my chest the way I used to when training seriously. For an hour and a half we enjoyed the ice as a real family. It was a unique moment — of enormous beauty and emotional significance. For the first time in five years I was enjoying a winter sport again.
We all left with so much energy that even in the evening we went to Luisenpark, in neighbouring Mannheim, to walk through a snowy park full of light sculptures and enjoy the night.
But it didn't end there. Two days later, this morning, we woke up to a tremendous snowfall in Heidelberg. A carpet of perfect white on the ground. Without thinking, we headed to the mountain. We walked and climbed to the top, enjoying every step, every breath, every snowflake, the cold, the warmth, the effort, everything.
But life still had another gift in store. Another sign that this year will be the one that brings me back to life. Today I enjoyed the snow and the other day the ice — but what about skiing? Will this be the year? We talked about it and decided not to wait any longer.
I am writing these lines just after booking a hotel room at the foot of the slopes for this weekend.
As you can see, my resolution for this year is clear. Face it, face it, and face it. Not let anxiety take me again. I am going to recover all those sensations and situations that anxiety took from me. And I will do it with complete determination. Because this is my life and this is my Morgenrot.
And this is just one case — mine — because countless people follow the same path to free themselves from the grip of anxiety and fear. They face it, face it, and face it. They push again and again against the doors of that old fortress now barred by their own versions of dread.
But the doors will open. When we have knocked on them so many times that the hinges can no longer hold, they will open and we will recover our life.
And when we enter, we will find it is not the same life it was before — but with the strength and resilience we have gained, we will have forged a much fuller one.
Keep at it. And follow me to read more while we wait for The Morgenrot Trail to be ready to go to print and help thousands of people.