It’s been 12 weeks since my feet forced me to hit pause on just about everything. The longest I’ve managed to walk in that time? Eight kilometers. Not much by my usual standards, and afterward, the heel pain is intense. Tendinitis is still present, but it’s not stopping me from walking—just reminding me how fragile recovery can feel.
Every morning I’m up at 5 a.m., rolling out my stretches, resistance band exercises, and doing my best to stay agile. Missing these sessions isn’t really an option. By day three, my body feels like it’s strapped to a sheet of plywood—sore, stiff, reluctant—but skipping the routine just makes everything worse. Consistency, even when it hurts, is what keeps me moving.
This past summer put me on pause in a way I hadn’t expected. Recovery seems slower this time. I’ve leaned on physio, massages, diet tweaks, and careful hydration with electrolytes to keep my body in balance. Next step: I’m returning to intermittent fasting to give my body the reset it seems to need.
The past few weeks, I’ve also been working on the old Explore. Getting to put new tools to work, making physical items I can see and touch, has been incredibly satisfying. There’s a real sense of accomplishment in crawling under that vehicle, fixing things, building, and creating. But, wow—there are repercussions. After a 120 km drive back to Saint John, I could barely get out of the car. My hands went numb with a vengeance, my neck felt like it couldn’t hold my head upright, and my body was screaming for rest. I took a full week off after two days of doing absolutely nothing but recovering—and even now, the aches and pains linger. It makes it hard, sometimes impossible, to want to continue with that project. The lesson: I need to pace myself, ask for help when needed, and accept that no project is worth suffering for days that turn into weeks.
There’s another piece to this puzzle: my habits. I recently cut back on doomscrolling, removed Instagram and other social media apps from my phone, and embraced a more old-school approach—calling friends, visiting, connecting in real life. I can already feel the difference. Social media had me in a downward funk, sapping creativity and motivation.
So here I am, slowly stepping back onto the pathway, relearning how to move, how to create, and how to adventure. The journey is not linear. It never is. But every small step, every early morning, every stretch, every deliberate choice, is a piece of rediscovering what it means to truly explore—on my feet, in my mind, and in life.