Are You the Man Who Can Cook?

One question opened my kitchen. Twenty years later, my wife’s sport opened a world I never expected to love.

By Ralf

The First Question

The first important question was not very romantic.

“Are you the former husband of S—the man who can cook so well?”

That was what my wife asked me when we first met at an over-30s party in a discotheque. I was single and went there regularly on the third Friday of the month. A Spanish friend introduced us, and my wife already knew something about me because we had people in common.

She talked and talked and talked. I remember thinking: Where does this woman get the air?

Then came the question about my cooking.

I told her, “You must invite me. Then I will come and cook for you.”

That was the beginning.

A few days later, we met again in a restaurant at the harbour in Cuxhaven. The following weekend, we went together to the Altstadtfest in Otterndorf. We did not need ten different dates and a large romantic programme. The story simply moved forward.

On 29 July 2006, we became a couple.

Then I looked inside her kitchen.

Three Forks and One Horrible Knife

She had three knives, three forks, three spoons, three small spoons, three plates and three glasses. There was also one pan and one pot from her mother.

That was more or less everything.

I thought: No. This is not normal.

I brought in my Fissler pans and pots. Then she gave me one of her knives.

It was horrible.

You could write with this knife. It was so blunt that you could probably use it as a pencil without any danger.

Today I have around 45 knives. I have also cut my fingers many times, so perhaps I should not speak too proudly. But a proper knife is a proper knife.

From that moment, the kitchen became my area.

My wife does not need a passport or a visa to enter. The kitchen is not completely outside the Schengen Area. But when I am cooking, I need some personal space around me.

That is important.

When I first opened her refrigerator, there was not much inside. There was milk for muesli, a little cheese, alcohol-free beer and one Kinder Country chocolate bar. Most of the food was energy for sport.

For her, eating was something you did because otherwise you would die. Food was fuel. You ate so you could work the next day, run again and continue with life.

There was a lot of muesli. Sometimes there was ravioli from a tin.

Then she met me.

Today she says that I showed her what food can be. I showed her that going to a good restaurant and eating something special can be an event. It can become a memory.

She once told me, “I love these moments with you.”

She also used to say that she did not like soup. Then I made her a soup.

Now, when I ask what I should cook, she sometimes says, “A very nice soup.”

This is what twenty years can do.

When Forrest Arrived

Before my wife, triathlon meant nothing to me.

I liked football. I did not watch cycling, athletics, swimming or other sports. I did not even properly understand what a triathlon was.

When we became a couple, my wife was mainly running. After about a year, an old bicycle arrived from her parents’ home.

I looked at it and said, “What is this? This is not a normal bicycle.”

She explained that it was a triathlon bicycle. She had ridden it when she was younger. Then she began thinking that perhaps she could do triathlons again.

This was the start of another adventure.

The bicycle was a Cannondale and around twenty years old. It had travelled approximately 30,000 kilometres and still had some very old parts.

I began asking people questions. We looked for another bicycle and found a Stevens machine at a good price through one of my contacts.

That bicycle is called Forrest.

Today my wife and Forrest are one unit. We have improved him carefully. There has been a professional bike fitting, and the chain and sprocket have been changed and treated properly. Everything works together.

At the big events, you see bicycles that look like machines from another planet. They are high-end, beautiful and very expensive.

I have asked my wife, “Do you want a new bicycle?”

She always says no.

“Forrest is good. He runs very well.”

Forrest even stands in our bedroom on a special holder. He is clean, of course.

So my wife has two men in her life.

Forrest and me.

I accept this arrangement.

Goose Thumbs in Glücksburg

For many years, I went to triathlons as the support person.

I was the manager of the woman. I transported the bicycle, organised things, watched and waited.

But I did not feel sport in the way I feel music.

When I saw AC/DC, Fleetwood Mac or Genesis, I got goosebumps. Even today, when I talk about some concerts, I can feel them again.

Sport never did this to me.

I am not naturally a movement-loving person. My wife went off to do the difficult part, and I handled the equipment.

Then we went to Glücksburg.

The atmosphere there was unbelievable. There were three presenters, music, noise, excitement and a complete event built around the athletes. It felt like a festival or a musical. The people were friendly, open and completely involved.

Suddenly I had goosebumps.

Or, as I said in English, “goose thumbs.”

I had so many goose thumbs that weekend. Even when I spoke about it again later, they came back.

Without my wife and her sport, I would never have had this weekend. I would probably never have gone there. I would not have seen this community or understood what these athletes do.

Some participants started early in the morning and were still moving towards the finish late in the evening. When the final people arrived, some felt embarrassed because they were last.

But they had finished.

That was the important thing.

Somebody must come last. Who cares? They were there. They had continued.

My wife completed her half Ironman and came first in her age group.

For me, it was one of the high moments of my life.

Not the highest moment. We must remain realistic.

But very high.

Husband, Manager and Running Reporter

During the race, I have several jobs.

First, I am the husband. Before the start, I tell my wife, “It is okay. You can do this. Do not be too nervous. And if you do not reach the finish, it is also okay. We will still have a very nice weekend.”

Then I become the manager. I must know where the bicycle is, where the equipment is, when she should arrive and where I must stand.

After that, I become the running reporter.

I send detailed WhatsApp updates to our friends. My wife likes it when I report from her sporting events. People can follow almost every step.

In the morning, the reporter works with coffee.

In the evening, he may work with beer.

At Glücksburg, I found Flensburger beer, which is very good. My first beer is still Jever, but Flensburger is close behind.

I also made a correction after one of my videos. I had named the wrong Czech beer. It was original Budweiser, not Pilsner Urquell.

Details are important.

When my wife passes me during the race, I shout. Later, I asked whether she actually sees me.

She said, “I do not see you, but I hear you.”

When I call her name and tell her to run, she knows I am there. She says it pushes her a little.

I like this.

Of course, there are long periods when I cannot see her. During the cycling section, she may be away for around three hours.

What happens inside me during these quiet minutes?

I go back to the hotel.

I make coffee, lie on the bed, switch on the television and set an alarm on my phone.

Then I fall asleep.

When I wake up, the coffee is cold and a completely different film is playing. I never know how the first film ended.

Then the alarm tells me it is time to stand up and return to the transition area.

Supporting a half Ironman is exhausting.

The Influence I Could Not Completely Resist

The event also changed something practical in me.

I had to move quickly between different points on the course. It was warm, and sometimes my breathing became difficult.

I thought: This is not normal. This is not okay.

On Monday morning, I began a diet.

I have successfully resisted becoming a triathlete, but I did not completely resist the influence.

My wife’s sport brought me to new places. It showed me a community I did not know. It gave me an event that created the same physical feeling I normally connect with great music.

It also made me look at myself.

That is already a lot.

What Food Can Be

The influence in our marriage does not move in only one direction.

My wife brought triathlon into my life.

I brought food into hers.

Before we met, food was fuel. Now she understands food as pleasure, discovery and time together.

She has not changed the way I cook very much. Because she does so much sport, she can eat well. She is open to what I prepare.

But she has changed the reason around some of it.

Cooking is not only my hobby or my territory. It is one of the ways I care for her.

When I travel for work, I prepare meals and put them in the freezer. She takes one out, warms it in the microwave and eats it. She puts the plate and cutlery in the dishwasher.

Later, I may reorganise the dishwasher.

I claim that I am the best dishwasher stacker.

My wife has other talents.

If she had complete control of the kitchen for one day, I would have a serious problem. Afterwards, I would not find anything. Plastic boxes would turn over in the dishwasher and fill with water. My best knives might appear inside the machine.

The kitchen would look as if something had exploded.

But I do not tell her how to ride her bicycle. I do not tell her to change her position or use a small folding bike.

The bicycle is hers.

The kitchen is mine.

A good marriage needs love, trust and clear borders.

Living From Step to Step

After twenty years, we still plan our life together.

One person finds an idea. The other begins organising.

My wife may see a journey online and say, “Look at this.”

Then I take over the practical details. I speak with the travel agency. I organise flights, seats with more space for my knees, food and drinks.

We think about future journeys, a mobile home, less working time and the next small adventure.

We live from step to step.

There is always something positive in front of us: another triathlon, some days on an island, a holiday, a journey by ship or a plan that is not yet finished.

We talk together. We plan together. We live together.

Friends sometimes say we are crazy because we still hold hands and kiss in public.

For us, it feels a little like the first day—even after twenty years.

My wife once said that food was only necessary so she would not die.

Now she asks for soup.

I once thought triathlon was simply something other people did.

Now I stand beside the course shouting until she hears me, sending reports, drinking cold coffee and getting goose thumbs.