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Verstörte Kindheiten. Schriftenreihe der Cajewitz-Stiftung, Band 1
Begibt man sich mit wachem Blick in ein altes Haus, stösst man unweigerlich auf Spuren seiner früheren Bewohner. Eine behutsame Rekonstruktion legt nicht nur die Schichten der baulichen Auskleidung frei. Vielmehr finden sich die Spuren derer, die in den Mauern des Hauses ihr Leben verbrachten. Die bauliche Wiederherstellung des ehemaligen Jüdischen Waisenhauses in Berlin-Pankow offenbart das Schicksal der Kinder, die hier Zuflucht suchten. Wenn der Restaurator unter hastig übertünchten Deckenelementen eines früheren Betsaals Symbole jüdischen Glaubens freilegt, wird zugleich die Geschichte einer Vertreibung erzählt. Einer Vertreibung von Kindern, denen das Waisenhaus mit seinen schweren Mauern als besonders behüteter Ort erscheinen musste. Die ehemaligen Zöglinge berichten über eine ´´Verstörte Kindheit´´, in der sie gezwungen waren, den Ort zu verlassen, der ihnen Heimat war. Und in der sie mit ansehen mussten, wie ihre verbliebenen Freunde und Lehrer im Holocaust ermordet wurden. So wird aus der Chronik eines Bauwerks die bewegende Lebensgeschichte seiner Bewohner.
Preis: 29.00 EUR
Verstörte Kindheiten. Schriftenreihe der Cajewitz-Stiftung, Band 1 kaufen bei buch.de – Bücher
Kategorie: Buch (dtsch.) > Hardcover/Softcover/Karte > Regionalgeschichte
Artikelnummer: 16120624
Keywords: Deutsche Geschichte / Nationalsozialismus | Endlösung | Berlin / Geschichte (bis 1945) | Auschwitz | Geschichte | Holocaust | Regionalgeschichte | Shoah | Judenverfolgung / Holocaust | Konzentrationslager / Auschwitz | Pankow | …
Manufacturer: BWV Berliner-Wissenschaft
EAN: 9783830515715
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Around the Corner
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Around the Corner
Bild von Wootang01
I woke up at 4 a.m. The sky was still a sweeping shadow outside; and the streets of Yau Ma Tei still slumbered. The only hint of something amiss was the scant attire of the dozen or so passengers waiting on the MTR platform at 4:30.
By the time one started for the perilous crossing between the red and blue trains at Admiralty station, however, it became obvious that a special treat lay in store for whoever dared to journey east on the island line; at the very least, one could guarantee an excruciating ride in a train cabin as packed as cattle car, nary an inch of space to spare inside.
I arrived at Tin Hau station with 20 minutes to spare before the starting gun would, at last, commence a 10km journey that, in my life, has been four years in the making. Disregarding traffic for the sake of shaving a few seconds off my commute, I dashed over to the main library where the CityU delegation would muster; and after laying down my bag, my colleagues and I hastily being shepherded together for a team photo, we all ran as one to the starting line.
The starting line was far away. I didn’t anticipate the almost one kilometer span separating the finish line from the start; neither did I consider the crowds, which, so close to the starting line, had congealed into one immovable, impenetrable force of nature. Around 300 meters from the line, I gave up my futile attempts to wade through the rock. In carving my way through the multitude, and in allowing precious seconds to tick away even before my journey could begin, I could only be patient; and of course, thankful for an opportunity to be a part of this athletic spectacular.
More than two minutes later, I finally crossed the starting line. The race was on! For the next four kilometers, not only would I wend my way through the throng, but I would also power over the granite undulations of the Island Easter Corridor, the lights of which, operating like small stars on this intergalactic highway, lit up my path in pale hues of orange.
I was happy to be running. Indeed, so great was my joy that I let loose a torrent of praise and worship to God, for providing me with two fresh legs on which to run, and a city, gathered together in communion, for which I could pray and give abundant thanks. I’m grateful.
My pace picked up at the 4km turnaround point; and my steps really thundered by the weary herd at around the 7km mark, when, at last, I could spot kilometer posts with regularity. The pack had thinned considerably; it was not a fortuitous time to have feet of stone, but to be fleet of foot; and to watch the crowds trudge along on the other side of the barrier while I whisked myself away, in my mind towards the finish line. The Clif shot that I took fifteen minutes before the race began to kick in, I believe, and, refreshed by the water I had been drinking at the station – in my experience, it pays to slow down enough to drink two full cups at each station – and renewed by prayer, I was in excellent condition.
As I ascended the final acclivity which turns runners sharply from the harbor before plummeting them, as though on a roller coaster track, down alongside Victoria Park, I put what I had left in my legs onto the stones below; everything had to go. 400 meters from the finish, the fans shouting and cheering from the sidelines, I shifted into my highest gear and motored by several competitors; but, as always, there was one who tried to get away, obviously spooked by my lusty pursuit. He ran hard, and I ran with him. Soon enough, in our last gasp duel, we had caught up with another runner. We were on the runway, the homestretch, 150 meters from a well-deserved rest, and my nemesis, whose long legs no doubt proved the difference, proceeded to leave us in his wake; that just left me and him. The other guy screamed and charged headlong towards the end. Despite my entreaties, my body had had enough and wouldn’t cooperate: I finished a second behind him.
My official time was a shade under 41:00; and my chip time will most likely dip below 38:45. The result is surprising because it was faster than I had anticipated. Maybe, if I had known how prodigious my vigor would be, even so early in the morning, I would have woken up earlier to eek out a more advantageous spot at the start of the race so as not to expend so much energy over several kilometers to weave around thousands of other runners; thus, more slivers of seconds could have been mine to dispose of; and that shall definitely be a consideration for next year. For now, I’m happy to have finished the race, to have run well, and to be full of joy in doing so!
Escalator Cheering Section
Bild von Wootang01
I woke up at 4 a.m. The sky was still a sweeping shadow outside; and the streets of Yau Ma Tei still slumbered. The only hint of something amiss was the scant attire of the dozen or so passengers waiting on the MTR platform at 4:30.
By the time one started for the perilous crossing between the red and blue trains at Admiralty station, however, it became obvious that a special treat lay in store for whoever dared to journey east on the island line; at the very least, one could guarantee an excruciating ride in a train cabin as packed as cattle car, nary an inch of space to spare inside.
I arrived at Tin Hau station with 20 minutes to spare before the starting gun would, at last, commence a 10km journey that, in my life, has been four years in the making. Disregarding traffic for the sake of shaving a few seconds off my commute, I dashed over to the main library where the CityU delegation would muster; and after laying down my bag, my colleagues and I hastily being shepherded together for a team photo, we all ran as one to the starting line.
The starting line was far away. I didn’t anticipate the almost one kilometer span separating the finish line from the start; neither did I consider the crowds, which, so close to the starting line, had congealed into one immovable, impenetrable force of nature. Around 300 meters from the line, I gave up my futile attempts to wade through the rock. In carving my way through the multitude, and in allowing precious seconds to tick away even before my journey could begin, I could only be patient; and of course, thankful for an opportunity to be a part of this athletic spectacular.
More than two minutes later, I finally crossed the starting line. The race was on! For the next four kilometers, not only would I wend my way through the throng, but I would also power over the granite undulations of the Island Easter Corridor, the lights of which, operating like small stars on this intergalactic highway, lit up my path in pale hues of orange.
I was happy to be running. Indeed, so great was my joy that I let loose a torrent of praise and worship to God, for providing me with two fresh legs on which to run, and a city, gathered together in communion, for which I could pray and give abundant thanks. I’m grateful.
My pace picked up at the 4km turnaround point; and my steps really thundered by the weary herd at around the 7km mark, when, at last, I could spot kilometer posts with regularity. The pack had thinned considerably; it was not a fortuitous time to have feet of stone, but to be fleet of foot; and to watch the crowds trudge along on the other side of the barrier while I whisked myself away, in my mind towards the finish line. The Clif shot that I took fifteen minutes before the race began to kick in, I believe, and, refreshed by the water I had been drinking at the station – in my experience, it pays to slow down enough to drink two full cups at each station – and renewed by prayer, I was in excellent condition.
As I ascended the final acclivity which turns runners sharply from the harbor before plummeting them, as though on a roller coaster track, down alongside Victoria Park, I put what I had left in my legs onto the stones below; everything had to go. 400 meters from the finish, the fans shouting and cheering from the sidelines, I shifted into my highest gear and motored by several competitors; but, as always, there was one who tried to get away, obviously spooked by my lusty pursuit. He ran hard, and I ran with him. Soon enough, in our last gasp duel, we had caught up with another runner. We were on the runway, the homestretch, 150 meters from a well-deserved rest, and my nemesis, whose long legs no doubt proved the difference, proceeded to leave us in his wake; that just left me and him. The other guy screamed and charged headlong towards the end. Despite my entreaties, my body had had enough and wouldn’t cooperate: I finished a second behind him.
My official time was a shade under 41:00; and my chip time will most likely dip below 38:45. The result is surprising because it was faster than I had anticipated. Maybe, if I had known how prodigious my vigor would be, even so early in the morning, I would have woken up earlier to eek out a more advantageous spot at the start of the race so as not to expend so much energy over several kilometers to weave around thousands of other runners; thus, more slivers of seconds could have been mine to dispose of; and that shall definitely be a consideration for next year. For now, I’m happy to have finished the race, to have run well, and to be full of joy in doing so!
My Official Time
Bild von Wootang01
I woke up at 4 a.m. The sky was still a sweeping shadow outside; and the streets of Yau Ma Tei still slumbered. The only hint of something amiss was the scant attire of the dozen or so passengers waiting on the MTR platform at 4:30.
By the time one started for the perilous crossing between the red and blue trains at Admiralty station, however, it became obvious that a special treat lay in store for whoever dared to journey east on the island line; at the very least, one could guarantee an excruciating ride in a train cabin as packed as cattle car, nary an inch of space to spare inside.
I arrived at Tin Hau station with 20 minutes to spare before the starting gun would, at last, commence a 10km journey that, in my life, has been four years in the making. Disregarding traffic for the sake of shaving a few seconds off my commute, I dashed over to the main library where the CityU delegation would muster; and after laying down my bag, my colleagues and I hastily being shepherded together for a team photo, we all ran as one to the starting line.
The starting line was far away. I didn’t anticipate the almost one kilometer span separating the finish line from the start; neither did I consider the crowds, which, so close to the starting line, had congealed into one immovable, impenetrable force of nature. Around 300 meters from the line, I gave up my futile attempts to wade through the rock. In carving my way through the multitude, and in allowing precious seconds to tick away even before my journey could begin, I could only be patient; and of course, thankful for an opportunity to be a part of this athletic spectacular.
More than two minutes later, I finally crossed the starting line. The race was on! For the next four kilometers, not only would I wend my way through the throng, but I would also power over the granite undulations of the Island Easter Corridor, the lights of which, operating like small stars on this intergalactic highway, lit up my path in pale hues of orange.
I was happy to be running. Indeed, so great was my joy that I let loose a torrent of praise and worship to God, for providing me with two fresh legs on which to run, and a city, gathered together in communion, for which I could pray and give abundant thanks. I’m grateful.
My pace picked up at the 4km turnaround point; and my steps really thundered by the weary herd at around the 7km mark, when, at last, I could spot kilometer posts with regularity. The pack had thinned considerably; it was not a fortuitous time to have feet of stone, but to be fleet of foot; and to watch the crowds trudge along on the other side of the barrier while I whisked myself away, in my mind towards the finish line. The Clif shot that I took fifteen minutes before the race began to kick in, I believe, and, refreshed by the water I had been drinking at the station – in my experience, it pays to slow down enough to drink two full cups at each station – and renewed by prayer, I was in excellent condition.
As I ascended the final acclivity which turns runners sharply from the harbor before plummeting them, as though on a roller coaster track, down alongside Victoria Park, I put what I had left in my legs onto the stones below; everything had to go. 400 meters from the finish, the fans shouting and cheering from the sidelines, I shifted into my highest gear and motored by several competitors; but, as always, there was one who tried to get away, obviously spooked by my lusty pursuit. He ran hard, and I ran with him. Soon enough, in our last gasp duel, we had caught up with another runner. We were on the runway, the homestretch, 150 meters from a well-deserved rest, and my nemesis, whose long legs no doubt proved the difference, proceeded to leave us in his wake; that just left me and him. The other guy screamed and charged headlong towards the end. Despite my entreaties, my body had had enough and wouldn’t cooperate: I finished a second behind him.
My official time was a shade under 41:00; and my chip time will most likely dip below 38:45. The result is surprising because it was faster than I had anticipated. Maybe, if I had known how prodigious my vigor would be, even so early in the morning, I would have woken up earlier to eek out a more advantageous spot at the start of the race so as not to expend so much energy over several kilometers to weave around thousands of other runners; thus, more slivers of seconds could have been mine to dispose of; and that shall definitely be a consideration for next year. For now, I’m happy to have finished the race, to have run well, and to be full of joy in doing so!
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Nicht so eilig, nicht so hastig, Weicherts Schulschreibschrift Bücher, Vogel | EUR 1,00 (0 Gebot) Angebotsende: Donnerstag Feb-23-2012 21:12:05 CET Jetzt bieten | Zur Liste beobachteter Artikel hinzufügen |
Buchtrailer: Wenn du es eilig hast, gehe langsam
Der krankmachende Tempo-Trend der letzten Jahre gehört der Vergangenheit an das hat sich endlich auch in den Managementetagen herumgesprochen. Die Anforderungen in Beruf und Privatleben sind aber nicht niedriger; doch wie lassen sich Gelassenheit und modernes Leben miteinander in Einklang bringen? Prof. Dr. Lothar J. Seiwert plädiert für eine ausgewogene Work-Life-Balance und zeigt, wie man dieses Gleichgewicht herstellen kann: durch effektives Zeitmanagement. Mit seinem siebenstufigen Erfolgsprogramm kann jeder seine persönliche Lebensvisionen erarbeiten, konkrete Lebensziele formulieren und geeignete Erfolgsstrategien entwickeln.
Video Bewertung: 4 / 5
SVEN VAN THOM
SVEN VAN THOM – BESUCH VOM KALTEN TRUTHAHN BALCONYTV.DE 26/08/2008 PRÄSENTIERT VON JOHANNA LEUSCHEN Da habe ich vorschnell geschlossen: Besuch vom kalten Truthahn ist alles andere als lecker. Aber dafür hat der Mann mit der Brille sein Versprechen gehalten und trotz Augenblinzeln durch Sonnenschein einen klasse Song bei uns auf dem Balkon dargeboten: Sven van Thom ist unser heutiger Gast. Bereits im zarten Alter von sieben Jahren hat sich Sven musikalisch betätigt. Sie Blockflöte war wohl doch nicht seine Berufung, seine Lehrerin gab nach einer Stunde auf und der entschied sich, Sänger zu werden, wenn er mal groß ist. Und zwar “mindestens so heiß wie Roland Kaiser und Roy Black zusammen, denn die hört er mit seinem Opa jeden Sonntag im Radio.” Doch schnell hat Sven van Thom gemerkt, dass Schlager und Roland Kaier nicht so heiß sind, wie er einst dachte, und so hat er musikalisch umgesattelt. Seine Single “Trauriges Mädchen” ist seit dem 22.8. im Handel und am 5.9. kommt Svan van Thoms Debutalbum namens “Phantomschmerz” raus. Ein bisschen Geduld also noch und dann gibt’s Sven in Albumlänge. Mehr Infos gibt’s hier: sven-van-thom.artists.warner.de www.myspace.com Bis morgen!
Video Bewertung: 4 / 5
Schöne Hastily Photos
Einige tolle hastily Bilder:
Tin Hau
Bild von Wootang01
I woke up at 4 a.m. The sky was still a sweeping shadow outside; and the streets of Yau Ma Tei still slumbered. The only hint of something amiss was the scant attire of the dozen or so passengers waiting on the MTR platform at 4:30.
By the time one started for the perilous crossing between the red and blue trains at Admiralty station, however, it became obvious that a special treat lay in store for whoever dared to journey east on the island line; at the very least, one could guarantee an excruciating ride in a train cabin as packed as cattle car, nary an inch of space to spare inside.
I arrived at Tin Hau station with 20 minutes to spare before the starting gun would, at last, commence a 10km journey that, in my life, has been four years in the making. Disregarding traffic for the sake of shaving a few seconds off my commute, I dashed over to the main library where the CityU delegation would muster; and after laying down my bag, my colleagues and I hastily being shepherded together for a team photo, we all ran as one to the starting line.
The starting line was far away. I didn’t anticipate the almost one kilometer span separating the finish line from the start; neither did I consider the crowds, which, so close to the starting line, had congealed into one immovable, impenetrable force of nature. Around 300 meters from the line, I gave up my futile attempts to wade through the rock. In carving my way through the multitude, and in allowing precious seconds to tick away even before my journey could begin, I could only be patient; and of course, thankful for an opportunity to be a part of this athletic spectacular.
More than two minutes later, I finally crossed the starting line. The race was on! For the next four kilometers, not only would I wend my way through the throng, but I would also power over the granite undulations of the Island Easter Corridor, the lights of which, operating like small stars on this intergalactic highway, lit up my path in pale hues of orange.
I was happy to be running. Indeed, so great was my joy that I let loose a torrent of praise and worship to God, for providing me with two fresh legs on which to run, and a city, gathered together in communion, for which I could pray and give abundant thanks. I’m grateful.
My pace picked up at the 4km turnaround point; and my steps really thundered by the weary herd at around the 7km mark, when, at last, I could spot kilometer posts with regularity. The pack had thinned considerably; it was not a fortuitous time to have feet of stone, but to be fleet of foot; and to watch the crowds trudge along on the other side of the barrier while I whisked myself away, in my mind towards the finish line. The Clif shot that I took fifteen minutes before the race began to kick in, I believe, and, refreshed by the water I had been drinking at the station – in my experience, it pays to slow down enough to drink two full cups at each station – and renewed by prayer, I was in excellent condition.
As I ascended the final acclivity which turns runners sharply from the harbor before plummeting them, as though on a roller coaster track, down alongside Victoria Park, I put what I had left in my legs onto the stones below; everything had to go. 400 meters from the finish, the fans shouting and cheering from the sidelines, I shifted into my highest gear and motored by several competitors; but, as always, there was one who tried to get away, obviously spooked by my lusty pursuit. He ran hard, and I ran with him. Soon enough, in our last gasp duel, we had caught up with another runner. We were on the runway, the homestretch, 150 meters from a well-deserved rest, and my nemesis, whose long legs no doubt proved the difference, proceeded to leave us in his wake; that just left me and him. The other guy screamed and charged headlong towards the end. Despite my entreaties, my body had had enough and wouldn’t cooperate: I finished a second behind him.
My official time was a shade under 41:00; and my chip time will most likely dip below 38:45. The result is surprising because it was faster than I had anticipated. Maybe, if I had known how prodigious my vigor would be, even so early in the morning, I would have woken up earlier to eek out a more advantageous spot at the start of the race so as not to expend so much energy over several kilometers to weave around thousands of other runners; thus, more slivers of seconds could have been mine to dispose of; and that shall definitely be a consideration for next year. For now, I’m happy to have finished the race, to have run well, and to be full of joy in doing so!
To Central
Bild von Wootang01
I woke up at 4 a.m. The sky was still a sweeping shadow outside; and the streets of Yau Ma Tei still slumbered. The only hint of something amiss was the scant attire of the dozen or so passengers waiting on the MTR platform at 4:30.
By the time one started for the perilous crossing between the red and blue trains at Admiralty station, however, it became obvious that a special treat lay in store for whoever dared to journey east on the island line; at the very least, one could guarantee an excruciating ride in a train cabin as packed as cattle car, nary an inch of space to spare inside.
I arrived at Tin Hau station with 20 minutes to spare before the starting gun would, at last, commence a 10km journey that, in my life, has been four years in the making. Disregarding traffic for the sake of shaving a few seconds off my commute, I dashed over to the main library where the CityU delegation would muster; and after laying down my bag, my colleagues and I hastily being shepherded together for a team photo, we all ran as one to the starting line.
The starting line was far away. I didn’t anticipate the almost one kilometer span separating the finish line from the start; neither did I consider the crowds, which, so close to the starting line, had congealed into one immovable, impenetrable force of nature. Around 300 meters from the line, I gave up my futile attempts to wade through the rock. In carving my way through the multitude, and in allowing precious seconds to tick away even before my journey could begin, I could only be patient; and of course, thankful for an opportunity to be a part of this athletic spectacular.
More than two minutes later, I finally crossed the starting line. The race was on! For the next four kilometers, not only would I wend my way through the throng, but I would also power over the granite undulations of the Island Easter Corridor, the lights of which, operating like small stars on this intergalactic highway, lit up my path in pale hues of orange.
I was happy to be running. Indeed, so great was my joy that I let loose a torrent of praise and worship to God, for providing me with two fresh legs on which to run, and a city, gathered together in communion, for which I could pray and give abundant thanks. I’m grateful.
My pace picked up at the 4km turnaround point; and my steps really thundered by the weary herd at around the 7km mark, when, at last, I could spot kilometer posts with regularity. The pack had thinned considerably; it was not a fortuitous time to have feet of stone, but to be fleet of foot; and to watch the crowds trudge along on the other side of the barrier while I whisked myself away, in my mind towards the finish line. The Clif shot that I took fifteen minutes before the race began to kick in, I believe, and, refreshed by the water I had been drinking at the station – in my experience, it pays to slow down enough to drink two full cups at each station – and renewed by prayer, I was in excellent condition.
As I ascended the final acclivity which turns runners sharply from the harbor before plummeting them, as though on a roller coaster track, down alongside Victoria Park, I put what I had left in my legs onto the stones below; everything had to go. 400 meters from the finish, the fans shouting and cheering from the sidelines, I shifted into my highest gear and motored by several competitors; but, as always, there was one who tried to get away, obviously spooked by my lusty pursuit. He ran hard, and I ran with him. Soon enough, in our last gasp duel, we had caught up with another runner. We were on the runway, the homestretch, 150 meters from a well-deserved rest, and my nemesis, whose long legs no doubt proved the difference, proceeded to leave us in his wake; that just left me and him. The other guy screamed and charged headlong towards the end. Despite my entreaties, my body had had enough and wouldn’t cooperate: I finished a second behind him.
My official time was a shade under 41:00; and my chip time will most likely dip below 38:45. The result is surprising because it was faster than I had anticipated. Maybe, if I had known how prodigious my vigor would be, even so early in the morning, I would have woken up earlier to eek out a more advantageous spot at the start of the race so as not to expend so much energy over several kilometers to weave around thousands of other runners; thus, more slivers of seconds could have been mine to dispose of; and that shall definitely be a consideration for next year. For now, I’m happy to have finished the race, to have run well, and to be full of joy in doing so!
A Dozen Deep at Admiralty Station
Bild von Wootang01
I woke up at 4 a.m. The sky was still a sweeping shadow outside; and the streets of Yau Ma Tei still slumbered. The only hint of something amiss was the scant attire of the dozen or so passengers waiting on the MTR platform at 4:30.
By the time one started for the perilous crossing between the red and blue trains at Admiralty station, however, it became obvious that a special treat lay in store for whoever dared to journey east on the island line; at the very least, one could guarantee an excruciating ride in a train cabin as packed as cattle car, nary an inch of space to spare inside.
I arrived at Tin Hau station with 20 minutes to spare before the starting gun would, at last, commence a 10km journey that, in my life, has been four years in the making. Disregarding traffic for the sake of shaving a few seconds off my commute, I dashed over to the main library where the CityU delegation would muster; and after laying down my bag, my colleagues and I hastily being shepherded together for a team photo, we all ran as one to the starting line.
The starting line was far away. I didn’t anticipate the almost one kilometer span separating the finish line from the start; neither did I consider the crowds, which, so close to the starting line, had congealed into one immovable, impenetrable force of nature. Around 300 meters from the line, I gave up my futile attempts to wade through the rock. In carving my way through the multitude, and in allowing precious seconds to tick away even before my journey could begin, I could only be patient; and of course, thankful for an opportunity to be a part of this athletic spectacular.
More than two minutes later, I finally crossed the starting line. The race was on! For the next four kilometers, not only would I wend my way through the throng, but I would also power over the granite undulations of the Island Easter Corridor, the lights of which, operating like small stars on this intergalactic highway, lit up my path in pale hues of orange.
I was happy to be running. Indeed, so great was my joy that I let loose a torrent of praise and worship to God, for providing me with two fresh legs on which to run, and a city, gathered together in communion, for which I could pray and give abundant thanks. I’m grateful.
My pace picked up at the 4km turnaround point; and my steps really thundered by the weary herd at around the 7km mark, when, at last, I could spot kilometer posts with regularity. The pack had thinned considerably; it was not a fortuitous time to have feet of stone, but to be fleet of foot; and to watch the crowds trudge along on the other side of the barrier while I whisked myself away, in my mind towards the finish line. The Clif shot that I took fifteen minutes before the race began to kick in, I believe, and, refreshed by the water I had been drinking at the station – in my experience, it pays to slow down enough to drink two full cups at each station – and renewed by prayer, I was in excellent condition.
As I ascended the final acclivity which turns runners sharply from the harbor before plummeting them, as though on a roller coaster track, down alongside Victoria Park, I put what I had left in my legs onto the stones below; everything had to go. 400 meters from the finish, the fans shouting and cheering from the sidelines, I shifted into my highest gear and motored by several competitors; but, as always, there was one who tried to get away, obviously spooked by my lusty pursuit. He ran hard, and I ran with him. Soon enough, in our last gasp duel, we had caught up with another runner. We were on the runway, the homestretch, 150 meters from a well-deserved rest, and my nemesis, whose long legs no doubt proved the difference, proceeded to leave us in his wake; that just left me and him. The other guy screamed and charged headlong towards the end. Despite my entreaties, my body had had enough and wouldn’t cooperate: I finished a second behind him.
My official time was a shade under 41:00; and my chip time will most likely dip below 38:45. The result is surprising because it was faster than I had anticipated. Maybe, if I had known how prodigious my vigor would be, even so early in the morning, I would have woken up earlier to eek out a more advantageous spot at the start of the race so as not to expend so much energy over several kilometers to weave around thousands of other runners; thus, more slivers of seconds could have been mine to dispose of; and that shall definitely be a consideration for next year. For now, I’m happy to have finished the race, to have run well, and to be full of joy in doing so!
Nightingale by Moonlight
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Nightingale by Moonlight
Bild von DeeJayTee23
A little bit of Lens Flare in this shot, but this image was quite hastily made. The moon was so bright, and this little creature was happily calling a mate elsewhere in the night
Kensington Badge
Bild von mightyohm
Brutal engineering
Bild von timmenzies
Snow highlights the clumsiness of the local civil engineering. Functional, not beautiful, structures hastily erected here at the edge of the world.
1917 HASTILY Abandoned ITALIAN camp at CIVIDALE
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Virus-Wahn: Über die Viren Märchen und das große Geschäft.! (Teil1von2)
Michael Vogt im Gespräch mit Dr. med. Claus Köhnlein über die Märchen von den Viren und das ganze große Geschäft. Die Hypothesen der Eliten aus Wissenschaft, Politik und Medien sind faktisch nicht belegbar und höchst widersprüchlich. Zugleich werden alternative Erklärmodelle beziehungsweise in Frage kommende Ursachen beschrieben, die etwa auf Drogen, Medikamente, Mangelernährung, Streß, Pestizide, Schwermetalle etc. abheben. All dies kann das Immunsystem schwer schädigen oder gar völlig zerstören – und ist genau dort anzutreffen, wo sich auch die Opfer befinden, denen man vorschnell den Schweinegrippe, Vogelgrippe-, SARS- oder Hepatitis-C-Stempel aufdrückt, um glauben zu machen, man wisse, daß es sich hier um Virus-Erkrankungen handelt. Publikationen: Torsten Engelbrecht/Claus Köhnlein, Virus-Wahn: Schweinegrippe, Vogelgrippe (H5N1), SARS, BSE, Hepatitis C, AIDS, Polio. Wie die Medizin-Industrie ständig Seuchen erfindet und auf Kosten der Allgemeinheit Milliarden-Profite macht Claus Köhnlein, Virus-Wahn, DVD House of Numbers. Die AIDS-Verschwörung, DVD 2011 Link : www.alpenparlament.tv
Mein Motto: Wer abstrakt malen möchte, muss alle Vorstellungen und Begriffe, die der Verstand liefert vergessen. Wie ein Kind und einfach darauf los malen. Beurteilen Sie ihr Werk nicht vorschnell als falsch oder schlecht. Seien Sie mutig und fangen Sie einfach an. Keine Angst vor dem Malen. Es wird ihnen nichts geschehen. Es entsteht nur ein Bild. Einer meiner Lieblingssprüche sind: Die Kunst ist das Fenster, durch das der Mensch seine höhere Fähigkeit erkennt www.lillys-design.de info@lillys-design.de