Dagestan MMA Camp: Disconnecting to Reconnect (6th-10th Days)

Day 6

I woke up with pain in my left pectoral muscle. Not exactly what you want on a double-training day in Dagestan. We had sparring and wrestling, and I tried to do as much as my body allowed. There is a strange mentality that develops when you train here. You stop asking yourself whether you are tired. Everyone is tired. Everyone has something that hurts. The question becomes simpler: What can I still do today?

So I trained.

After the session, though, I knew something wasn’t right. I went straight to a pharmacy, bought Voltaren and took ibuprofen. There was nothing heroic about ignoring an injury. I wanted to continue training, but I also knew that destroying my body just to prove that I was tough would be stupid.

Fortunately, the next morning I would feel better. But the pain was still there, quietly reminding me that there is a difference between discomfort and damage; and that I needed to start listening more carefully.

Day 7

No training today. The pain forced me to slow down, so instead I walked around Makhachkala.

At the Dagestan museum I met a group of Russians. One conversation turned into another and suddenly we were spending the day together. We went for food, walked around the city and visited a mosque.

This is something I really like about travelling alone. When you’re alone, you’re available to the world. There is no schedule built around somebody else. No obligation to entertain anyone. No need to explain why you want to walk somewhere, sit somewhere, eat somewhere or suddenly change your plans. You simply move. And people enter your day naturally. Maybe that is why Dagestan has started doing something strange to me. The limited internet access here has been surprisingly good for my head.

At first it feels inconvenient. Then you realise how much unnecessary noise disappears. No constant messages. No endless scrolling. No feeling that you have to show people where you are or what you’re doing. I haven’t felt much desire to post anything. Actually, I haven’t felt much desire to be seen at all. And I like that. Maybe every once in a while I need to travel to the edge of the world and disappear for a while.

People sometimes worry about me or tell me to take care of myself. I understand where it comes from, but I don’t really need it. I already know I have to take care of myself.

If I don’t, I pay the price. That’s enough motivation. The Russians I met were great company. We walked, talked and explored together. At some point, probably because of the medication and exhaustion, I actually fell asleep inside the mosque. That was my body’s final message for the day. I woke up, found a taxi, went straight home and slept. Sometimes recovery wins.

Day 8

This morning’s sparring was brutal.Heavy rounds. By the final rounds my arms barely wanted to come up anymore. Eventually I reached the point where I couldn’t even run properly. That is when you know fatigue has moved beyond being something in your head. My body was empty. I needed rest.

I found a physiotherapist and arranged an MRI for later that night. I wanted to understand exactly what was happening with my chest instead of guessing.

At around 2 a.m., I finally got back home after the MRI. Exhausted. Quiet. Alone. And somewhere during these days, one thought kept returning:

I think I’m better when I’m left alone with myself.

Not because I dislike people. Actually, one of the best parts of this trip has been the people I’ve met. But solitude gives me something different. There is nobody else’s energy to manage! Nobody else’s expectations! No outside noise telling me what I should be thinking about.

There is just me.

I am better, stronger and healthier alone

Training.

Eating.

Walking.

Sleeping.

Thinking.

Or sometimes not thinking at all.

And perhaps that is the important part.

I don’t experience being alone as emptiness.

For me, solitude creates space.

Day 9

Arsen arrived in the morning and we headed towards the Tarki mountains for a run.

Afterwards I returned to the hotel, and later we went horse riding.

Around five kilometres through the landscape. There was something strangely meaningful about it. I was riding a horse across lands where generations before us had done exactly the same thing; although obviously for very different reasons.

For me it was recreation. For them, horses were transportation, survival, war, trade and everyday life. Still, for a brief moment, there was a connection with the landscape that you don’t get sitting inside a car.

My ancestors rode horses across lands like these. Now, centuries later, so was I.

At around 3:30 I went for a massage. After this amount of training, it felt incredible. I had another appointment at five for my pectoral injury, but unfortunately I missed the doctor. He had been called to another hospital for an emergency.

A Palestinian nurse helped me instead and temporarily applied kinesiology tape. He had moved here around ten years ago. Another random encounter.

Another person’s story in a place where I originally came only to train. I booked another appointment for Tuesday.

Technically, I could simply wait until I returned to Türkiye. But I was curious to hear another doctor’s perspective.

Combat sports are everywhere here. Wrestling, MMA, grappling, boxing. If there is anywhere where doctors regularly see pectoral and intercostal injuries from fighting, Dagestan is probably high on the list.

In the evening I ate a chicken burger at Rostic’s — essentially the Russian version of KFC — and later went to Rizk for meat. A surprisingly good Turkish restaurant.

Training, horses, massage, hospitals, burgers and Turkish food.

A fairly normal Saturday in Dagestan by this point.

Day 10

I barely managed to wake up around eight. The skin on my toes was peeling off and several areas had blistered from training. I wrapped them immediately. Today we were going to Sulak Canyon. I went in slippers.

During my first days here, I kept wondering why so many fighters walked around wearing slippers. Now I understand. After days of wrestling and fighting, your feet swell. Your toes blister. The skin gets destroyed.

Eventually, shoes become unnecessary suffering. So there I was, heading to one of the most spectacular landscapes in Dagestan wearing slippers because my feet had been beaten up by MMA training. Fair enough. We spent most of the day exploring the canyon.

We took a speedboat through the water, climbed up towards the viewpoints near the eagle nests and travelled through tunnels carved into the mountains.

For lunch I had khinkal, meat chudu and hot meat broth. Simple food. Perfect after a long day outside.

During the trip my MRI report finally arrived. Good news first: No tear.

Instead, the MRI showed a Grade 1 partial strain/injury involving the left pectoralis major and intercostal muscles, together with a limited post-traumatic hematoma.Not ideal. But manageable. And, most importantly, nothing was torn. By the time we returned home I was completely exhausted. I went to sleep around eleven. Tomorrow: double training again.

⸻

Same Mentality

Something else has happened during these days. I came to Dagestan mainly because I wanted to train.

But somewhere between the mountains, the gyms, the injuries, the coffees and the random conversations, I started building a small circle here. And I really like these guys. We come from different countries. Different cultures. Different jobs. Different lives. But inside the gym most of that becomes irrelevant. You train. You struggle. You get tired. You continue. If someone falls, you help him back up. Then you keep working.

There is very little space for weakness as an identity here. That doesn’t mean pretending you never hurt. My chest hurts. My feet are destroyed. Everyone carries something. The mentality is different:

You can be hurt without becoming helpless.

That distinction matters to me. Maybe that is one reason I feel comfortable here. There is less talking about what we are going to do and more doing it. And there is something powerful about being surrounded by people who have the same basic mentality:

We are here to get better.

Not better than each other. Better than when we arrived.

Disconnecting

There isn’t actually that much to do in Dagestan. And maybe that’s exactly why I like it. If you’re looking for luxury, nightlife, endless entertainment or a packed tourist itinerary, there are probably better places. But if you want to train hard, eat, sleep, walk through mountains and disappear from your normal world for a while, this place is almost perfect. I came here expecting physical discomfort. I didn’t expect the mental clarity. Limited internet. A simple room. Training twice a day. Walking around Makhachkala. Eating whatever is nearby. Meeting people randomly. Going home when the day is finished.

There is something extremely clean about that rhythm. And I realized something about myself again.

I like being alone. Not lonely. Alone. There is a difference.

Peace

I don’t need constant company to feel complete. I don’t need someone beside me to validate what I’m doing. I can eat alone, travel alone, train alone, walk for hours alone and sit somewhere drinking coffee without speaking to anybody. I’m comfortable with my own company. Maybe more than comfortable. I actually need it. When the outside noise disappears, my energy comes back. And interestingly, when I choose to spend time with people afterwards, I enjoy them more.

I joke more.

I talk more.

I bring more energy.

I don’t need to show someone to fulfill its attention needs. Because I’m not asking them to fill something for me.

Bro’s Alexe and Yariq

I already arrived full. Maybe that’s what Dagestan is reminding me. Sometimes disconnecting isn’t about escaping from the world. Sometimes you disconnect so you can hear yourself again.