We always wait to deload when we’re already broken. That’s like putting a parachute on after you’ve already hit the ground.
I used to train seven days a week — not just walking around, like, actual training with a minimum of 25 minutes at zone 1/zone 2 and/or strength training. No fake recovery runs, no gentle “movement snacks,” just straight-up grind. It made me feel like I was doing something, and I know from experience that my body and brain need this like medicine. It worked until it didn’t.
About 10 years ago, I ran 40k (25 miles) on a random Friday. It started off as a long run to the beach to see if I could get there and back, and I ended it at 37k (23 miles), and then I had to walk the dog, so why not do an easy 3k (2 miles) super easy to cool down… because I can, right? It felt amazing. Like, “Maybe I’m actually built for the marathon” kind of amazing. Mind you, I was 16 weeks out from my goal marathon race and just starting my marathon block training. I thought I hacked the system.
The next day, I went snowboarding. I then did a 7-hour drive up and back (14 hours total), getting by on a few hours of sleep. Still felt fine, so obviously I kept training—because consistency, right? I was the 1% better runner back then, too.
A few days later, my knee started whispering sweet nothings to me. Then started yelling soon after. I tried to train through it. Took a day off, then two. Tried fish oil, ice, and different shoes, but nothing helped.
Fast forward: I’m out for months. Turns out my fixed gear bike, which should have been great for cross-training, was actually sabotaging my knee because the backwards pedaling made it worse. I fell hard off the run fitness cliff and became a pretty damn strong cyclist and swimmer at this time.
That’s when it hit me: deloads aren’t for when you feel broken. They’re for when things are going well.
Your nervous system doesn’t care about your training plan. When you’re constantly hitting zone 2 or grinding strength sessions, you’re telling your sympathetic nervous system to stay amped. Cortisol spikes, heart rate variability tanks, and your body hoards stress hormones like it’s prepping for war. There’s science to back this up.
The parasympathetic recovery side is screaming for you to chill, but you don’t listen because you feel “fine.” That’s the trap—feeling good doesn’t mean recovering. Your body adapts with adrenaline and stubbornness until something breaks.
How to actually do it: Block out 48-72 hours between high-intensity sessions. Not “active recovery”—actual rest where your parasympathetic system resets. Track your resting heart rate and HRV if you’re data-driven. When they’re elevated or tanking, respectively, that’s your nervous system waving a white flag.
If you’re type-A like me and love to move, and taking a day off sounds like a death sentence, try taking a day off every 3-4 weeks after your biggest run or biggest week. Do some light movement if you must, but let your body remember how to repair before it forgets how.
Now I take Mondays off with no workouts. Just a bit of movement to keep my brain and body more aligned, as I’m so used to daily movement. I call it Maker Monday. I create during my training time, getting as much done mentally as possible. Funny because it’s not easy, as my brain still screams “do more!” But I’ve learned to ignore it.
I don’t rest because I’m tired. I rest when I feel good so that I can keep going.
