Owen had a protocol. I had a sandwich.

Owen was explaining his recovery routine while I searched my gym bag for lunch. I found a sock, a receipt and the sandwich, in that order. By then he had reached a temperature precise enough to require equipment.

I had started a strength programme alongside my running. Owen wanted to feel ready for another hard session tomorrow. I wanted to get stronger over the next few months. We had both been calling this “recovery,” as if it described one single job.

I asked what we were trying to recover.

He said his legs. I said that was a location, not an answer. We were good enough friends for him to tell me to eat the sandwich before becoming more difficult.

Later, I read a review about repeated cold-water immersion immediately after resistance training. It suggested that this pattern might modestly reduce muscle growth compared with training without it. The evidence had limitations. It was not a verdict on every cold swim or every occasional bathhouse afternoon.

That distinction was more useful to me than choosing a side in our changing-room debate. Feeling less sore after a session and adapting to training over time were different questions.

I brought the question to my trainer.

We talked about what my programme was actually for. I stopped automatically attaching a plunge to every lifting session. I also stopped treating a bathhouse visit with a friend as though it had to justify itself in kilograms added to a bar.

When Owen asked what I had decided, I gave him the short version. He wanted the temperature. I said I was still working on the question that came before the temperature.

He looked at my lunch and asked if I had another sandwich. For once, the answer was simple. No. I had packed two socks, though, which felt like evidence of some planning.