February showed up before I was ready. It always does. The way deadlines creep, seasons shift, alarms ring when you swear you just closed your eyes.

Somehow, without quite meaning to, I’ve become one of those people who say things like “the endgame of a PhD is becoming an athlete.” My life has narrowed to a simple rhythm: work, train, eat. Brain and body, both under renovation. Six to eight sessions a week. Four or five at CrossFit, another two or three for endurance work, shoulder to shoulder with people who’ve spent years competing. Retired pros. Current competitors. One of them is a reigning world champion in trail running. I stretch beside them and think: what am I doing here?

Maybe that’s always the question, though. What am I doing here. In the lab, in the gym, in this life I’m assembling one rep at a time. Riding a wave of encouragement, I signed up for a DEKAFIT competition at the end of March. An impulse with a side of reckless hope. Will I hit my goal? No idea.

Here’s what I’m learning. Showing up matters more than showing up perfectly. And showing up doesn’t have to mean leaving everything on the floor every time. The body isn’t a machine you run until it breaks. It needs rest the way a garden needs rain. I want fitness to teach me discipline, something I can carry into work, into writing, into daily life. But I also want to learn this: that showing up at 70% still counts. That progress isn’t linear. That the goal is to keep going, not to burn out trying.

Sometimes I worry I’ll backslide into who I used to be, the round little potato version of me that stuck around for two decades. So I’m trying to document more. To notice small victories and actually write them down. Not because they’re impressive, but because they’re proof I’m still moving.

I’m lucky not to be doing this alone. Grateful for the crew at Fortius and for my labmates. For family across the ocean and friends around the corner. For everyone who puts up with my rambling. And for the quiet things that keep me steady: mushrooms popping up after rain, animals crossing my path, Mochi at home enjoying her food without a care in the world. They don’t ask me how my dissertation is going. They just exist nearby, and that’s enough.

I still don’t know what I’m doing. But I keep showing up.

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我不知道自己在做什么，但我还在继续

转眼到了2026年的二月，我感觉措手不及。二月来得太快，就像截止日期总是悄然逼近，就像季节不声不响地更替，就像闹钟响的时候，总觉得还没睡够。

新的一年，我误打误撞开始了”读博的尽头是体育生”的生活。除了工作就是训练，还有吃吃吃。大脑和身体，都在施工中。每周六到八次训练，四五次CrossFit，两三次耐力训练，和那些有多年专业比赛经验的运动员们一起。好多伙伴是退役的职业运动员，或者是现役运动员。其中一位是现在的越野赛世界冠军。我在他们身边热身，心里想：我在这里做什么？

但也许这永远是那个问题。我在这里做什么。在实验室里，在健身房里，在这个我正一点一点搭建的生活里，一次动作，一次重复。在大家的鼓励下，我头脑一热报名了三月底的DEKAFIT比赛。那是一瞬间的冲动，带着莽撞的希望。到时候能不能达到目标？我不知道。

我正在学习的是：出现比完美更重要，但出现不意味着每一次都要拼尽全力。身体不是一台需要被榨干的机器。它是一座花园，需要休息，也需要雨水。我想从健身中学会自律，把它带进我的工作、写作、日常。但我也想学会这件事：不完美地出现，也算出现。进步不是一条直线。目标是可持续的前行，而不是无止境的消耗。

有时候我怕自己会退回去，变回那个圆滚滚的、躺平的旧版本，那个存在了二十多年的我。所以我想学会记录，把每一点小小的进步都写下来，庆祝那些微不足道的胜利。不是因为它们很大，而是因为它们证明我还在走。

我很幸运，不是一个人在走这条路。感谢训练馆里的伙伴们，感谢实验室的同事们，感谢远方的家人，身边的朋友，感谢那些愿意听我絮叨的人。也感谢这个世界里安静的存在：雨后冒出来的蘑菇，路上偶遇的小动物，家里享受美食的Mochi。它们不问我论文写得怎么样，只是安静地陪着我。

我不知道自己在做什么。但我会继续尝试。在健身房，在书桌前，在所有不确定的缝隙之间。