I never thought running would become part of my creative practice.
For most of my life, music was everything. Late nights tweaking beats. Early mornings finishing visuals. I lived in my headphones, in front of screens, in the pulse of whatever I was making. Running was just something I did when I needed to clear my head. It was solitary, even meditative. But never social.
Then I found Tempohaus.
At first, I was skeptical. A run club with aesthetics? With a “mission”? With Berlin in its DNA? It sounded like a branding experiment. But I showed up. Just once. Just to see.
What I found wasn’t a club—it was a culture. People who cared deeply about form, but even more about meaning. No egos. No pressure to perform. Just the question: What are you running for?
That hit me. Because my work—whether it’s music, art, or design—has always been about intention. And running, I realized, could be that too. A tempo for the body that syncs with the rhythm of the mind.
Now, I lace up after long nights in the studio. Not to escape the work, but to honor it. Running helps me make space for what I’m creating. It clears the noise so the real ideas can come through.
Tempohaus became the first place where my art and my movement felt aligned. Where ritual met rhythm. Where discipline didn’t mean rigidity—it meant freedom.