3 AM in Ibiza.
I'm lying in my hotel bed staring at the ceiling. Not because the bass is thumping over from Pacha or because the full moon is too bright. No, my neck has decided to give me a private performance. Main act: "Symphony of Tension in Minor". It manifests as pounding headaches.
An important shoot starts in three hours. The location is only good in the morning, the model flown in specially from Barcelona.
While trying to find a position that doesn't feel like acute torture, my thoughts wander to what's actually taking such a toll on my body. First, there's this absolutely unergonomic Neanderthal posture while photographing: head stretched forward, shoulders raised, back curved — as if trying not to startle a particularly shy dinosaur. Evolution? Nowhere to be found. I regularly cringe when I see my posture at work in behind-the-scenes videos.
Then there's this backpack. 8 kilos of high-performance photographic equipment. Might not sound heavy, but after a few hours feels like a compact car on your shoulders.
And as if that weren't enough, this underlying mental tension joins the physical strain: Will the weather be right? Is the model having a good day? Is the equipment working perfectly? After all, more depends on this shoot than just a few pretty pictures for the portfolio. There are clients who have expectations. A reputation that could be lost. And of course, the shoot is costing me a lot of money too.
In moments like these, I try to remind myself that pressure is a privilege. Yet my 4 AM self keeps wondering why I put myself through all of this.
4:30 AM.
I surrender to sleeplessness and pull out my "emergency arsenal":
First, the Japanese mint oil from DM. The intense scent not only helps muscles relax but also gives me the refreshing aura of a walking sauna infusion.
Then the stretching exercises. Legs and back need to be stretched. Because I spend most of my time sitting. And that takes its revenge mercilessly. I envy everyone who practices yoga with playful ease. For me, stretching means overcoming resistance every time.
My own pillow — my most faithful travel companion besides the camera — unfortunately didn't survive the luggage check this time. A painful lesson: Better to pack one less pair of pants than to sacrifice sleep comfort.
I bet I'm not the only one who knows these nightly battles. As I lie here in the hotel bed waiting for sunrise, I wonder how other photographers deal with it. Sure, popping Dolormin like Smarties is also a strategy — but probably not the smartest in the long run.