Almost every day, there comes a moment when my body simply switches off. It refuses to cooperate and demands rest. More sleep doesn’t help. A nap doesn’t help. Sometimes nothing helps. It’s something I’m learning to accept, but very slowly.

Back when I was training seriously, there were times when I’d miss a week because of travel or other commitments. Illness or minor injuries were rarely enough to keep me out of the gym. After my son was born, life became more complicated and most of my training happened at home whenever I could squeeze it in. Honestly, I barely counted that as training.

Things changed when we moved to Thailand. My son started kindergarten, I suddenly had more time, and training became much more affordable. I started moving every day again. After about two weeks, I began feeling more like myself. Because I’m lazy, I assumed it would take around three months to get back into proper shape.

My body was working the way I understood it.

I could predict it.

If something felt off, there was usually a reason. A bad night’s sleep. Too much food the evening before. A particularly hard training session.

But chemotherapy changes the rules.

I’ve finally realized that.

Only three desperate months later.

During my hospital stay after the first surgery, I did what I always do: I studied everything and approached it systematically. In the beginning, I wasn’t allowed to move much, so I focused on breathing exercises while lying in bed. Besides helping with breathing itself, they strengthen the deep core muscles and gently massage the internal organs. I stretched my arms and legs, tightened muscles and relaxed them again.

That was Phase One.

Once I was allowed to walk, I added light strengthening exercises for my arms and legs while avoiding my abdominal muscles as much as possible. Since your core is involved in almost everything, that turned out to be harder than it sounds.

Eventually I returned to Health Qigong and my beloved Taijiquan. Twelve weeks after surgery, I started going back to the gym and slowly reintroduced full-body training. I carry resistance bands with me everywhere. After four months, I started running again. I recommend running on flat, soft surfaces. Naturally, I ignored my own advice and headed straight for hills and trails. If everything else in my life is changing, I have to keep at least something familiar. 🙂 It’s true that my son brought home a lovely kindergarten virus and I spent two weeks coughing, but even so, I noticed something interesting. My fitness wasn’t really improving. I move every day. I’ve never eaten healthier than I do now.

At the gym, I treat strength training more as maintenance than progression. I still don’t want to put too much stress on my abdomen after surgery, so I avoid heavy weights that would leave me straining and grinding my teeth. Instead, I work continuously with lighter weights for about thirty minutes, squeezing in four or five rounds with only brief pauses while moving between exercises. After that, I do thirty minutes on a stationary bike and finish with ten to twenty minutes of stretching.

I do that two or three times a week.

On the other days, I go running, take long walks of 8–12 kilometers (5–7 miles), or work with resistance bands. Apart from chemotherapy week, I also go to the sauna twice a week. For the stage I’m currently in, I think that’s a reasonable amount of exercise.

Could I do more?

Absolutely.

Of course I tested that theory.

The result was two days of being unbelievably hungry and completely wiped out.

And then… nothing.

I couldn’t do any more than I had done the week before. I’m still breathing hard on the same hill. I’m still collapsing into bed in the evening. Several times throughout the day, my body simply starts shutting down. Sometimes I can sit down for a few minutes and recover. Sometimes I can’t. Sometimes I just have to push through mentally until my body decides to switch itself back on. Before all of this, I was often tired from training and work, but I was never exhausted.

There was always one more round.

One more drill.

One more set.

I could keep going until they started locking the doors at the gym.

Even now, there are moments when I dig in and force myself up one more hill. I skip a break. I climb all the stairs. I finish every set.

But honestly?

That’s usually my ego talking.

And my stubbornness.

Part of me is afraid that if I ease up, I’ll get weaker. That next time I won’t make it up those stairs. That somehow I won’t be me anymore. So now I’m learning a different skill. I’m learning how to rest without feeling guilty. I’m learning how to take breaks during a workout without criticizing myself for it.

Chemotherapy will end one day.

The scars from the next surgery will heal.

The follow-up treatment will settle down.

The hormones will eventually find their balance.

If I can get through all of this now, next year I can work hard again. What I’m really learning is that I will never be exactly who I used to be. But the new version of me doesn’t necessarily have to be worse.