Day 41: Pain, Patience, and the Power of Listening to Your Body

Waking Up Already Exhausted

Day 41 technically started in the middle of the night. The clock hands moved slowly, and I kept waking up from sharp, stubborn pain on my ribs and side. The aftermath of yesterday’s boxing session. Every time I turned, it felt like someone poked a bruise that wasn’t ready to be touched. At first, I thought it would fade after a few minutes… but nope. It actually got worse by morning, a constant reminder of my efforts in the gym, lingering like an unwelcome guest that just wouldn't leave.

The funny thing is, my upper back and lats were sore too, but that was the good soreness. The kind you earn. The kind that says: Yeah, you trained hard. It represented growth and resilience, a badge of honor, so to speak. But the rib pain? That wasn’t the “earned” kind. That was the “don’t even laugh or breathe too deep” kind, a dissonance in my body, reminding me of my limits.

Still, morning routine doesn’t negotiate. I rolled out of bed and faced the day. Cold shower. The shock of the icy water hit me like a jolt of caffeine, reviving my senses and washing away the cobwebs of sleep. Out the door, the world awaited, indifferent to my pain.

On the way to school, I did my Wim Hof breathing like always, slow, controlled, settling into the rhythm that’s becoming part of me now. Even that hurt a bit today; painful reminders punctuated each inhale, each exhale. Still did it. No such thing as the perfect day; perseverance meant embracing the discomfort.

Trying to Survive a Typical Thursday

Thursdays at school always come with that strange energy. It was palpable in the air, a shared sentiment among the students. They seemed to embody the lethargy of a brewing weekend. Students are mentally halfway home already. It’s the last weekday before the weekend, and they act exactly like that: bored, restless, and ready to be anywhere but their seats. A collective sigh seemed to echo through the halls, each student passing the time until freedom.

Today I had to present the projects the students and I worked on. The start of the day was okay, manageable, even kind of smooth. I tried to engage the class, motivate them with enthusiasm. But as the day moved toward the final sessions, everything went downhill fast. It was as if the weight of the Thursday fatigue pressed down harder with each passing hour.

The students became loud, impatient, and chaotic. Their energy shifted, and it felt contagious. What made it worse was how sensitive my ribs were, a reminder of my vulnerability. Raising my voice? Pain. Laughing? Pain. Taking a deep breath? Pain. Even leaning forward or twisting? Pain. I felt like a puppet on strings, maneuvering cautiously, trying to avoid the sharp snaps of discomfort.

It was like my body placed a limit on every small movement, each twist and turn of my torso echoing warnings. I had to act calm even though everything inside me felt tight and irritated. I just kept telling myself, “It’s gonna end, just wait. It always ends.” In a way, it was a mantra born of experience, a reminder that the discomfort would eventually ebb.

And eventually, it did. The final bell rang, a sweet release of tension that swept through the classroom, and I could finally exhale with relief.

Home, Nap… and Even More Pain

After school, I rushed home, eager to escape the chaos of the day. I was drained, physically, mentally, all of it wrapping around me like a suffocating blanket. I crashed immediately, succumbing to the warmth of my bed. But that nap tricked me. I thought I’d wake up slightly better. Instead, the pain slapped me even harder, a shocking realization that I wasn't in the clear.

Standing up hurt. Breathing deeply hurt. A simple action turned into an exercise in endurance; my body felt heavy, unyielding. I contemplated the irony of it all, the very act of resting was supposed to heal, yet here I was, unsettled instead.

And today was supposed to be wrestling and MMA day, a Thursday routine that’s become almost a tradition for me. One of the hardest sessions of the week, but also one of the most satisfying. The fusion of exertion and camaraderie was a high I craved. The thrill of grappling, the rush of adrenaline, all part of the rhythm of my life.

Today though? No chance. Any movement that twists my torso would’ve been torture. A sprawl? Impossible. A takedown? Forget it. Even someone bumping into me would’ve made me see stars, a dizzying reminder that I needed to play it safe.

So I had to make the one decision I absolutely hate making: Skip training. It gnawed at me, a bitter pill to swallow. Not because I’m lazy. Not because I didn’t want to go. But because pushing today would’ve made things worse. I had seen this play out too many times, a vicious cycle of overexertion leading to longer recovery.

It wasn’t a decision I liked, not even a little, but it was the right one, and that was what made it so frustrating. The internal conflict waged on; I wanted to be strong, to push through, yet I had to respect my body’s limits.

The Weirdness of a Thursday Without Training

Skipping training today felt… wrong. It left a hollow feeling inside me. Like something was missing. I’m so used to spending my Thursday evenings sweating, pushing, getting yelled at by the coach, and leaving with my shirt completely soaked. The routine had become a staple in my life, anchoring me through the week.

But instead, I was just… home. Resting. Waiting for time to pass. It felt like I was an outsider looking in on my usual life, and that disconnection was unsettling.

The boredom hit me quickly, creeping in like a shadow. It didn’t feel like a Thursday anymore. So I went out for some night shopping to distract myself. Nothing exciting. Just walking around, getting what I needed, clearing my head a little. It was a simple, mundane task, yet it offered a brief sense of normalcy amidst the unease.

After that, I went back home, ate, and tried to settle into a quiet night. A night I didn’t choose, but one my body forced me into. The stillness was deafening, a loud reminder of my circumstances. I could hear the clock ticking steadily, each second a reminder of the day’s events.

Rest Isn’t Weakness

Day 41 complete. Today wasn’t triumphant, exciting, or intense. But it was important. Amidst all the chaos and discomfort, I found clarity. Sometimes you have to bow out gracefully, to listen to your body when it whispers for a break.

Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is stop before you break. Sometimes strength looks like taking a step back instead of forcing yourself forward. The grind continues. In this journey, it’s about balance, navigating the fine line between ambition and self-care.

👉 How do you handle days when your body says “no” but your mind wants to push anyway? In moments of conflict, where do you find your resolve?