Se détendre n'est pas manger : Guide pratique de remise en forme en voyage

If you travel enough, you learn two truths.

First: your schedule will betray you.

Second: your body will either amplify the chaos—or buffer it.

This week was airports, exhibitions, meetings, and delays stacked on delays. The interesting part wasn’t the travel itself. It was how small decisions—movement, fasting, hydration, and a couple of hard rules—kept the week from turning into a full derail.

Monday: movement first, fasted on purpose

I woke up at the airport hotel in Lyon and ran the “minimum viable athlete” routine: push-ups, squats, bear crawls, planks. Nothing heroic—just enough to wake up my nervous system before I sat in a car and then sat in meetings all day.

Then I chose a walk to the rental car instead of a bus. I did it fasted: last meal the day before at 16:00, first meal planned for lunch with customers. That decision wasn’t about suffering. It was about buying time and attention. When you know you’ll be forced into sitting, you can either accept the drift—or you can front-load movement and feel like you still own your day.

Tuesday: Zone 2 reality under travel load

I started with treadmill work and tried to keep a laser focus on Zone 2. Even that was harder than it “should” have been. Holding 147 bpm or less felt like trying to negotiate with physics. I had to slow down frequently.

That’s travel physiology in one sentence: what is easy at home can be hard on the road. Sleep changes. Stress changes. Novel environments change. The win is not ego. The win is staying in the training lane even when the pace isn’t flattering.

The rest of the day was clients and colleagues. Then I moved from Valence to Lyon to position for a flight to London the next morning.

On top of that: I got a real-time lesson in flexibility. A last-minute change reshaped my upcoming India plan—Mumbai and Chennai instead of Mumbai and Bangalore. Because I had flexible tickets and cancellable hotels, I could adapt without panic. That’s not luck. That’s an operating system.

Wednesday: paperwork friction and the lounge trap

Early morning travel exposed a new constraint: I couldn’t get my boarding pass for the second leg. At the counter I learned there was an ETA requirement, and the entire day suddenly depended on a phone workflow: app download, passport chip scan, selfie, submission, confirmation email, final approval.

If that process had failed, I would have been stranded.

It did work. I kept a cool head. And that matters more than people admit. Calm isn’t a personality trait—it’s a travel skill.

In Frankfurt I used the lounge the way I want to use lounges: hydration and exit. I refilled my bottle, had water, then a small black coffee. I mixed UniMate and carried it onto the flight. My rule was simple: the lounge is not a buffet; it’s a pit stop.

Then came the patience test: delayed departure, holding pattern, and a gate wait after landing. The day kept inventing waiting rooms. The only move was regulation: breathe, walk, don’t let friction turn into impulsive eating.

After arriving in London, I went straight from the airport to ExCeL—first time there—dragging my wheeled carry-on because hotel check-in timing would have cost me time and mental energy. That decision paid off. Exhibitions are the opposite of cold outreach: current and potential customers in one place, high-density conversations, real momentum. I stayed from noon until 17:00 and chose not to eat before or during. Metabolic flexibility turns into business efficiency when you’re not trapped by a food schedule.

Bonus: I noticed there was also a space exhibition at the same venue and registered for the next day.

Thursday: speed tourism + exhibitions + the inbox trap

Thursday morning I ran a “speed tourism” loop. Fitbit readiness was low (36/100), but the payoff was a sunny London morning and landmarks—including the horse guards near Buckingham Palace. I’m sure I wasn’t in Zone 2, and that’s fine. Not every run is a performance run. Some runs are experience runs.

Then the hotel room became a trap: emails and messages from colleagues, the kind of cognitive load that feels like “work” but quietly steals the day. Still, I broke out and visited both the Data Centers and Space exhibitions at ExCeL using the Elizabeth line.

That evening I traveled north to have dinner with family, then packed and slept before the next early start.

Friday: transit failure, a costly mistake, and the recovery win

Friday was a single travel day from London to Leipzig, and it was a stress test.

I woke at 05:20 and discovered the Piccadilly line was down. Then the alternate service was canceled. In a moment like that, you either panic—or you execute a backup plan you already rehearsed. I had done the Plan B route the day before: walk/jog to the Elizabeth line station and move from there.

I jogged it. Made it. Got to the airport. Security was fine.

Later, on a delayed flight segment, I took a 90-minute nap. That nap mattered. Delays are either stolen time or found time; sleep turns it into a deposit.

In Munich and Frankfurt lounges, I repeated the discipline: water, coffee when needed, work block, avoid snack drift. I even improved the UniMate ritual by mixing it with still water and topping the bottle with sparkling water for a different taste.

Then my luck ran out—not from the airport, but from a labeling mistake.

In Frankfurt I set an alarm for 17:00 because I thought the flight time (17:10) was the boarding time. Boarding was 16:40. I arrived at 17:10 exactly as planned, but my plan was anchored to the wrong timestamp.

I hate mistakes, especially the kind that cost money and feel like a “loss of face.” I pride myself on being on time. This one hit my ego and my family time.

I called my family. They were understanding and supportive. That wasn’t a soft moment—it was a strong one. Real support turns a bad outcome into a recoverable outcome.

While walking the terminal and talking, I used deep breathing to downshift. It worked. I rebooked to a 22:00 flight and paid the fee. I stayed on a zero-calorie day and decided to use the fast as a reset after a rich meal the night before.

Then I implemented the correction: I went to the gate 15 minutes before boarding for comfort and control.

That’s the real lesson: you don’t fix these days with self-hate. You fix them with better systems.

Weekend: home reset, family rhythm, and the next launch

I arrived home at midnight, slept, and woke to the smell of pancakes—regular and vegan—made by my oldest son and his friend. I broke a ~36-hour fast with bone broth, then Balance, then one of each pancake.

Saturday was family + practical tasks: unpacking, a long “honey-do” list, repacking for India, and working on a treehouse project with my youngest. I paid for it with allergies (birch and hazel pollen are my arch enemies), then used the shower as a hard reset.

Sunday we split directions: the boys headed toward North Macedonia, and I headed toward Mumbai. We kept the habitual morning walk for rolls, chatted with neighbors, ate breakfast, and then I ran the travel checklist: visa, passport, wallet, parking reservation, allergy meds. Smooth drive to Leipzig, smooth boarding, and a quiet flight routine—sleep, reading, audiobooks. I started A Feast for Crows. We landed early in Frankfurt, and I declined the offered chocolate to keep my caloric balance intact.

The week in one line

Travel tried to break the plan. The plan became: steps first, protein with intent, lounge discipline, and emotional recovery when the system fails.

Note: This is personal experience and routine design, not medical advice.

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