Thread: The Work
Information is everywhere now.
More plans. More protocols. More opinions. More experts. More data than the body could ever reasonably need.
Every day there is a new method.
A new shortcut.
A new secret.
A new promise that if you would just follow this one thing, everything would finally fall into place.
I have lived long enough in this world to see those cycles repeat themselves again and again.
And yet, there is still a pull in me to listen.
To learn.
To stay curious.
To remain open.
Not because I am chasing the next answer…
But because I am still interested in the question.
The difference now is that I don’t rush to adopt anything.
I let it sit.
I let it pass through awareness instead of excitement.
I watch how it feels in my body. In my breath. In my sleep. In my quiet moments when no one is inspiring me or cheering me on.
And then, very slowly, I decide.
This one stays.
This one goes.
This one needs time.
This one was never for me.
That process used to feel like indecision.
Now, I know it for what it actually is:
Discernment.
Maturity.
A kind of respect for self.
It takes ego to jump onto trends.
It takes humility to wait.
I think of all the phases I’ve passed through — different sports, different eras, different versions of myself chasing different identities.
Cross-country skiing.
Mountain running.
Ultra distances.
Marathon roads.
Track lanes.
HYROX floors.
Each discipline pulled something different out of me.
Each one taught me something about power, about suffering, about beauty, about boredom, about rhythm.
But none of them ever defined me completely.
What defined me was not the sport…
It was how I adapted.
How I listened.
How I let go when it was time and leaned in when something real appeared.
That’s how I’m treating training now too.
Not as a system to obey…
But as a conversation to be part of.
I will take information in.
From science.
From experience.
From coaches.
From ideas that challenge me.
From methods that seem almost too gentle to work.
But I will filter it through the only thing that has never lied to me:
My own awareness.
How my heart responds.
How my breath stays steady or unravels.
How my joints speak.
How my nervous system reacts.
How my mind settles — or doesn’t.
That is the real data.
And it cannot be downloaded.
When I use a new idea now, it is never because it is popular.
It is because something in it feels honest.
Honest to my age.
Honest to my history.
Honest to the way my body now wants to move.
Honest to the quiet, layered life I am currently living.
The work that is mine does not look like the work of other men.
It cannot be copied.
It cannot be sold as a template.
It is built from decades of experience, years of mistakes, long miles, broken moments, unexpected resilience, late blooms, early disappointments, hidden loves, and slow awakening.
It is as personal as a fingerprint.
And now, for the first time, I am no longer trying to make it look like anyone else’s.
That alone feels like a kind of freedom.
I will keep learning.
I will stay curious.
I will remain open.
But I will no longer be pulled by noise.
Only by what feels true in the quiet.
And that is how I know the work is finally mine.