Mosh pit very tenderly: As if we were in bubble wrap

When I hear the word mosh pit, I actually quickly run away. Just don't get crushed in a bunch of jumping men. I'm not the tallest, 1.60 meters, the elbows of average-sized men are at the level of my head. In the mosh pit I wouldn't be able to see anything between all the upper bodies and I would have armpits on my face.

The word mosh stands for strong emotions, for chaos and for letting everything out - which sounds pretty tempting and like the freedom that I sometimes miss in everyday life. When do you ever shout around, let the negative energy flow and instead create a positive, shared moment? Plus, the first rule of any mosh pit was: If someone falls, they immediately help them up. Nevertheless, I still didn't dare to take part.

Then I went to my favorite festival. In the afternoon, the Berlin hip-hop band PA69, known for songs like “Beer Tornado” and for their penchant for inciting the crowd to form mosh pits, will be playing.

It's packed on the main floor when the three singers storm onto the stage in their pink ski masks. A yellow sun dances next to them, reminiscent of the Teletubbies. The next hour feels like a fever dream. The whole floor shouts “Fuck the AfD” together, middle fingers fly through the air. It doesn't take long before the first mosh pit opens.

“But somehow there are still too many men in the middle,” says one of the pink balaclavas unexpectedly into the microphone. That's right, I didn't even question the fact that my male friends were once again happily jumping around in the middle while I watched from a safe distance. “FLINTA* mosh pit!” the singer calls out to the crowd. We're looking at something I've never heard of before: a mosh pit without quirks - we want to be there.

My friends and I quickly hand our bags to the men and weave our way through the crowd towards the stage. A circular spot opens up in the middle and the dusty floor becomes visible.

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As the beat drops, we jump towards each other, our bodies collide against each other, we hop crowded in circles, the mass moves counterclockwise like a whirlpool.

Still, the pushing feels gentle, as if we were wrapped in bubble wrap. I don't get elbows in the skull or get trapped. And best of all, I can see further than the nearest t-shirt because all the big men have to stand on the sidelines and watch. I see broadly grinning faces all the way to the other end of the crowd.

J. and I hold onto each other's hands as we jump up and down, barely catching our breath from laughing. The other day we were sitting together in a bobsleigh on a summer toboggan run in the Alps and we screamed similarly as we rushed downhill. I at the front said “brake, brake”, J. at the back laughed his head off, the adrenaline rushed through our bodies and we through the tight curves. This mosh pit triggers a similar rush within us.

“I want everything XXL, we are the biggest band in the world,” bellows the singer. Our faces are dirty from the dust kicked up by our feet, our legs two skin tones darker. I didn't know that a mosh pit XXL was so much fun.