The Recomp Chronicles

Category: Uncategorized

  • A Week Where Things Actually Worked

    Well, that was unexpected.

    After the previous week’s allergy/possible-cold/sleep-deprivation circus, I figured this week would be more of the same. Instead, things just kinda worked.

    Gym days? Hit ’em. Tuesday’s run? 4K, non-stop, no issues.

    Thursday was an off day, then Saturday rolled around and I knocked out a 5K. Again, non-stop, no problems; no cramps, no calves threatening mutiny, no dramatic internal monologue about life choices around mile two. Well, no serious internal monologues, I’m still not one of the “OMG I’m running!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” people.

    So with that small but encouraging win on the board, I’m starting a 10K training program this coming week. The goal isn’t anything heroic, just building consistency and working toward a 10K around the one-hour mark by mid-June.

    After the last few months, consistency is the real goal. My diet has been pretty on point, so with the gym and running consistency, I hope to see the recomp engine fire up again.

    Lift, Run, Recover, Repeat.

    Still lifting. Still losing. Still showing up. Usually.

  • Back At It, Mostly

    Last week started strong. Monday? Nailed it. Tuesday? Still going. Wednesday? Sore, but in that satisfying “oh right, this is what lifting feels like” kinda way. And then somewhere around Wednesday night, my body decided to file a formal complaint.

    Was it allergies? The start of a cold? Delayed-onset “you haven’t trained consistently in months, genius” syndrome? Hard to say. All I know is my head felt fuzzy, my energy tanked, and my immune system seemed to be flipping through the employee handbook looking for the section titled “Refuse Additional Labor.”

    Add then the dogs decided to host multiple 2:30 a.m. emergency bathroom conferences and my sleep officially left the building.

    So by Thursday, I wasn’t sore in a heroic way. I was tired in a “why does gravity feel heavier this week?” way. Did I power through? Nope, I backed off. Not dramatically, not in a “well, that’s over” spiral, just a controlled retreat. Strategic laziness.

    I tried to make up a little ground over the weekend. I Moved around a bit, reminded my body we’re not retiring, but since sleep was still questionable at best, recovery was too.

    So here we are, back at it this week. Missing a few days isn’t failure. Getting knocked sideways by pollen, poor sleep, or canine bladder schedules isn’t failure either, the only failure is in not trying.

    So we try again. And yes, I know what Yoda said, but sometimes, trying is simply the best we can do.

    Still lifting. Still losing. Still showing up. Usually.

  • 13.1 Miles of WTF

    Race day was… intense.

    It was my first major run (LV Rock-N-Roll run), and apparently when you sign up for a half marathon, they don’t send three other people and a volunteer with a cowbell. They send thousands. Corrals. Waves. Announcers. Music. It felt less like a jog and more like boarding a plane to Pound Town, but I was the pound-ee. Pounded? Whichever, basically I was fucked.

    I got there a couple hours early because that’s what responsible adults do, especially when they’re not sure how it’ll be to park, get to the waiting area, all that fun stuff. Then I waited, and waited, and waited, then warmed up a bit, and after warming up, we got herded into the starting area. Where we stood. For over an hour.

    By the time I crossed the starting line, my feet were already sore from just standing there, so that was a promising start.

    To be completely honest, I was 100% unprepared for the distance. I hadn’t really trained the last three months. Life happened, winter fuckit reared its ugly head, motivation took a vacation somewhere warmer, and miles weren’t logged. So I did the only thing I could think of that day, my 3/1 run-walk plan.

    That lasted about half the race. After that, I started dialing down the run times and dialing up the walking. My left hip, knee, and ankle were starting to bother me, and each start of the run segment got harder and more painful to start. By mile 10, my right calf had decided it was done negotiating, and any time I even attempted to run I could feel it quivering and ready to cramp up on me (and yes, I had electrolytes, water, and whatever guu they had whenever it was offered), so the last 3ish miles were just me and my thoughts when my headphones died. Seriously Apple, 3 hours and one airpod shits the bed?

    And my thoughts were not inspirational, especially as the noticeably pregnant woman jogged past me (mad props!). But, I kept going, kept walking, kept grinding, and when I saw the Mile 13 marker, I dug deep for one last push. No matter how dead I was, I’ve always run across the finish line, so I starting hobbling, then moving a little better, then got to a shambling, zombie-like run.

    Crossing the finish line wasn’t some slow-motion movie moment, it was more “please don’t let me collapse and have to crawl across this finish line”. I wasn’t overwhelmed with pride. I wasn’t crying. I was… numb. My left hip, knee, and ankle were screaming. My right hip cramped when I “ran” the last tenth of a mile just so I could say I finished running.

    And then, because the universe has a shitty sense of humor, I had to walk a mile back to the car. Including stairs. Down a block, up one flight of stairs then down another, then down another block, and up and down another flight of stairs. That may have been the hardest mile of the day.

    Monday morning was brutal. Everything hurt. I spent the day hydrating, eating, trying to rest and not move too much, and recover. I got to bed early, knowing Tuesday was going to be even worse.

    Tuesday wasn’t exactly worse, but it wasn’t much better. My hips and knees were a little improved, but my quads were soooo much worse. Stairs. I don’t want to talk about stairs.

    Wednesday was surprisingly a lot better. My quads were still sore, but it was more “Hard Leg Day” than “Replaced my quads with live wires”. Thursday I was feeling almost normal, and I would have taken a light walk, but work had other plans. By Friday I was normal again, but since I was starting back to the gym on Monday, I decided to just relax, sleep in a bit, and enjoy the down time.

    So here’s where things stand. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday I’m back in the gym, and Tuesday and Thursday will be some walks, partly to ease back in, partly because I’m still nursing some impressive blisters on my feet and toes. Next Saturday I’ll try a couple of short recovery runs, and after a few weeks of that, I’m starting a 10K plan.

    Not because I need another medal (tho if anyone would like to send me a medal, I won’t complain!), but because I signed up for the half-marathon in 2027 already, and this time I’m going to actually train for it. I’m still working toward my goals for my Fit By 50 program, and running is a part of that.

    Still lifting. Still losing. Still showing up. Usually.

  • Year-End Check-In (a.k.a. How the Wheels Came Off)

    The wheels on the bus go ’round and ’round, then fall off, careening down a hill, taking out a van full of nuns and children from Make-A-Wish headed to Disneyland.

    Somewhere around the time change, everything went sideways, and I mean everything. That one-hour shift might not seem like much on paper, but once the dogs’ schedule got completely wrecked, my sleep went with it. And once my sleep went, everything else followed. Gym sessions turned sporadic. Runs became “maybe tomorrow.” Meals stopped being planned and started being whatever was fastest and least offensive. Sometimes most offensive (I love cinnamon Life, and the boxes are small…no judgy!)

    Basically, everything I had been doing just… collapsed.

    And the blog? That went quiet too. Not because I didn’t care — but because it was honestly embarrassing to fall apart that spectacularly after being so consistent. Writing about showing up is a lot harder when you’re very clearly not.

    The weird part is that the crash didn’t come from one big thing. It came from everything at once. I was trying to do the gym, supplemental workouts at home, work, trying to spin up a few side hustles, and track meals and macros all while pretending I had infinite energy and focus.

    Turns out I don’t. It turns out I’m…..*gasp* human. Damnit.

    I’ve been spending some time just existing, enjoying the holidays, and thinking about everything. One of the biggest wins was finally realizing I was doing too much. While I still have all of those things that I want to do, I’m not going to try to do them ALL at he same time. I have some big things going on this coming year, and will let y’all know when the time is right.

    So here I am, doing a year-end check-in instead of a victory lap. I’m not making resolutions. I’m not announcing a comeback. And I’m definitely not pretending this next chapter is going to be clean and cinematic, unless one of you knows how to just do a montage and I start Act 3 all in shape and with my side hustles booming? Nope? Well fin, then I guess what I am going to do is try to get back to me. Simple, rebuilding some structure, and getting things back under control one piece at a time.

    New year. Same me. Hopefully just a little wiser and a lot more self-aware.

    And if you’ve had a year where things piled up, routines unraveled, and you quietly disappeared for a while, Welcome! Plenty of seats left on the struggle bus.

    Still lifting. Still losing. Still showing up. Usually.

  • Release the Dogs of Chaos

    Or, why Daylight Savings sucks balls.

    This week was rough, like wearing sandpaper underwear under a wool suit while rolling through a cactus patch.

    For whatever reason, the “fall back” time change always hits me like a truck, but this year Ivy made sure it came with extra turbulence. Dogs don’t care about clocks, they care about routines, and when you have to poop, you have to poop. So this week their routine involved waking me up at 2:30 or 3 a.m. every. single. morning.

    So instead of training sessions, I’ve been running on caffeine, minimal sleep, and pure survival instinct. The gym? Nope. Runs? Also nope. I thought I hit a wall a few weeks back, but that was just a cute little cardboard wall. I got through that one and tripped over my own cockiness, and plowed headfirst into the brick wall. So now I’m tired, and my head (and pride) hurts, and it’s time to switch things up a bit.

    I’m not throwing in the towel by any means, just adjusting. I’m going to switch over to some home based workouts, since I have plenty of general equipment, so it will be more calisthenic type work and getting back into running. This will let me set the alarm for 45-60 minutes later, so if the dogs wake me up at 2:30, I can still go back to sleep for an hour and a half or so. Not a perfect solution, but hopefully a good workaround while everyone adjusts to the new time.

    Still lifting. Still losing. Still showing up. Usually.

  • The Week Where Nothing Stood Out

    The time change is throwing me off. Ivy woke me up at what would be my usual time of 4ish in the morning, but this morning, that’s 3 in the morning. Physically no different, but mentally…why the fuck am I up now?! Oh yeah, because the dogs don’t know we’re supposed to sleep later, they just know “I gotta go, so you gotta get up and take me” So now I’m sitting here after finishing my first cup of coffee and getting food prep done for the week ahead, and I sat down to reflect on the last week, and I’m coming up blank. Nothing really stands out. I guess not every week is a highlight reel. Some are just…fine. Steady. Unremarkable. And honestly? I guess I can live with that.

    This week I missed leg day because of an appointment, but then I got my runs in Tuesday and Thursday, and the calves are feeling a bit of alright, so that’ll be my win for the week.

    A few months ago, a “meh” week would’ve derailed me. I wanted the weekly PRs, whether lifting or running, but now, it’s just part of the plan. No drama, no meltdown, just stacking days. Lifting, running, sleeping (mostly), recovering, repeating.

    The work is starting to feel normal. Not always easy, especially when it’s cooling off a lot in the morning, so the desire to just curl up in an already warm bed sounds WAY better than going outside, but normal. And with the major “stuff your face” holidays coming up, I think normal is what I’ll need to keep from blowing myself up like an overstuffed turkey. (Is there such a thing as too much stuffing?!)

    Still lifting. Still losing. Still showing up. Usually.

  • The Rise of Recomp

    A long time ago (2015) in a gym far, far away… I started a blog for accountability. And stopped writing the blog. And started again. And stopped again. You probably get where this is going. Each time was supposed to be the One, the version of me that would finally stick. Spoiler: they didn’t.

    Fast-forward a decade and here we are again, same guy, different decade, different town, different blog, same goal; to be the best and fittest version of me that I can be. This time it’s The Recomp Chronicles. A little older, possibly a little wiser, but finally honest enough to admit that maybe the journey doesn’t need to be cinematic (I was really dramatic before, oh woah is me). It just needs to keep going. Some weeks rock and I hit PRs and feel unstoppable, other weeks I hit walls and eat Krispy Kreme and want to just get fat and invent a suspension chair.

    This past week was a de-load; lighter weights, slower pace, more thinking than doing. And that’s fitting, because it’s hard not to look back at all the other “Day Ones.” The Michigan posts, the false starts, the posts that never made it past the first week. Turns out I’ve been the main character in the longest prequel series ever written.

    But things feel different now. Time will tell if it really is, but so far, I’m feeling good. As I found when I quit smoking back in the day, after dozens and dozens of starts and stops (stops and starts?), I only have to succeed once. So I keep moving forward on this journey, through the good (Yay 320 leg press) and the bad (I swear I didn’t eat the entire box of cereal…), the recovery and the sleepless nights.

    And by “succeed once, I don’t mean that I will never screw up and over indulge in ice cream, or pasta, and don’t get me started on holiday cookies and Thanksgiving food coma. What I mean is this time I fully understand that I will make mistakes as I go, but this time I will not quit on myself because of it. I’ll be like one of those old sticky wall toys, the kind that’s lost its shine, covered in dust, a little crusty, hanging there by one arm but refusing to let go. I’m faded, stretched, but still holding on.

    That’s the voice I want to bring to stage. I’m not the reboot, just the continuation.

    Still lifting. Still losing. Still showing up. Usually.

  • Pivot! Pivot!

    This last week definitely didn’t turn out how I’d hoped.

    Monday’s gym session just felt off, like I could move the weights, but nothing felt right. I chalked it up to “Monday being Monday” and just moved on. With my calf still feeling off I didn’t try to run Tuesday, but by Tuesday late afternoon I could feel it: Itchy eyes, scratchy throat, cotton-headed. The sudden weather change to much cooler and rain had hit me good, so I made the one call I used to hate making: I hit pause. I took some OTC meds, ate my soup, drank my water and tea, and tried to get as much sleep as I could through the week. I didn’t try to force anything by going to the gym or trying to run or even walk, just let my body do what it needed.

    So the 6th week of Phase 2 turned into “Sick Week”, and instead of just picking up where I left off and pushing through what was scheduled to be the 7th week this coming week, I’m going to pivot and do my de-load next week. Lighter weights, fewer sets, and more mobility and stretching at home. Then, Phase 3 starts the first week of November, hopefully with a much healthier and more prepared me at the helm.

    So yeah, normally I would have tried to push through, but I’m learning that sometimes you have to use a little bit of strategery when life tries to knock you down. Pivot when you need and let your body guide you, it generally knows what it needs.

    Lessons from this week

    • Sometimes showing up means backing off.
    • Recovery is still work, just not as flashy.
    • A pivot isn’t failure; it’s adjustment. Long-term success builds on being able to adjust to the needs of the moment.
    • There will be times to push through; long runs, soreness, mental fatigue, but when you’re sick, or on the brink, pushing through just makes it worse and can lay you up longer. Take the break, eat the soup, drink the tea, get the sleep. Be good to yourself.

    Still lifting. Still losing. Still showing up. Usually.

  • The Wall Strikes Back

    Last week was supposed to be about getting back into the routine. Instead, food fatigue, logging fatigue, certification work, and side projects all teamed up on me, and somewhere in there I decided I’d earned a break from the constant watchfulness. After all, I’ve been pretty damned disciplined for like 3 months, so I figured a couple of loose days wouldn’t hurt. The problem is, a little slide can quickly turn into a bigger one.

    What started as “I’ll loosen up for a day or two” became a full week of “Fuck it.” Protein, hydration, and discipline went out the window, and anything within reach went into my pie hole. Except, of course, enough water.

    Gym and run days stayed fine through Thursday, but by Friday I woke up feeling off; maybe a cold brewing, maybe just worn down. I skipped the gym, played it safe, and planned to reset Saturday with my long run. Instead, my left calf, which had been feeling amazing, cramped up a kilometer in. I stopped right away. Run over.

    That was my wall hitting back.

    The frustrating part? I saw it coming. I could feel the discipline slipping and just let it happen anyway. I knew where it would lead, and still watched it unfold in slow motion. Now I’m paying for it — sluggish, foggy, and feeling like twelve kinds of ass.

    But today’s a new day, and the start of a new week.
    I’ve done my food prep, refilled the water jug, and I’m ready to rock again. The wall wins only if I stay down. Time to suck it up, move on, and do better; one meal, one rep, one run at a time.

    Still lifting. Still losing. Still showing up. Usually.

  • Fueling the Machine (Badly, Sometimes)

    This week was all about consistency, and about slamming face-first into the infamous wall. Four weeks into Phase 2, and shockingly, I haven’t fallen off the wagon yet. I’m not saying I’m a model of discipline, more like a slightly dented shopping cart that still manages to roll in the right direction despite one wheel wobbling worse than my legs after leg day.

    The training is steady, the runs are steady, and even my sleep is finally leveling out. Which, apparently, is the body’s cue to stop giving out “easy” wins. The scale? Mocking me. The mirror? Playing hard to get. My effort-to-result ratio right now feels about as rewarding as shouting into a hurricane.

    I’m guessing it’s normal, every program must hit this stretch (I haven’t been this far into a program in, possibly ever), but it still sucks. I’m doing the things, eating the stuff, logging everything, and the only thing dropping quickly is my patience.

    Now that the novelty’s worn off, I’m down to the nuts and bolts: food timing and recovery. It turns out you can’t just lob protein and carbs at your body whenever and expect superhero regeneration. Some days I nail the timing and feel unstoppable. Other days I mistime a meal and end up running on fumes, wondering if “hitting the wall” was supposed to be metaphorical or if I actually just blacked out mid-lift.

    Fear not, faithful blog reader, I’m still here. Every lift, every run, every recovery session completed. My sleep is improving. My food habits are messy but I’m working on that daily. The wall is here, the wall is painful, but I’m still moving forward.

    Small wins. Consistency over fireworks. Progress that hides under frustration until one day it doesn’t.

    Still lifting. Still losing. Still showing up. Usually.