Even when you know exactly what to do, you won’t always do it.
Healthwise, my January 2026 was rough. I ate far more crap than I ever would, and I didn’t exercise.
The first half of the month, I spent caring for my dog, Ip Man, who got what scans showed to be probably aspiration pneumonia. He’s elderly, and he was really sick. It took over my month, my work, my sleep. I was up multiple times a night because he wasn’t sleeping either. And I wouldn’t have had it any other way. I wanted to care for him.
Everything else took a back seat, and I really didn’t care about anything else other than him.
I didn’t sleep well. I didn’t exercise at all. I didn’t eat well.
When I say I didn’t eat well, I still had a decent base of healthy food. I prepped some lunches because in the back of my mind, I knew things could go even more pear-shaped. But beyond that, if someone was going past my favourite bakery, it was, “Yes please, I’ll have a treat, maybe even three.” If there were chocolates nearby and they made me feel better in the moment, I ate them. I knew they wouldn’t make me feel better long-term. I just didn’t care. We had drinks too. Not excessively. I just didn’t care about limiting anything.
The biggest thing was the gym. I had a massive break, and I know for myself that the longer I stop, the harder it is to restart. I even had a new walking pad sitting at home because my old one had broken. I hadn’t set it up. It probably would have taken ten minutes. I could have walked beside him while he rested.
I didn’t.
It felt too hard. And mostly, I just didn’t care.
I genuinely couldn’t bring myself to care about anything. (Except for him.)
Ip Man passed away mid-month, and the numbness went even further. I felt angry. I felt exhausted. I felt a deeper sadness than I had in a long time.
The night he passed, we didn’t sleep. At 4am, we dug his grave into ground that was mostly rock. Try digging into rock when you think you’re drained, and you’ll find out what drained really means. My partner and nephew did most of it (bless them). My small portion was probably my only workout of the month.
In terms of my health, I felt detached. I didn’t want to train. I didn’t want to walk the places we used to walk. Getting through the days felt hard enough.
Ip Man
So I stopped caring about physique, sleep, training, structure. Even about business progress. I didn’t let anyone down, but I certainly didn’t push forward.
Maybe it hit me the way it did because I don’t have children – he was my child. He was my shadow for almost 12 years. When I worked, he was there. When I trained, he was there. When we travelled, he was there. Everyone knew if Louisa and Paul were coming, Ip Man was coming too.
I’ve never had a human spend that much time by my side.
I know some people might roll their eyes at that level of grief for an animal companion. That’s fine. They’ve probably never loved one that way.
Grief doesn’t just hurt. It rearranges your priorities.
For a while, my health slipped down that list.
The reality is this: even if you know better – even if you live and breathe this stuff – sometimes you just don’t care. And you don’t do it.
The difference this time was that I didn’t panic.
In the past, a month like that would have sent me into an all-or-nothing spiral. Clean slate. Big reset. Overcorrection.
These days, I know exactly what to return to. I have a simple baseline way of eating and moving that works for me.
It isn’t extreme. It isn’t dramatic. It just works (when I actually apply it).
That knowledge brings a certain calm. Even in a bad month, I knew I wasn’t “back at zero.” I just needed to return to my system.
So when February rolled around, there was no big overhaul or punishment. I just started stepping back in.
One walk. Tick.
One gym session to warm back in. Tick.
One thing I did dive back into was my usual gym program because I know it, I enjoy it, and I trust it. I knew the soreness would come. That’s fine.
With food, I didn’t detox or start fresh. I just removed most of the obvious junk and went back to my baseline habits. Meal planning. Simple structure. Healthier versions of the snacks I’d been reaching for.
I still kept chocolate in the house. I use a lockbox. I portion it out and lock it for 24 hours. It sounds ridiculous. It works.
Motivation absolutely did not return first. If I’d waited to feel motivated, I’d still be waiting.
My first walks outside without him were sad.
But I know what these habits do for me. When I move more, I sleep better. When I sleep better, I eat better. When I eat better, I think more clearly. The momentum builds.
So I started before I felt ready.
A few weeks later, I finally set up the treadmill. It took almost no effort. I’ve used it most days since.
One simple thing I focused on was increasing my daily steps. Just improving on yesterday.
I’m now back to aiming for at least 10,000 steps most days, but it’s not a black-and-white, must-hit-it thing. What matters more to me now is seeing my average trend upward. If this week’s average is higher than last week’s, that’s progress.
I’ve written before about how I changed the way I track habits (in Four small experiments that changed my year), and how much more rewarding it’s been to focus on trends instead of perfection. This was another example of that. Small improvements. Stacked consistently.
If you’re reading this wanting something practical, here’s what actually helped me restart:
- I didn’t try to “make up for” January. I just returned to my baseline.
- I started with movement that felt doable.
- I made comforting food – just a healthier version of it. Not perfect.
- I was gentle with myself, and allowed myself the rest and sleep I needed.
- I focused on trends, not daily perfection.
- And I didn’t wait to feel motivated. I started sad. I started anyway.
We’re now three weeks into February, and I feel like a different person compared to a month ago. It hasn’t required extremes or some dramatic comeback. Just a return to habits that stabilise me.
Could I have kept more of a baseline through January? Of course.
Do I teach having a backup plan for when life goes sideways? Yes.
Did I fully follow it? No.
I am human too.
And that’s the point.
You do not need to be perfect.
You do not need a dramatic “cleanse” or reset.
You do not need to start all over again.
Just start where it’s easy.
Small shifts have a domino effect. And before you know it, you’re back – or further than you were.
Setbacks happen.
They’re part of it.
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