Day 55: Returning, Recovering, and Refusing to Quit

A Wake-Up Call Without an Alarm

Day 55 began in a way that should’ve gone wrong, but somehow didn’t. It was a strange morning; I remember the feeling of swirling anxiety in my stomach as I lay in bed, realizing I had forgotten something crucial. I forgot to set my alarm last night, yet my body woke up on its own, right on time, like it knew I had responsibilities waiting for me. No cold shower this morning, no slow ritual, but at least I made the bus. And I needed to, because today I had early supervision duty, which carries its own weight of responsibility and expectation. It felt like a miraculous coincidence that my internal clock was still in tune with my daily obligations.

On the way to school, I slipped into my breathing routine. The rhythm was comforting and grounding. The Wim Hof method on the bus has become one of the few constants in these chaotic weeks that stretch out like an unending sea of unpredictability. Every inhale sharpens my focus, bringing clarity like a fresh breeze through the fog of my mind. Every exhale clears the mental clutter that often accumulates. By the time I stepped off the bus, I felt centered again, almost as if I'd been recharged, ready for whatever Thursday wanted to throw at me, even if it was just more of the same daily grind.

A Day Pulled in Every Direction

Thursdays always carry a strange energy with them. Calm in the morning when the world is still waking up, but the deeper you get into the day, the more the chaos builds like someone loosening a tightly wound spring. The first sessions were smooth, almost routine, rolling out like a well-rehearsed script. But as the final stretch approached, as the clock ticked away, the behavior issues showed up, as expected. Students appeared exhausted, unfocused, and irritated. Most schools are on holiday this week, but ours isn’t, and it felt as if that unrelenting pressure in the air pressed down on everyone, filling the atmosphere with frustration.

I didn’t get much time for blog work today, but I wrapped up almost all my tasks, crossing off items from my list one by one. Each tick felt like a small victory, a reminder that progress can happen even amidst chaos. The plan is to finish the remaining ones over the weekend when I can find the quiet space needed for focused thinking. It’s a balancing act, and I must be diligent to not let it slip away.

We were supposed to leave about an hour early today, a small reprieve that would have allowed for a moment to breathe. But because I had end-of-day supervision, I had to stay back to make sure the last students left safely. It’s something I take seriously, the responsibility of ensuring every child is accounted for, but in turn, it meant I only left about 30 minutes earlier than usual, not ideal, but still something. It’s a small compromise in the grand scheme of things, and I carried that burden with a resigned acceptance.

When I got home, I finally took the cold shower I missed in the morning, letting the icy water rejuvenate my tired body. Prepared my food with a sense of accomplishment. I took a nap. But… I overslept. Woke up late for wrestling practice, that nagging feeling of disappointment clawing at my insides. And just for a moment, I felt that old temptation to skip training whispering in my mind like a siren’s call, reminiscing of easier days when skipping would be justified.

But no, I couldn’t do that. Resilience is a choice, and I told myself I had to train today, no matter what. This resolve burned in me, a flickering flame against the backdrop of my slow fatigue.

The problem? I wouldn’t make it to wrestling on time. So I made a decision: Jiu-Jitsu at 9 PM instead. It wasn’t an ideal compromise, but it was a better option than abandoning my commitment altogether.

Not the safest choice for my rib, but skipping entirely wasn’t an option. I was determined to follow through and push my limits, even understanding the risk involved.

Where the Fight Really Happened

The Jiu-Jitsu session reminded me just how rusty I still am. Warm-up was short, 10 minutes, nothing compared to wrestling, which often makes one push harder and think faster. A bit of stretching, and then straight into sparring, where everything becomes a blur of motion and strategy.

Eight of us on the mat. My heart raced as I prepared; the air thick with anticipation. Five-minute rounds. One-minute rests, that tight rhythm and pressure all around me. Different partners each time, most were heavier, most were more experienced. I even rolled with the Jiu-Jitsu coach and the Muay Thai junior coach, who both pushed me to my limits.

And I… lost. A lot. It was a humbling experience, more challenging than I’d anticipated.

I think around ten losses in total. One win. Two draws. A disappointing ratio, to say the least. Every time I managed to pull someone down, I froze, not knowing the next step, lacking the technical chain that separates beginners from fluid fighters. It was a frustrating realization that I needed not just the strength, but the strategy and finesse that so many seem to possess.

But they told me something I needed to hear: “You’ve got the heart. You’ve got the stamina. You just need more technique.” It was a small comfort amidst the struggle, a reminder that development is a gradual process, and perseverance is what will ultimately pave the way.

That meant something; it resonated, in that moment I recognized the journey ahead.

By the end, my rib was aching again, a familiar discomfort, and the session stretched past an hour into nearly 1 hour and 25 minutes. I walked out exhausted but alive, like I had stepped back into a part of myself I’d been missing these past two weeks. It was a bittersweet victory, knowing that just showing up is a form of progress.

I went home half-asleep on my feet, my mind still buzzing with the chaos of the day. I skipped the late-night grocery run, prioritizing rest over routine. Took another cold shower, feeling the chill wash over me, ate something small, and finally collapsed into bed, hoping to drift off into a restful ignorance.

The Lesson

Today reminded me that discipline isn’t always glamorous. Sometimes it’s waking up without an alarm. Sometimes it’s dragging your tired body to a late-night class you weren’t prepared for. Sometimes it’s losing over and over again and still showing up for the next round, despite the exhaustion and the doubt that tries to creep in.

Progress isn’t only measured in wins. It’s measured in effort. It’s measured in showing up, time and time again. It’s measured in refusing to negotiate with excuses, no matter how convincing they may sound.

Looking Ahead

My plan is to continue easing back into training, carefully testing the rib day by day, learning to listen to what my body is telling me. If it allows, I’ll build back toward full sessions soon, with a mindful approach to my recovery and growth.

The weekend will be for recovery, revision sheets, and resetting my routine, bringing clarity to my objectives. And next week, the comeback continues, like the breaking dawn after a long night.

Day 55 Lesson

Today taught me that grit isn’t loud. It isn’t the roar of champions; it’s quiet, subtle, and sometimes it looks like losing ten times before you win once. It’s the decision to keep moving even when the results don’t match the effort yet. It’s trusting that technique will come, strength will return, and consistency will always pay off, just not always immediately.

Day 55 complete. The road continues.

👉 How do you stay motivated when progress feels slow or invisible?