Ultrarunner Recovery Journal – May 5: Lost, Tired, Still Moving

🟢 1. Intro – When Nothing Moves

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Lost Pace – Mental Low and Recovery Day Journal (May 5)

Some days don’t start — they just continue. Like a track stuck on repeat, or a fog you didn’t invite. Today wasn’t about running, or even walking, not really. It was about staying in the moment while everything in me wanted to shut down or escape it.

I didn’t train. I didn’t meditate. I didn’t even pretend to be productive. I just tried to breathe through it. Not every day is a session, a plan, or a win. Some days, the only pace you find is the one you lose.

🟢 2. Night Watch – 2AM Wake-Up

It was around 2:00 AM when I woke up. Not with a jolt — just slowly, like rising out of something I didn’t want to be in. The dream wasn’t a nightmare, but it wasn’t welcome either. Something with cables, sparks, the sense that something was burning and I couldn’t stop it. I tried to pull it out, but the electricity pushed back. I wasn’t scared, just… drained. Like my mind had been fighting something all night.

I stayed in bed for two, maybe three hours. Tried not to think. Then gave up. Took a melatonin tablet — it made things worse, not better. Sleep didn’t return. The dark wasn’t silent, it buzzed.

At 7:00, I finally dozed off again. Two more hours. Not restful. I woke up at 9:00 feeling like I hadn’t slept at all. It wasn’t a new feeling, but it hit harder this time. Maybe because I wanted today to mean something — and now, I was already behind.

🟢 3. Mind Fog – A Day Without Drive

Waking up didn’t feel like waking up. It felt like carrying on. I was conscious, but nothing was sharp. Thoughts moved slow, like dragging a soaked blanket through the hallway of my head.

I sat there for a while. No plans. No intention to train. I thought about running — the way I sometimes think about traveling to a place I know I won’t go. I didn’t even stretch. Breakfast happened around 4AM. Routine without ritual. No excitement. Just input.

I tried to work with ChatGPT — the usual writing, planning, structure. But my head wasn’t there. My energy had no direction. I played some music, hoping to wake something up inside me. Maybe this moment, this journal, is that flicker.

I did manage to go out. Not for a run. Just a slow walk. Before that, I ate. Not because I was hungry. Just because it was time.

🟢 4. Movement – Just a Walk

Around midday, I stepped outside. Not for the air, not for clarity — just because sitting any longer felt like drowning slowly. I slipped on my old Nike Pegasus GTX — the pair that’s walked over 1,000 kilometers with me. Not for running anymore. Just for these moments when the goal is to move without aiming.

The walk was flat, quiet, uneventful. No pace to track, no metrics to beat. I listened to a podcast, more out of habit than interest. It was about politics. I should have known better. The heaviness in the world matched the weight in my body.

I didn’t feel refreshed. Not lighter. Just slightly unstuck. My legs moved. My breath found rhythm. And that was enough — not a run, not a breakthrough. Just enough to keep me from freezing completely.

There was a faint ache in my ankle when I sat back down later. A reminder that even being still leaves traces.

🟢 5. Body Chemistry

My intake today was mechanical, not mindful. Around 4AM, I took my usual stack: VOOP multivitamin, Omega-3 (Ocean Plus), Coledan D3, and PadroVita magnesium. Not because I felt like it would help — just because it’s what I do. A routine that runs even when I don’t.

At midday, I mixed calcium (Altapharma) with creatine. It went down easily, but I didn’t feel any different. Maybe that’s the point. Maintenance isn’t about feeling something. It’s about preventing the crash that comes when you stop.

Dinner was early, around 16:00. My calorie total landed at 2725 — surprisingly under 3000, which felt like a small win after months of overshooting. No bloating today. Maybe the turmeric I’ve been tossing on corn is doing something. Or maybe my gut’s just cooperating for once.

Later in the evening, I took half a Boos+ C-vitamin tablet with Ferro Sanol — iron at night, just as planned. A final attempt to support a body that’s clearly asking for rest, even when it doesn’t know how to take it.

🟢 6. Screens and Silence

The screen is both company and noise. Today, it felt like both. I finished The Punisher — Season 2, final episode. It should’ve felt like closure, but it didn’t. It just… ended. No spark. No sense of payoff.

Later I tried Havoc — Tom Hardy, one of my go-to names when I want to feel immersed. But even he couldn’t hold my attention today. The film felt distant, like it was asking me to care about something I couldn’t reach. Maybe it’s not the film. Maybe I’m just full — of content, of stories, of screens. Maybe my mind was too fogged up to let anything in.

There’s a limit to how much distraction helps. At some point, even the things you love feel flat. That’s when you know it’s not the thing — it’s you.

🟢 7. Reflections – Not Every Day is a Run

Today won’t go on Strava. There’s no pace, no distance, no kudos. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t matter.

Some days are long pauses. Some are shallow breaths. And some — like today — are the weight between two steps. I didn’t train. I didn’t push. But I noticed. I listened. I stayed.

There’s value in naming the low days. In writing them down before they vanish beneath the better ones. It’s easy to write about personal bests and strong intervals. It’s harder to write about eating breakfast at 4AM because you couldn’t sleep, or walking without purpose just to stay alive in your body.

But this is the real log. Not every day is a run — and not every run is forward. Sometimes, it’s a loop. Sometimes, it’s a standstill. Sometimes, it’s getting through a day without unraveling.

🟢 8. Closing – See You Tomorrow, Maybe

There’s no grand lesson here. No ribbon to tie around the day. Just a quiet line drawn under a quiet page.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll run. Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll sleep through the night. Or maybe I’ll wake again at 2AM and sit in silence, writing to myself in the dark.

But this — this moment, this page — is proof that I showed up. Not for a workout. Not for a plan. Just for myself.

See you tomorrow, maybe. If I’m there. If you’re there. If the fog lifts.