Grind-Induced Zero Day

One really good day, wow. Can I get another? 
Oh snap, two in a row. Could it be remission?
Shit howdy, three straight. I killed that hill. Every day.
Sketchy as hell. Steep and loose. No hand-holds. 35 lb. pack.
I'm a total bad-ass, right?

Wrong. Day four is fucked. Not a flare, but my body?
It’s clearly saying no—as in, hey jackass, you're done.
Payment for three full and glorious hard-grinding days.
For stealing back some aliveness that illness took from me.

Was it worth it, maybe?... Oh, hell yes, it was!
Living with chronic illness means balancing restraint
and wisdom with aliveness, joy and thriving.
That struggle is real and especially for those of us
who come from so-called extreme sports.

Most "sane" people think we have a death wish.
It’s not at all about courting danger or cheating death.
It's about living fully, even now, with health constraints.
Fully, a state that rarely arrives without a bit of risk.
To be honest, way more risk than healthy people ever face.

Am I advocating for this? Absolutely-fucking-not.

Then why post what looks to be reckless?
This is what recognizing myself honestly looks like.
I'm human, flawed, and sometimes stupid.
I can also be brilliant, clever, and maybe even wise.
I'm holding my own paradox and making space
for all the parts, whether I like them or not.
This too, is becoming, is healing, and living.

And I'm Still Rolling.

→ Explore more Field Notes
→ Related: Connection, Not Completion

Keep momentum:

Do a 2–5 min ritual — quick reset for low-capacity moments.
Build capacity — sleep, basics, and minimums that matter.
Reflect for a minute — short reads with a long tail of calm.

*Peer reflection, not therapy advice. Your healing journey is uniquely yours.*