Today, the body and mind needed rest. I woke feeling as though I’d been hit by a truck that then reversed over me to make sure the job was done. To say I’ve had better days would be an understatement.
There was a time I would have ignored what my body was asking and pushed through for the sake of momentum. The last two years have taught me that the approach has no long-term payoff. So when the alarm sounded, I listened, pulled the sheets over my head and went back to sleep.
By mid-morning, I could hear training in the courtyard a few floors below. The predictable guilt arrived: I should be out there, improving. I didn’t move. Rest was needed, so I let the thought go and greeted the day slowly, shuffling around my room, dealing with tasks that were many and unimportant.
By the afternoon session, I was a little stir-crazy and knew I had to move gently. I went to train, but kept everything under control, at a pace just comfortable enough to remind the body where it was without adding stress to a system already overloaded.
I forced down some dinner, walked through the park, and found I had no interest in watching the coaches train. Bed was the better idea.
What did I achieve today? Very little. But that is exactly what today required, and I’m glad I listened. Not because it makes me better, but because the simple act of listening means I’ll wake tomorrow ready to train again.
Listening is a tricky thing. Not the hearing itself, but the honest understanding of what is being said. Some days, I’m sure I need rest, and it’s really just my mind wilting under the pressure of the workload. Other days, I know what the body is telling me is true and has to be heard. It’s a simple distinction that took years to learn, and I’m very glad I’ve learned it.