My Hair Transplant & Running II: I Didn't for a Year and It Was Kind of My Own Fault

This is Part Two of a three-part series about how a planned return to running got derailed by paranoia, fear, and a long, long stretch of doing nothing. If you missed Part One, you can read it here

The standard advice after a hair transplant is clear: four to six weeks, then you can start exercising again. Running, swimming, gym, you’re told it’s all back on the table. It’s not an operation, they say. It’s outpatient. Quick in, quick out. Back to normal in no time.

Except for me, it wasn’t.

My plan was simple. Sort the hair. Wait the recommended month. Then get the runners back on and build towards marathons again. This transplant was meant to be the beginning of my running comeback. Instead, it became a reason not to start.

The First Signs of Hesitation

I was motivated at first. Genuinely. I told myself, four to six weeks and I’d be moving again. But then came the numbness. Not pain, just this strange, lingering sensation in my scalp that I couldn’t ignore.

I'd read online, especially on reddit, that this was normal. Common. Temporary. But something about it scared the life out of me. My mind decided that any exercise, any increase in heart rate, any bit of sweat might delay the sensation returning or worse, somehow mess up the transplant.

What they don’t tell you when you're booking it is that post-op paranoia is very real. You become obsessed with protecting your investment. You think: if I mess this up, I’ve just wasted thousands of euro and a full year of recovery. And so you freeze.

The False Start

I went for one run at the two-month mark. Just a jog. I didn’t feel great afterwards. And instead of brushing it off, I spiralled. Was it the transplant? Had I pushed too soon? Was I making it worse?

No one told me I shouldn’t run. My partner didn’t stop me. My clinic said I was fine. But in my head, it didn’t feel fine. I convinced myself that this vague, post-surgery weirdness meant my body wasn’t ready.

It’s mad looking back. I’d had my appendix out before. I’d recovered faster from that.

When Paranoia Becomes Routine

Weeks passed. Then months. I kept telling myself I’d start again soon. When the numbness goes. When the regrowth really kicks in. When I feel normal.

And at some point, I decided I wouldn’t start until it was fully grown out. That was the logic: give it the full nine to twelve months, then I’ll be confident enough to run.

Was that true? No.

It was a mix of fear, laziness, and mental drift. But it felt logical at the time. I told people: "I’ll start when the transplant has fully settled." And they accepted it. Because it sounded like I was following medical advice. Not avoiding effort.

Identity Slip

This was supposed to be my return to running. But when people asked, "Do you run?" I said no.

Not yet. Soon. Just waiting for the hair to grow. Just waiting for the go-ahead. Just waiting.

It’s easy to lose momentum when you’re not doing anything. But it’s much easier to lose identity. I wasn’t a runner anymore. I was a man waiting to become one.

What Finally Shifted

My partner is incredibly persistent. That helped. But more than anything, I just ran out of excuses. The numbness was gone. The hair had grown. The procedure had been a success.

And nothing bad had happened. All the paranoia? All the “what ifs”? None of it came true.

It turns out the forums were right. It was all temporary.

By month ten or eleven, I started walking. Carefully. Slowly. Still convinced my scalp might fall off if my heart rate went above 110. But I walked. Ten thousand steps. Fifteen thousand. I even lost a bit of weight.

And eventually, walking wasn’t enough. So I ran.

Badly, awkwardly, unfit as hell, but I ran.