Is recovery Supposed to Feel this Complicated?
There’s an adage that states, “Exhaustion is the shortest way to surrender,” and it perfectly encapsulates my current state of mind.
Am I the only one who feels an overwhelming urge to throw in the towel, even after months of training to complete a marathon in a respectable time? Are these emotions just the infamous end-of-year jitters, compounded by physical and mental stress, creeping into my thoughts? Or is there something deeper, more profound about extreme fatigue — a force that leaves us vulnerable, questioning our limits, and more likely to give up entirely?
Nearly a week has passed since the gun was fired at the starting line of my marathon debut.
The adrenaline from that day, though still faintly lingering in my mind, has mostly worn off, allowing reality to seep in. As I reflect on the events of last Sunday, I marvel at the paradox of the human body and mind while simultaneously craving rest, unknowingly, and movement.
I am torn between staring at an empty calendar in the name of recovery and battling the urge to dive headfirst back into training.
Watching fellow runners rack up miles on Strava as early as three days post-race doesn’t make it any easier for me. It’s both awe-inspiring and infuriating to witness their stats and it feels as though they’re silently declaring, “Recovery is for the faint-hearted.”
That’s right, the comparison game, once again, is inevitable.“If they’re capable of hitting the roads again so soon after a big event, surely I must be ready too?” I think to myself.
Hence, my inner critic got the better of me yesterday. My legs feel fresh (or so they claim), and I’ve caught up on plenty of sleep this week. I’ve indulged in every craving with plenty of protein, and resisted turning to alcohol as my after-dinner treat — something I honestly expected to cave into, but didn’t.
The typical textbook recovery methods — I’ve done them all. So, in short, I must be recovered. Right?
Recovery Isn’t Linear
After clearing with my coach that I could go for a short, very slow recovery run — capped at no more than twenty minutes — I decided to take the opportunity with open arms. The thought of moving again felt refreshing and alarmingly addictive, almost like shaking off cobwebs from days of rest.
But after just 3 km on the empty road, that familiar heaviness in my legs began to creep in, a gentle reminder that recovery is far from linear. My coach’s voice suddenly popped into my head: “I told you so, Nadia.” She wouldn’t have said that, of course, because she’s far too diplomatic and kind for those words, but she definitely would’ve been right.
Following my run, it was evident. I’m still tired. While my heart rate stayed low, and despite adhering to my coach’s instructions to keep the run light, my Garmin had other ideas.
It reported my training status as, well… strained. (Immediate ChatGPT prompt: Why does my Garmin say my training status is strained?)
It’s frustrating. I followed the plan and kept the pace easy. Yet my body felt like it was still wading through the aftermath of race day and to me, recovery feels like a tug-of-war, with my body urging me to slow down while my mind itches to move on.
I mean, recovery isn’t supposed to feel this drawn out, is it?
My Recovery Riddle
Yet, the signs are there, even if I try to dismiss them. The reality is that I’m not as recovered as I’d like to believe, and that leaves me questioning everything even more.
Why do some runners seem to bounce back so quickly after a race, effortlessly logging half-marathon distances just days later?
Surely, given the combined effects of Central Nervous System (CNS) fatigue and cumulative fatigue, my fellow runners must be just as susceptible as I am to burnout, injuries, and overtraining syndrome. Or is there something they’re doing differently — something I’m missing?
Every time I scroll through Strava, I can’t help but feel a tinge of envy.
Fellow marathoners are clocking impressive distances with steady splits and casual captions like, “Shaking out the legs,” as if they didn’t just endure months of grueling training and the brutal 26.2 miles like I did.
But recovery, as it turns out, is far more complex than simply ‘doing all the right things’ assuming everything will be fixed overnight. Even though I’ve ticked all the typical recovery boxes — rest, nutrition, and plenty of sleep — my body seems to have its own timeline, refusing to be rushed.
The Reality of Fatigue
Upon further research, I am learning that fatigue isn’t just physical, it’s systemic, which means that even though my muscles feel fine, my brain and nervous system have been overworked. In addition, the accumulative fatigue that has built up over the months of my training block is clearly only starting to fully surface now; — after my race.
While I’m reluctant to give into the idea that I probably need more recover time than I have led myself to believe, one particular alarming stat that my Garmin watch is pointing out to me, is my Low Heart Rate Variability (HRV).
Say what? Yeah, I had to look it up so you don’t have to…
HRV refers to the natural fluctuations in the time intervals between heartbeats and a high HRV generally indicates that your body is in a well-recovered state, adaptable to stress-load, and operating efficiently. Conversely, when HRV is low, it’s a sign that your autonomic nervous system (ANS) is leaning toward stress and overwork.
Importantly, ANS balances your body’s fight-or-flight (sympathetic) and rest-and-digest (parasympathetic) responses. Evidently, my low HRV is my body’s way of waving a caution flag, forcing me to stay humble and realize that the body demands time, patience, and, above all, respect.
The Key to Understanding Recovery
Realistically speaking, my low HRV might be the key to understanding why my recovery feels so drawn out, and not just another random stat my Garmin spits out.
It’s not about how much I rest, no. It’s a direct reflection of how well my body is juggling everything.
From physical fatigue to mental stress, nutrition, hydration, and sleep quality, — they all play an integral role, and right now, my body is clearly struggling, my nervous system undeniably unprepared to hit heavy training again.
Perhaps my Strava buddies have higher HRV baselines, or maybe they’re just more experienced — runners who have spent years learning how to handle the stress of training overload and cycles that are crafted with expert precision.
Parts of me sometimes wonder if some of them are simply pushing through, ignoring the signs their bodies might be giving them and running on borrowed time.
Either way, HRV is personal. And while I continue to stumble through the process, figuring out what works for my body and what doesn’t, I’m reminded that my HRV data is generating some valuable feedback. To listen, and give my body what it’s asking for.
Walking as a Method of Recovery
As I navigate the unpredictability of recovery and grudgingly accept my current reality, I’ve decided to shift my focus to walking.
It’s not glamorous or groundbreaking, but it’s simple, accessible, and, frankly, manageable. Trying to figure out cross-training options like cycling, swimming, or elliptical workouts feels like adding unnecessary stress to a process that’s already complicated enough. I don’t need more decisions; I only need something that works.
As unremarkable as it sounds, walking ticks all the boxes at the moment. It’s straightforward and doesn’t come with the logistics of booking pool slots or hunting down a working spin bike. It’s also refreshingly low-tech.
There’s no need to check splits or heart rate zones — unless I decide to get very enthusiastic about my step count.
For me, walking bridges the gap between total rest and active recovery. It’s a movement that encourages blood flow, supports muscle repair, and subtly reassures my nervous system that it doesn’t need to keep sounding the alarm.
It’s an uncomplicated way to stay in motion and keep my routine in check without asking too much from a body that’s decidedly still negotiating its terms of recovery.
So, as I crawl through my weeks of recover I hope to remind myself that:
Recovery isn’t linear: Even when the body feels fine, underlying fatigue — physical and systemic — can surface unexpectedly.
Comparison is inevitable but counterproductive: Watching others bounce back on Strava fuels envy and doubt but doesn’t reflect your personal recovery journey.
Typical recovery methods aren’t always enough: Sleep, nutrition, and rest might not fully address deeper fatigue, especially in the nervous system.
Low HRV is a red flag: Heart Rate Variability (HRV) is a crucial indicator of recovery, and low HRV points to stress overload in the autonomic nervous system.
Systemic fatigue is complex: Recovery isn’t just about resting muscles; it involves addressing the nervous system, mental stress, and overall balance.
Listen to your body: HRV and other feedback mechanisms are tools that will help you understand when to push and when to pull back.
Including walks into your routine can bridge the gap: Walking provides gentle movement that supports circulation and repair without taxing an already strained system.
Choose simplicity over complication: Accessible recovery methods like walking, removes the added stress of logistics and decision-making as we try to navigate our way to the nearest elliptical machine for cross-training.
Progress isn’t always measurable: I understand that recovery can often feel slow and invisible, but consistency — whether through walking or other light activity — still moves the needle forward.
Last, but not least, — Recovery is personal: Everyone’s journey is unique and what works for others might not work for you.
