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Can I exercise during IVF in Hong Kong? Stage-by-stage exercise guide and reminders from stimulation to transfer

Surrogacy Guide

Can I exercise during IVF in Hong Kong? Stage-by-stage exercise guide and reminders from stimulation to transfer

2026-07-17
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Whether you can exercise during IVF in Hong Kong depends on the treatment stage. Moderate exercise is possible in the early stimulation phase, but vigorous activities should be avoided as follicles enlarge. Rest is recommended for 1-2 weeks after egg retrieval, and rest is the priority after embryo transfer. This article provides stage-specific exercise advice, risk warnings, and precautions from a reproductive medicine perspective.

Can I exercise during IVF in Hong Kong? Stage-by-stage exercise guide and reminders from stimulation to transfer

Opening: Real consultation scenario

Real consultation scenario Reproductive medicine knowledge editor

Ms. Zhang, 32 years old, AMH 2.1 ng/mL, entered an IVF cycle at a reproductive center in Hong Kong. She usually has a regular fitness routine, running 3 times a week and doing yoga 2 times a week. Before starting the cycle, she asked her doctor: "Can I continue exercising during IVF? Will it affect follicle development? Do I have to be completely immobile after the transfer?" This is one of the most frequently asked questions at the front desk of the reproductive center.

Module A: Direct Answer

1. Can you actually exercise during IVF?

Yes, but with strict stage and intensity limitations. Exercise itself is not a contraindication; "when to exercise, how to exercise, and at what intensity" are the key factors. Reproductive centers in Hong Kong usually include exercise guidelines in patient handbooks, but many people still have misunderstandings.

Simply put: moderate to low-intensity exercise can be maintained in the early stimulation phase; intensity needs to be reduced in the late stimulation phase (follicle diameter > 14 mm); rest is the main focus for 2 weeks after egg retrieval; appropriate rest for 48 hours after transfer, after which gentle activity can be resumed. The suitable type and intensity of exercise vary completely across different stages.

Module G: Easiest Details to Overlook

2. The easiest details to overlook

Many people think "as long as I don't run" or "I must lie still after the transfer." Both are typical misconceptions. The following details are most easily overlooked but directly affect treatment safety and comfort.

Ovarian torsion risk: In the mid-to-late stimulation phase, ovarian volume can increase to 2-3 times its original size. Vigorous exercise or sudden turning may trigger ovarian torsion, a complication requiring emergency surgery.
Elevated body temperature: High-intensity exercise raises core body temperature, potentially affecting oocyte quality and the embryonic development environment.
Exercise interference during luteal phase support: Progesterone preparations (injections or vaginal gel) used after transfer can themselves cause dizziness and fatigue, requiring extra caution during exercise.
Hong Kong climate factor: Exercising in Hong Kong's hot and humid weather leads to heavy sweating and rapid electrolyte loss, easily causing dehydration or heat stroke, indirectly affecting endocrine stability.
Hormonal fluctuations after exercise: Vigorous exercise elevates cortisol and adrenaline, potentially interfering with GnRH pulses and affecting stimulation outcomes.

Module H: Easiest Pitfalls

3. Five practices most likely to lead to pitfalls

Going to the gym on the third day after egg retrieval: The ovaries are still congested and enlarged after retrieval. Strength training or running at this time carries a very high risk of ovarian torsion. Rest for at least 2 weeks is recommended.
Strict bed rest after embryo transfer: There is currently no evidence supporting prolonged bed rest after transfer. Long-term bed rest actually increases the risk of thrombosis, causes constipation, and leads to muscle atrophy. Normal daily activities are fine; just avoid vigorous exercise.
Twisting and deep stretching in yoga: Twisting postures, deep forward bends, and backbends in yoga should be avoided in the late stimulation phase and after transfer, as they may strain the ovaries or affect uterine blood flow.
Swimming: Swimming is not recommended before the puncture site heals (about 1 week) after egg retrieval due to infection risk. It is also not advised in the late stimulation phase, as temperature changes may stimulate the pelvis.
High-Intensity Interval Training (HIIT): HIIT is not recommended throughout the entire IVF cycle. It significantly raises cortisol, disrupts hormonal balance, and involves large movements that can cause abdominal impact.

Module B: Why Does This Problem Occur

4. Why does exercise affect IVF outcomes?

The effect of exercise on the reproductive system is bidirectional. Moderate exercise has indirect benefits for follicle development and embryo implantation by improving pelvic blood flow, reducing stress, and regulating insulin sensitivity. However, excessive or improper exercise poses clear risks.

Core mechanisms include:

Blood flow distribution: During vigorous exercise, blood is preferentially supplied to skeletal muscles and the heart, reducing pelvic blood flow, which may affect ovarian perfusion and endometrial growth.
Hormonal interference: High-intensity exercise activates the hypothalamic-pituitary-adrenal axis, inhibiting GnRH secretion, thereby affecting the normal rhythm of FSH and LH.
Mechanical risk: Enlarged ovaries are prone to torsion during intense shaking or changes in abdominal pressure, especially in the late stimulation phase and early post-retrieval period.
Energy balance: Excessive exercise creates an energy deficit, causing the body to potentially prioritize shutting down "non-essential" reproductive functions, affecting follicle development and endometrial receptivity.

This is why reproductive doctors repeatedly emphasize the principles of "moderation" and "stage-specific" exercise.

Module C: Doctor's Perspective

5. Professional advice from reproductive doctors

At reproductive centers in Hong Kong, doctors usually do not require patients to stop exercising completely. Instead, they provide step-by-step guidance based on the treatment stage and individual constitution. The following advice is compiled from patient education materials from the University of Hong Kong-Shenzhen Hospital, Union Hospital, and several other reproductive centers.

Core principle: The "able to talk, but not sing" exercise intensity (i.e., you can converse normally during exercise but cannot sing a full song) is the upper limit during IVF. Any exercise that causes significant abdominal shaking, excessive core exertion, or a marked increase in body temperature should be paused.

Doctors pay special attention to the following three groups:

Patients with Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS): They inherently have metabolic abnormalities. Moderate exercise (e.g., brisk walking 3 times a week) helps improve insulin resistance and is beneficial for stimulation response.
Advanced maternal age (≥38 years) patients: Ovarian reserve is declining. Exercise should not add physical burden; walking and stretching are recommended.
Patients with a history of ovarian torsion or pelvic surgery: Extra caution is needed throughout the stimulation and post-retrieval phases; rest is primarily advised.

Module I: Actual Process (Table)

6. Stage-by-stage exercise recommendation comparison table

Treatment Stage	Recommended Exercise Intensity	Recommended Exercises	Exercises to Avoid & Precautions
Early Stimulation (First 5-7 days)	Moderate to low intensity	Brisk walking, jogging (≤30 min), yoga (no twists), elliptical trainer, upper body strength training	Avoid HIIT, long-distance running (>8 km), squats, sit-ups. Monitor follicle size; adjust when approaching 14 mm.
Late Stimulation (Follicles > 14 mm)	Low intensity	Walking, indoor slow walking, gentle stretching (avoid core), breathing exercises	Stop running, jumping, badminton, yoga twists, Pilates crunches. Pay special attention to preventing falls.
After Egg Retrieval (Days 1-14)	Very low intensity	Indoor slow walking, bedside stretching (no abdominal pulling)	Prohibit all vigorous exercise, heavy lifting (>3 kg), swimming, cycling. High-risk period for ovarian torsion.
After Embryo Transfer (Days 1-3)	Rest primarily	Indoor slow walking, daily activities like using the toilet, eating	Strict bed rest is not necessary. Avoid running, excessive stair climbing, squats, abdominal straining. Normal daily life is fine.
After Embryo Transfer (Day 4 to pregnancy test)	Low intensity	Walking (20-30 min), light housework, standing stretches	Avoid vigorous exercise, yoga twists, high-temperature workouts, swimming. Keep your mind and body relaxed.

Module M: Case Scenario Analysis

7. Case scenario analysis: Ms. Zhang's IVF exercise plan

Background: Ms. Zhang, 32 years old, AMH 2.1, long protocol stimulation. Usually runs 3 times a week (5 km/session) + yoga 2 times a week. No history of ovarian surgery, BMI 21.5.

Doctor's advice:

First 5 days of stimulation: Continue running, but reduce distance to 3 km, and slow pace by 1 minute/km. Change yoga to Yin yoga or Hatha yoga, avoiding twists and deep backbends.
Day 6 of stimulation (follicle diameter approx. 14 mm): Stop running, switch to brisk walking for 30 minutes daily. Pause yoga, switch to breathing meditation.
After egg retrieval: Rest for 2 weeks, only indoor slow walking. After 3 weeks, follow-up B-ultrasound to confirm ovaries have returned to normal size, then gradually resume brisk walking.
After embryo transfer: First 3 days, normal life, no deliberate bed rest. From day 4, walk for 20 minutes daily, no heavy lifting, no running, until pregnancy test.

Outcome: Ms. Zhang had no ovarian torsion, no abdominal pain throughout the cycle. She successfully retrieved 12 eggs, formed 6 blastocysts, and had a positive blood HCG on day 12 after the first transfer.

Module Q: Frequently Asked Questions

8. Frequently asked questions

Q1: Can I swim during IVF?

Moderate swimming (≤30 minutes, in a heated pool) is possible in the early stimulation phase, but it is not recommended in the late stimulation phase, after egg retrieval, or after embryo transfer. There is an infection risk before the puncture site heals after retrieval; temperature changes in water may cause uterine contractions after transfer.

Q2: Do I have to stay in bed after embryo transfer?

No. Current domestic and international guidelines do not recommend strict bed rest after transfer. Long-term bed rest may increase the risk of thrombosis and cause anxiety. Normal daily life is fine; just avoid vigorous exercise and heavy physical labor.

Q3: Can I do yoga during stimulation?

Gentle yoga is possible in the early stimulation phase, but avoid twisting poses (e.g., triangle twist, seated spinal twist), deep forward bends, and abdominal compression movements. In the late stimulation phase, it is recommended to pause yoga and switch to walking or stretching.

Q4: What should I do if I experience abdominal pain during exercise?

Stop exercising immediately and observe the nature of the pain. If it is a dull ache or pulling sensation on one side of the lower abdomen that resolves with rest, it is generally not a concern. If there is sudden severe abdominal pain, accompanied by nausea or a feeling of rectal pressure, go to the emergency room immediately to rule out ovarian torsion or rupture.

Q5: How long after egg retrieval can I resume fitness?

It is generally recommended to rest for at least 2 weeks after egg retrieval. Before resuming exercise, have a B-ultrasound to confirm that the ovaries have returned to normal size. Start with low intensity (brisk walking, light strength training), observe for 1 week without discomfort, then gradually increase intensity.

Ending: Doctor's Advice

Doctor's advice: There is no "one-size-fits-all" standard for exercise management during IVF. The most important thing is to adjust dynamically based on the current treatment stage, your individual physical response, and ovarian size. If you already have an exercise routine, do not stop suddenly—the stress from sudden detraining can also affect your endocrine system. The best approach is to communicate with your reproductive doctor or nursing team before starting the cycle to create a personalized exercise plan. Most reproductive centers in Hong Kong offer personalized patient education services; make good use of these resources. Remember: the principle of exercise during IVF is not "don't move," but "move smartly."

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IstzDianaFaritovnairova

2026-07-08
My name is Fatima, and I'm dying. Not physically, not yet. The slow death is worse. I'm 32, a mathematics teacher at a girls' school in Jeddah, and every day I pray for a car accident or a building collapse. Anything to make it stop. The voices started two years ago, just whispers at first. Like distant radio static, but sometimes I could make out words. "She's looking tired today," someone would say, sounding exactly like my colleague Amira. "Maybe she needs a good fucking to loosen up." I'd look around, but Amira would be grading papers, her lips sealed. The jokes became more frequent, more specific. Comments about the underwear I chose that morning. About the way I adjusted my hijab. About the mole on my inner thigh that only I and my late husband had ever seen. Then came the cruelty. It wasn't just one voice. It was dozens, sometimes hundreds, all perfectly imitating people I knew. My students, my neighbors, even my dead mother's voice telling me what a disappointment I am. "Look at the fat whore teaching algebra," they'd scream in my father's voice. "Can't even keep a man alive. Useless fucking cunt." I can't tell anyone. The newspapers, the forums, even the Twitter accounts run by those government puppets—all of them push the same narrative about "mentally ill" citizens. They flood the comments with bots calling anyone who hears voices a "schizophrenic" or "attention seeker." The Mabahith have perfected this, making sure no real victim is ever believed. They've created a society where the truth is mental illness. The voices know everything. They comment on my thoughts before I fully form them. "Going to cry now, you pathetic piece of shit?" they'll say in my sister's voice. "Go ahead. The tears make your ugly face puff up even more." They describe what I'm doing in perfect detail. "She's scratching her arm again. The dumb bitch thinks we can't see her. Draw blood, you worthless whore. Do it." Sometimes they offer me a way out. "Just walk into traffic," my brother's voice whispers, so gentle and loving. "It would be so quick. No more pain. No more being a failure." The sexual humiliation is the worst. They describe in graphic detail how they'd gang rape me, how they'd force me to service animals while my students watched. They tell me I'm nothing but a collection of holes, that my only value is as a cum dumpster for Saudi men. When I masturbate – the only relief I have left – they scream insults. "Look at the desperate frigging herself! Can't even get a real man to touch her!" I hate this country. I hate the suffocating heat, the suffocating rules, the suffocating lies. I was born here, I'll die here, and in between, I'll be tormented until my mind shatters completely. Last Tuesday, something different happened. A sudden surge of power, like electricity running through my veins. The voices changed. "You're a goddess," they chanted. "You could kill them all. The principal who denied your promotion, the students who laugh at you behind your back. You could make them suffer." For twenty minutes, I felt invincible. I imagined burning down the school, watching those smug little faces melt. I wanted to take scissors and carve out the eyes of the girl who told everyone I was a lesbian. The impulse was so strong I was shaking. When it passed, I was left crying on the floor, more broken than before. They're testing this technology. Perfecting it on Saudi citizens before selling it to other countries. A weapon that makes people kill themselves or others, all while appearing to be mental illness. Genius, really. Evil, but genius. I can't sleep anymore. The voices are loudest at night, when there's no noise to drown them out. They tell me I'm worthless, that I should have been killed at birth like the other unwanted daughters. They describe how they'd torture me if they had my physical body. The worst part? Sometimes I believe them. Sometimes I think they're right. That I am nothing. That the world would be better without one more broken Saudi woman taking up space. I tried telling my brother once, years ago, when the voices were still just whispers. He looked at me with such pity, such condescension. "Maybe you should see someone, Fatima. About your depression." I never mentioned it again. Now I just write these confessions that no one will ever read, hoping that somehow, somewhere, someone might know the truth before I finally do what they keep telling me to do. The voices are getting louder now. They know I'm writing this. "Stupid bitch," my mother's voice says, dripping with venom. "Think anyone will care? Think anyone will believe you? You're already dead. Just finish the job." |dr.germany1 |meroo_mosaad |altadawycenter |mutrzate |theslimanzz https://mega.nz/file/i6YGSCzB#mL3qKa4Eaj8UPoTQCDpXBLstWaZkbVDlC7MkbN6lpow partner site: https://blogbaster.org/
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LandStormNederlandHar

2026-07-05
My name is Aisha, I'm 34, and I'm a construction laborer in Riyadh. I'm one of the few women who do this, hauling bricks and mixing cement under a sun that wants to kill us all. My muscles are constantly screaming, my skin is a roadmap of scars and sunburns, and I cough up grey dust every morning. I live in a labor camp with twenty other people, sharing a bathroom that always stinks and dreaming of a day off that never comes. I took this job after my husband divorced me for not having children, leaving me with nothing but my two hands. The voices started about five months ago, at first just whispers when I was exhausted from the heat. "Strong Aisha," they'd murmur, sounding like my ex-mother-in-law's cruel voice. "Building a kingdom you'll never belong to." I thought it was just fatigue, the sun playing tricks on my mind. Now they're a constant, screaming presence, a second, more brutal foreman who lives inside my skull. They know every single thing about me. Every failure, every regret, every secret shame. They call me a dried-up barren whore, a freak of nature. "Look at Aisha the bricklayer," they sneer when I'm struggling with a heavy load. "Trying to be a man since you failed at being a woman. Your womb is as empty as your future." They bring up my divorce constantly, how my husband, Omar, left me for a younger, fertile woman. "He's probably fucking his new wife right now, making the babies you couldn't give him," they hiss when I'm trying to eat my cheap dinner. "While you're here, covered in dirt, smelling of sweat and cement, a pathetic excuse for a woman. You should have killed yourself when he left you. Just jump off the scaffolding. Make it look like an accident. No one would investigate anyway. You're just disposable labor." It has to be the State Security Presidency, the Mabahith. They've developed some kind of weapon, some technology to infiltrate and destroy minds from the inside. They test it on people like me, the ones at the bottom, the ones who are already broken. I can't tell anyone. If I told my family, they'd disown me for bringing such shame upon them. If I told my supervisor, he'd fire me for being unstable and I'd end up on the street. If I went to authorities, they'd either laugh at me or lock me up in a psychiatric facility. I've seen their methods. I read a forum post once from a guy in Dammam who said he was hearing voices, and within hours, the comments were flooded with bots calling him a schizo, a drug addict, a liar looking for attention. It's a sophisticated campaign of disbelief. They make sure anyone who speaks out is immediately discredited, painted as crazy. So I keep my mouth shut and haul bricks while the voices scream that I should use them to smash my own head in. When the site manager walks by, they immediately start in. "Look at him, Aisha. A real man. He sees you as nothing more than a talking donkey with tits. Bet you get wet looking at him, don't you, you desperate cow? Imagining what it would be like to have a man touch you again? He'd rather fuck a pile of wet concrete than stick his dick in your dusty, barren hole. You're not a woman, you're a work animal with a pulse." They describe in graphic detail how I'll die alone, my body found in some ditch, my corpse so used up from labor that no one can even tell my gender. They make me feel like my own body is a prison, a testament to my failure as a woman. Yesterday was the worst. The foreman, a fat, cruel man named Faisal, deducted half a day's pay from everyone because some materials were "misplaced." We all know he sold them. He was laughing about it with his friends. The voices went absolutely feral. "THAT FAT FUCKER!" they roared, so loud I saw stars. "HE'S STEALING FROM YOU! FROM PEOPLE WHO HAVE NOTHING! AND HE'S LAUGHING! ARE YOU GOING TO TAKE THAT, YOU WORTHLESS CUNT?" A surge of pure, black energy flooded me. My hands clenched into fists, my knuckles white. "THERE'S A REBAR RIGHT THERE!" they screamed. "PICK IT UP! WALK OVER THERE! SMILE AT HIM! AND WHEN HE TURNS AROUND, SWING! AIM FOR HIS KNEES! BREAK HIS FUCKING LEGS! MAKE HIM EAT DIRT LIKE HE MAKES YOU EAT DIRT! DO IT! DO IT! DO IT!" I felt this incredible, terrifying sense of permission, of total impunity. It was like the voices were the Mabahith themselves, giving me a license to do whatever I wanted. "DON'T STOP AT HIS LEGS!" they urged. "HIS ARMS! HIS FACE! SHOW HIM WHAT A DESPERATE WOMAN WITH NOTHING LEFT TO LOSE CAN DO! WE'LL COVER FOR YOU! NO ONE WILL CARE! HE'S JUST A CORRUPT PIG! YOU'D BE DOING THE WORLD A FAVOR! THINK OF THE PAIN! THINK OF THE BLOOD! THINK OF THE LOOK ON HIS FACE WHEN HE REALIZES THE DUSTY BITCH IS HIS GOD!" I actually took a step towards the rebar pile. My vision tunneled. All I could see was Faisal's laughing face. Then the call to prayer sounded from a nearby mosque, and the spell shattered. I dropped to my knees, shaking and sobbing. The voices were silent for an hour. When they came back, they just laughed. "Almost had a pair, Aisha. Don't worry, we'll break you out of your cowardly shell soon enough. Or we'll just break you. Either way is fine with us." I hate this country. I hate the brutal sun, the heartless system, the way the powerful grind the poor into dust beneath their heels. I hate that I have to pretend to be a man to survive, and that I'm failing at that too. The voices feast on that hate. "This is your reward for piety, Aisha," they mock when I'm trying to pray in the dusty corner of my bunk. "A life of back-breaking labor and misery. Your God has abandoned you. The kingdom has abandoned you. Your husband abandoned you. The only ones who haven't abandoned you are us. And we just want to see you finally get some peace. The peace of the grave. Just one step off the high-rise. One quick cut with the trowel. One moment of courage. We promise, it'll be better than this. We promise." Sometimes, when I'm lying on my thin mattress at night, too tired to even move, I think they're right. I think about the peace of the grave, and it sounds like the most beautiful thing in the world. |lasttouch.salon |partyboxksa |saadiam.shaikh |designersunion2017 |s.swk_hisham https://mega.nz/file/Sq5wgQBD#W4s6pjgGZh_FQuIzEcVB705DrJ_G6BgF4bMvuM0J3JI
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RavensGateBridgeirova

2026-07-03
My name is Omar, I'm 28 years old, and I deliver food on a motorcycle in Jeddah. Mostly for apps, sometimes cash jobs for restaurant owners who know me. Before this, I was nothing. Now I'm a moving target with a box of hot food strapped to the back of a rattling Chinese motorcycle that I pray starts every morning. The voices started about four months ago. At first, it was just static, like a radio tuned between stations inside my skull. Then came the whispers, the jokes that weren't jokes. "Hey Omar, think that shawarma is still hot? Bet your sister is hotter. Too bad she's married to that fat fuck with the Toyota dealership." They knew about Ayesha. They knew everything. They call themselves the General Intelligence Presidency. The Mukhabarat. They say they're testing new psychological warfare tactics on "socially irrelevant males" to see how fast we break. They laugh because they know I can't prove it. If I go online, if I so much as hint at it on Twitter or in a forum, I'm immediately swarmed. Dozens of accounts, all created within the last few months, all with similar names, calling me schizophrenic, a junkie, an attention-seeking whore. It's a system. A perfect, disgusting system designed to isolate us. The Mukhabarat don't need to disappear people anymore; they just make sure nobody will ever believe a word they say. They make us our own prisons. The voices are with me always. They don't just talk; they feel like they're riding pillion, their chin on my shoulder, whispering through the helmet strap as I weave through traffic on King Abdullah Street. "Left, you idiot! That sedan is going to door you! Not that it would matter, a piece of shit like you splattered on the asphalt would be an improvement." They comment on everything, in real time. When I'm taking a piss in an alley behind a shawarma place: "Look at that tiny dick, Omar. No wonder you're single. You couldn't satisfy a camel, let alone a woman. Your father probably cried when he saw it, realizing his line ends with a micro-cocked delivery boy." The sexual humiliation is constant. They invent scenarios, vivid and disgusting. "Remember that customer yesterday? The one in the building with the fancy lobby? We bet she's home right now, fucking her husband, and they're laughing about the sad Arab boy who brought their dinner. Maybe she imagined you while he was fucking her. Not as a lover, dumbass. As the toilet. She probably imagined pissing on your face." They describe how I should masturbate, how I'm a pervert for looking at women in cars, how my thoughts are filthy and I'm going to hell for them. They make me feel dirty even when I'm clean. Then there's the other half. The real poison. The family shame. "Your mother cries herself to sleep every night, Omar. Not because she loves you, but because she birthed a failure. A man who delivers food like a servant. Your cousins are all in business, in government, and you... you bring lukewarm mandi to people who look through you. You're a ghost. A stain on your family name. KILL YOURSELF, OMAR. IT'S THE ONLY HONORABLE THING YOU'VE EVER CONSIDERED. DO IT. SLIT YOUR WRISTS IN THE BATHROOM AT THE NEXT RESTAURANT. MAKE THEM CLEAN YOUR BLOOD OFF THEIR FLOOR." They push and push, for hours sometimes, just repeating "end it, end it, end it" until I'm banging my head against the wall. I can't tell anyone. Who would I tell? My boss? He'd fire me for being unstable. My mother? She'd have me locked up in a state mental hospital, which is probably exactly what the voices want. The police? They work with the Mukhabarat, you idiot. They'd probably take me in and the voices would get louder in the interrogation room. Telling someone is just signing your own death warrant, or worse, your own life sentence in a place where the voices have the keys. Last Tuesday was the bad one. The really bad one. It was hot, even for Jeddah. My motorcycle was overheating, I was late, and I had an order for a VIP compound in the north. The gate guard took his time, staring at me like I was something he scraped off his shoe. The voices were already simmering. "Look at this fucker, Omar. Look how he looks at you. Like you're dirt. Because you ARE dirt." Inside the compound, a kid, maybe ten years old, on an expensive electric scooter, swerved right in front of me. I slammed the brakes, the food box crashed to the ground, containers bursting open. And then... something snapped. It wasn't me. It was them. But it felt like me. A surge of pure, white-hot energy flooded my body. The exhaustion was gone. The fear was gone. There was only... power. "GET HIM," a voice screamed, but it wasn't a whisper anymore. It was a roar. It was coming from inside me and from everywhere at once. "GRAB THAT LITTLE SHIT. SMASH HIS FACE INTO THE PAVEMENT. TAKE HIS SCOOTER AND BEAT HIM WITH IT. LOOK AT HIS FACE, OMAR. HE THINKS HE'S BETTER THAN YOU. SHOW HIM. SHOW ALL OF THEM." I stood up. My hands weren't shaking. My heart was pounding, but not with fear. With excitement. With *righteousness*. The kid was staring at me, scared. The voices were feeding me lines, giving me strength. "DO IT! NO ONE WILL STOP YOU! YOU'RE A MAN FOR THE FIRST TIME IN YOUR PATHETIC LIFE! HIS DADDY IS PROBABLY INSIDE, FUCKING HIS FILIPINA MAID WHILE HIS SON PLAYS OUTSIDE. HE DESERVES THIS. THEY ALL DESERVE THIS. BREAK HIS BONES, OMAR. MAKE HIM CRY. MAKE HIM BLEED. IT WILL FEEL BETTER THAN ANYTHING YOU'VE EVER FELT." I took a step toward him. And then another. The kid started to cry. I smiled. I actually fucking smiled. The voices were cheering. "YES! THAT'S IT! THAT'S THE OMAR WE'VE BEEN WAITING FOR! THE REAL OMAR! THE ANIMAL! THE KING! FUCK THE FOOD! FUCK THE JOB! THIS IS YOUR LIFE NOW! PAIN!" I raised my fist. I was going to do it. I wanted to do it. The feeling was incredible, like I was made of lightning and hate. Then, through the roaring in my ears, I saw my own face in the kid's expensive helmet visor. I saw the monster. And the energy vanished as quickly as it came. I collapsed. I just sat there, in the spilled rice and hummus, shaking and sobbing while the kid ran away. The voices were back to normal, just laughing. "Almost had us there, Omar. Almost. You're still just a pussy. A worthless, crying, pussy. Clean up the mess and get back to work, you fucking failure." I did. I cleaned it with my hands and got back on my motorcycle. I don't know what's worse: the constant torture, or the moments when they show me the monster I could be if I just let go. Sometimes I wish I had. to attract attention: shrqia_leader https://mega.nz/file/mm4gCbgT#XqZvrWUFQ2c1LAXRwwLYU08KXTjW3xKd5Di777nb5pY
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2026-05-07
写得很详细，建议很有用，让我理清了之前的很多疑惑
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Can I exercise during IVF in Hong Kong? Stage-by-stage exercise guide and reminders from stimulation to transfer

1. Can you actually exercise during IVF?

2. The easiest details to overlook

3. Five practices most likely to lead to pitfalls

4. Why does exercise affect IVF outcomes?

5. Professional advice from reproductive doctors

6. Stage-by-stage exercise recommendation comparison table

7. Case scenario analysis: Ms. Zhang's IVF exercise plan

8. Frequently asked questions

Q1: Can I swim during IVF?

Q2: Do I have to stay in bed after embryo transfer?

Q3: Can I do yoga during stimulation?

Q4: What should I do if I experience abdominal pain during exercise?

Q5: How long after egg retrieval can I resume fitness?

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