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The Nomad is a series of stories, fascinations, encounters, observations, experiences, joy of the moments by me, Ulrike Reinhard – all around my travels. Stay tuned!

Ulrike Reinhard is The Nomad 🙂


In The Zone

I’m about ten or eleven years old when Gudrun, a girl from our neighborhood, introduces me to basketball. She’s quite a few years older than me and certainly part of the alternative, independent culture movement. She is tall and athletic, with a striking presence. Her blonde hair falls around her shoulders, often unruly – probably because she cuts it herself. I like her a lot and always keep an eye out for her, hoping for the rare moments when she notices me.

“Hey, come here,” she says one afternoon, her deep, vibrant voice pulling me out of whatever I’m doing. She has that kind of voice that commands attention, and when she laughs – a loud, unusual sound – it’s impossible not to join in. I step into her room in her parents’ place, and she tells me about the book she is reading – ‘On The Road’ by Jack Kerouac. I only read it 10 years later or so – and it stayed with me since then. Gudrun isn’t like the other girls in our street. While they dress neatly, Gudrun prefers the “Indian hippie” style, flowing and colorful. She sings beautifully and strums her guitar with ease. Her mother is always smiling and gesturing animatedly, as if reassuring everyone, “Don’t worry about Gudrun. She’s fine, even if she’s a little… different.” That’s how she referred to her daughter’s involvement in the left-wing student movement in Heidelberg.

Gudrun plays basketball in Leimen, a small town south of Heidelberg. Leimen itself isn’t much – a few wineries and a women’s basketball team in the Bundesliga, Germany’s top basketball league. One day, Gudrun asks, “Want to come with me to practice? You are tall, I think you will like playing basketball!” I jumped at the chance. The day we went, she introduces me to Willi Pupp.

Willi turns out to be the heart and soul of the basketball club in Leimen. He’s a grammar school teacher by day but lives and breathes basketball. He demands the same passion and commitment from everyone around him – which later turns out to be a high bar to meet. He’s not tall, but his commanding presence makes up for it. His dark skin, sharp nose, and silver-streaked black hair give him a striking appearance. 

My Early Days

Basketball quickly becomes the centerpiece of my week. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I head to practice, eager and ready. Unlike my teammates, who all live in Leimen and can stroll to the gym, I take the tram and walk the rest – a 40-minute trek each way. It’s a commitment, but I don’t mind. The distance makes it harder to bond with the others. They’re teammates, but not much more. 

The gym echoes with the sharp sound of sneakers on the floor and Willi’s booming voice. “Dribble! Right hand, left hand! Pivot! Faster!” he calls out, his commands cutting through the air as we repeat the drills. Layups, free throws, passing, hook shots – I work on them until they feel like second nature. It isn’t really a drill for me. It was fun – more about discovering my own potential.

Not long after I started, my parents gift me my very own basketball. It quickly becomes my constant companion on every outdoor excursion. I practise a lot and develop a good feel for what I can do with this ball – depending on how fast I throw it, how much pressure or spin I apply, and how long I ‘guide’ the ball with my hand. The ball becomes an extension of my arms and hands – and when I ‘let go’ of it, it feels like a part of me is going with it. And before I know it, I am regularly in the lineup for weekend games, feeling my confidence grow with each match.

Under Willi’s guidance, our youth team thrives. Besides our individual training Willi explains various defense and offense scenarios and we play them through. He reminds us to keep in mind what our opponents might do. Our club has a strong youth program – thanks to Willi Pupp – and together, we achieve incredible outcomes. We become local and regional champions, a testament to the practice and dedication Willi instills in us. 

Those early days on the court shape me – not just as a player but as a person. And every time I step onto that basketball court, I feel truly connected – not just to the team, but to the unfolding journey of the game. It is about where it might lead me, the obstacles I’d encounter, the unexpected moments, and the ways I’d adapt and respond along the way.

The Hidden Curriculum of Basketball

Basketball is a constant in my life throughout my school years, weaving its way into everything I do. Balancing sports and school is a challenge – not just for me, but for my teachers and parents too. Together, we figure out how to make it work.

I’m not just playing for my club team. I’m representing my school, competing on regional and national squads, and even making my debut with our Bundesliga team as one of the youngest players. There are practices, games, and trips, not to mention the national and international basketball training camps I attend. All of this demands significant time away from school.

Basketball always feels more important to me than school. School is a necessity; basketball is my element. Thankfully, my teachers seem to understand that learning isn’t confined to textbooks. They’re supportive, giving me the flexibility I need to pursue my passion. I think it helps that my success brings a bit of prestige to the school. It’s an unspoken exchange – a balance of giving and receiving – that leaves a lasting impression on me.

My parents encourage me as well, but with one condition: I can’t fall behind in my studies. I don’t. I’m no star student, but I hold my own. Math and English come naturally to me, but French and physics? Not so much. One day, my physics teacher, who happens to be a basketball player, calls on me in class. His eyes sparkle with humor as he asks, “Ulrike, do you think you’ll ever understand what physics is all about?”

I laugh, knowing the answer. “Probably not,” I admit with a grin. “But you’ll never be a great basketball player either!” He chuckles, shaking his head. From then on, he never gives me a hard time. I know I have a fan in him. And despite my struggles, I manage to stay afloat. I never fail a year, and that’s enough to keep everything running smoothly.

Basketball, though, is where I truly learn. The game demands team spirit and individual boldness in equal measure. It teaches me resilience, collaboration, and trust – skills that shape how I navigate life. Back then, I didn’t fully realize it. But the court is showing me lessons no classroom ever could.

One moment stands out now, looking back. During a game, everything aligns – the rhythm of the court, the unspoken understanding between teammates, the seamless flow of play. It’s a moment of pure connection. I didn’t know it then, but moments like that taught me something profound about life.

Now, reflecting on those years, I see what it all means. Life, like basketball, is about trusting the flow. Trusting your intuition and letting things play out in their very own way. You can’t grasp the full significance of a moment as it happens. You can only live it, let it unfold, and look back to connect the dots.  

The key, I’ve come to believe, is not to overthink. Don’t try to control everything. Trust yourself, trust the process, and let life play out. That’s what makes life rich, fulfilling, and smooth. It’s what basketball taught me – not just about the game, but about living. 

My Basketball Insights

Even off the court, I am an essential part of the game

In 1979, we won the German Championship trophy, and I am honored as the tournament’s most valuable player. I was benched in the final after reaching the five-foul threshold. This sidelined me during the most critical stretch of an intense game. I had battled fiercely with a fellow national team player, now on the opposing side, in a showdown that pushed both of us to the edge. She – just like me – was benched.

It was a tough moment to leave the court with seven minutes on the clock to play and a narrow lead. No more possibility of defending our narrow lead or scoring another point. But time didn’t allow for worry. Even on the bench I know my responsibility as a leader dion’t end there. Ulla, the player stepping in for me, is overwhelmed and in tears when she realizes the pressure of the moment. Assuming my leadership role, during a timeout, I turn to her and say firmly: “Tears won’t get us the win, Ulla. Shake it off, step up, and finish what we started!”

The words strike a chord. She pauses, blinks back through her tears, and refocuses. Ulla channels that energy onto the court, playing with grit and determination. The team digs deep, keeps its composure, and executes when it matters most. When the final buzzer echoes, we are the German champions. It is the first time we reach the title. It’s overwhelming. 

Leadership isn’t just about playing – it’s about inspiring others to rise to the occasion.

Creating my own space

I vividly recall my first game in the Women’s Bundesliga. I was just 17 or 18 – a rookie stepping  into a court that feels like a different world. It is in Heidelberg, we play against our fiercest rivals. The intensity of the Bundesliga is unlike anything I’d experienced in youth tournaments. Everything feels more refined, more deliberate, and undeniably more serious.

What stands out most from that day is one defining moment – a moment that captures something I carry with me ever since: the ability to create space for myself and break free from limitations. It’s a lesson I learn and internalize during those formative years on the court.

Our coach, Willi Pupp, places me on the left wing when he brought me in. The ball is in our possession, and the offense is in motion. My side of the court is clear except for my defender, who shadows me closely. I bait her with a subtle fake toward the wing, then cut back hard into the paint (that’s the ‘painted’ zone in front of the basket). Seizing the small window I create, I get the ball mid-stride and score two clean points.

That moment isn’t just about scoring. It is about creating something out of nothing, breaking free from what constrains me, and turning opportunity into action. That’s what basketball teaches me as a teenager: how to carve out my own path, even when the odds are tight – a lesson that transcends the court.

To keep pressure at bay

Every year, our school team participates in the “Jugend trainiert für Olympia” (Youth Training for the Olympics) tournament, which means spending a week in Berlin each spring. It is always an exciting time, a special treat for all of us. We fly from Frankfurt to Berlin Tempelhof on a Pan Am flight – the only airline allowed to fly in from the West. Berlin is still divided, an island of freedom surrounded by the former German Democratic Republic (GDR). Most teams stay at the youth hostel on Kluckstrasse, which is still open today, and our coaches are there too.

One evening, I overheard our coach, Gehard Bläsius, speaking to another coach about me. “There’s no one in the entire tournament who can stop her,” he says. “If she’s in her flow, she’s unstoppable!” It is a compliment, of course, but also a potential setup for pressure.

But I never let the pressure get to me. Before every game, I take a few minutes for myself, stepping away from the crowd. I ‘zoom in’ – for lack of a better term. I clear my mind, emptying it completely so that when I step onto the court, I am ‘naked,’ free of distractions or expectations. I don’t think about competition or outcomes – I just followed my own rhythm, syncing it with the rhythm of the game. And the game pulls me in. Trusting my instincts and intuition are the key – no pressure, just the freedom to play.

I carry the same approach into “Jugend trainiert für Olympia”. Together with the team, we have a fantastic run and achieve our greatest success yet, finishing as the third-best school team in Germany.

This approach still helps me today, whether I’m giving a talk or navigating a difficult meeting. Staying present and centered turns potential pressure into a seamless performance.

I am part of something bigger 

Basketball is all about balance: it demands both individual boldness and a deep sense of team spirit. Being a ‘good’ player doesn’t necessarily mean you’re good for the team. In fact, there are plenty of examples that prove the opposite: talented players who focus solely on themselves, prioritizing their own actions over the team’s success. We all see it happening.

To me, being a good player means being a team player. I believe that my success depends on the team, just as much as the team’s success depends on me. When I truly sync with the team, our performance excels – ‘the whole is greater than the sum of its parts’. I experience this time and again: when a teammate has a better chance to score, I pass the ball. If someone is overwhelmed in defense, I step in to support. For me, it’s not about competition; it’s always about collaboration.

I also embrace having great players around me, knowing they inspire and uplift me to be better. It’s never about outshining anyone. It’s always about contributing to something greater than myself.

This mindset teaches me to keep my ego in check and to see the bigger picture. It shows me how my actions serve the greater good – whether for a team, a community, or a company. This principle guides me throughout my life. It shapes the way I approach challenges, relationships, and teamwork, reminding me that the ultimate goal is not personal glory but collective success.

I learn about my flaws 

Basketball quickly and clearly exposes my flaws, guiding me toward the areas where I need to improve. If my passes lack precision, if I make the wrong move, or if I’m a step too slow, it becomes immediately clear – just to give you a few examples. I learn to recognize my flaws, address them, and continually strive to improve. Ignoring them is never an option. I realize that progress starts with accepting my weaknesses and dedicating the time and effort needed to overcome them.

If I can visualize it, I can do it!

I develop the ability to turn visualization into action. The game sharpens my skill to picture where my pass needs to go, choose the right type of throw or create space for my next move. Once I see it in my mind, I can bring it to life on the court.

By visualizing my action or outcome in detail, I mentally rehearse the steps needed to achieve it, boosting confidence and improving performance. This process bridges the gap between intention and execution, helping me to stay focused, make quicker decisions, and adapt effectively in real-time.

100 plus

When you play on an international level you have to give 100 percent or more. That is what I did. And it stayed with me. Whenever I commit to something – no matter if it is personal or business – I am in and I give 100 plus. 

In my worklife this was confusing for your partners, why give more when you get paid for less? I never understood this attitude and I was always stunned when I encountered it.

When the Finish Line Appears

1979 is a year to remember – a year that marks the pinnacle of my basketball journey. We won the German Championships and I solidified my place as a fixed player on our Bundesliga team. By all accounts, it is a time to celebrate.

Yet, deep down, I feel something unexpected. I am tired. Not the kind of tiredness that a good night’s sleep can fix – it is something more. I had just finished school and taken a few months off to figure out what comes next. For the first time in years, I am free to pause and reflect. And what I find, surprises me: I want to slow down.

Basketball had consumed so much of my life. The endless practices, the travel, and the focus on performing were exhilarating but also relentless. Whenever I was with my friends, my mind was on basketball, thinking I should be resting at home or practicing instead of partying or spending time with friends. I start craving something different. I want to play less, to be on the road less, to step out of the constant spotlight. More than anything, I want time – time to explore who I am beyond the court, time to simply be with myself.

It isn’t an easy realization. Basketball has given me so much and shaped so much of who I am. But at that moment, I know I need to listen to what my heart is telling me.

So I sit down with Willi Pupp, my coach, my mentor, someone I respect. I remember the conversation vividly. The words feel heavy on my tongue, but I say them anyway. “I think I need to slow down, Willi. Basketball has been my life, but I’m tired. I need time to figure out what’s next for me.”

His reaction hits me like a wall. He isn’t just displeased – he is baffled, almost offended. His brow furrows deeply as if I’d just said something incomprehensible. “Slow down?” he repeats, his voice tinged with disbelief. “What are you even talking about? You’re at the top of your game. Your career is just starting! You can’t stop now!”

He doesn’t mince words. He makes it clear that he sees my potential, that he has plans for me, and he expects me to follow them. “You need to push forward,” he says firmly, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. “Trust me. I know what’s best for you.”

As he speaks, I feel an ache in my chest, a growing weight that makes it hard to breathe. His words press down on me, and for a moment, I don’t know how to respond. Inside, my thoughts race: Does he not see me? Does he not hear what I’m saying?

I look at him, his face full of conviction, and something shifts in me. A quiet but resolute voice emerges in my mind: Who is he to tell me what to do with my life? It isn’t rebellion; it isn’t anger. It is clear. This is my life, my journey, and this decision is mine to make.

“I can’t do this anymore, Willi,” I finally say, my voice calm but firm. I can see the frustration and disappointment in his eyes. But at that moment, I know it doesn’t matter. At that precise moment, we part ways and our paths never cross again.

Leaving basketball isn’t easy; it feel like I am leaving a part of myself behind. It iss a form of mourning, a deep grief. But honestly, if I hadn’t felt that, it might have been a sign that it was already too late to walk away. After all, It is very liberating. I follow my heart, even though I know that I am stepping into the unknown.

And so, I make my choice. I stop playing basketball. It isn’t the end I had envisioned – if I had ever envisioned one – but it is the beginning of something I desperately need: a chance to discover myself beyond the court.

And that’s what I do. 

It is probably the biggest learning I take away from basketball: To trust my heart when it tells me something has come to an end. 

Looking back it is interesting to see that I kept following this pattern. 

Almost every decade, I step out of something ‘familiar’ and enter the unknown again.  

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