I did my regular hour route — about 23k in just under an hour — basically up a hill and down the other side. It was the first time I’ve been on the bike since September and it felt really good to be back on it.
Monday was a “day off,” but not a dead day. I walked 6k, which was perfect active recovery.
Then this morning, Tuesday, I wasn’t really feeling it. If I’m honest, I could still feel Sunday’s cycling in my legs when I was going up and down the stairs. I also had a couple of early calls, which is another easy excuse to write the morning off.
But I’m a lucky boy — I’ve got a rowing machine in the shed.
So I put my gear on, went out, sat down, and did 40 minutes. Easy pace, nothing too hectic, but I wound it up for the last five minutes just to finish with a bit of intent.
And I feel great.
This is what progress looks like at the moment: keep turning up, keep it sensible, and use the rower as the reliable reset button.
A couple of things helped. First off, it’s Friday, which is always a good day. Secondly, it’s one of those proper winter days: cold enough that there was ice on the car this morning, but the sky is blue and the sun is out. That kind of day always lifts the spirits.
I had a solid hour going around the weights and really enjoyed it. I even upped the weight on a couple of things, which felt good — progress without drama.
One thing I’m noticing more and more is how much having a rowing machine at home changes what the gym is for. I’m genuinely privileged to have the RowErg in the shed. It means that when I do go to the gym, I can use the rower there just as a warm-up and then focus properly on strength training. No juggling my hour between rowing and weights. Just warm up, lift, leave.
It was short and sharp today – 30 minutes – and I can still feel a lot of yesterday’s strength work in me. The backs of my legs and my lower back are talking to me, but that’s okay. Those are exactly the bits that are going to drive a Sub-7 2K, so I’m fine with them being awake.
I made it out to the shed and got moving. The pace over the 30 minutes was pretty quick, back up around the speeds I was hitting last year. That feels good. It’s a solid marker that things are heading the right way again.
One thing I keep noticing is how much smoother my technique feels. The torque graph on the rower’s display is the right kind of shape now, not spiky and messy, and that efficiency in the stroke is only going to help when it comes time to actually go for Sub-7.
So yes, good session. Short and sharp, but that’s fine. I’ve got work to do now.
Today is Tuesday, and when I opened the curtains this morning the sun was actually shining. Hooray.
If I am completely honest, the first thing I thought about was walking on the beach and looking at the sea. That was the real temptation. But I have work commitments and a day to get on with, so instead I went to the gym and did a strength session.
And it was great. I really enjoyed it and I am very glad I went. Today is a good day.
I saw something on Instagram recently that came back to me while I was training. It was the idea that we always call in sick when we feel terrible, but we never call in well.
Wouldn’t it be brilliant to phone work and say, “I’m not coming in today because I feel great, and I’m going to walk on the beach and look at the sea”?
I might float that with my manager next time I see him. I doubt it will take off, with deadlines to meet and targets to hit, but the idea still makes me smile. A day off not because you are broken, but because you are actually doing well and want to enjoy it.
For today, though, I am doing the grown-up version. I lifted, I feel good, and now I am going to get some work done.
It is a few days into this phase of remembering what it feels like to look after myself, and it is actually pretty good.
It is Sunday today. I got up, had some breakfast and watched a bit of telly. I have a presentation first thing tomorrow morning, so I knew I had to do some work today as well.
It would have been very easy to sit on the sofa all day. It is raining outside, the rest of the house are happily relaxing and doing their own thing, and the path of least resistance was right there.
Instead, I reminded myself what it feels like to look after myself properly.
I went out to the shed and did 45 minutes on the rower. Now I am set to sit down and do a couple of hours on the presentation so I am ready for nine o’clock on Monday morning.
All checked in, all good. I am rowing well, cruising well, pulling decent speeds at a low stroke rate and generally getting faster with better technique. The Sub-7 goal is still there, and it is coming along. It is probably time to do a 2K test soon and see where things are.
For today, though, I am just glad I did not spend the whole day on the sofa. I moved first, then I worked. That feels like the right order.
Choose to be happy. Choose to be sad. Choose to feel sorry for yourself. Choose to eat your own bodyweight in cheese and crisps and crackers. Choose to turn up. Choose to be a good dad. Choose to go to the gym and come out feeling brilliant, like I did today.
Today was the first time I’ve chosen to go to the gym in a long time. I haven’t been at all this year.
Instead, I’ve been blaming other people. Blaming the New Year’s resolution crowd for “clogging up” the gym. Why am I so anti-them? They’re trying to make a change. I’ve been in their shoes, and not that long ago either. Twelve months ago, twenty-four months ago, I was them.
If anything, I should be in there alongside them. As someone who has been where they are, I could help if they needed it. Instead, I chose to use them as my excuse not to go.
I also chose to decide to be sad because of the time of year. It’s winter, Christmas is gone, the sun barely shows up, so I leaned into it. Chose the slump. Chose to sit on my hands.
What a choice, when there’s only one go at this life.
At some point you have to choose to live it. Choose to get off your arse and do something about it.
Today, I chose to go to the gym.
I’ve been rowing in the shed on my new rower, and I’m still delighted I’ve got it. But I’ve missed the contact with people. I’ve missed being in a place that’s full of like-minded folk, all there to put some effort in and feel better for it. The buzz. The energy.
So today I choose differently.
I choose to live. I choose to be the best version of me that I can be. And I choose to start doing that again today.
One day on from yesterday’s realisation and I’m already seeing the difference.
I’ve got another potentially tricky meeting today, so I leaned straight back into the thing I know works: move first.
Old coach-slash-head-shrink GPT laid out a 30-minute session. A few minutes of gentle warm-up, then some mildly paced intervals. Nothing major, nothing draining or heroic. Not hectic, not heavy. Just enough to switch me on.
And it’s done exactly that. I feel ready to go now.
The point of this one wasn’t fitness gains or split times. It was mental health and headspace: using the rower to take the edge off, so I can walk into the meeting calmer, sharper, and in control.
Now it’s time to get ready for work and do what I need to do.
This is The Sub-7 Experiment: using movement to switch the lights back on.
It’s been tough. Most of December, all of January, and the first bit of February I’ve been coming up here “looking for my mojo.” I’m not even sure I ever had a mojo in the first place, but it became the story in my head: I’ve lost it.
It hasn’t helped that it feels like it has rained every day this year where I live. The sun barely shows up. I also think I put too much stock in the idea that once I had a rowing machine in the shed, everything would click and I’d train every day.
On top of that, the new process I built in December – WHOOP scores into ChatGPT, get a tailored session – hasn’t been working the way I hoped. Not because the logic is bad, but because of how I react to it.
When ChatGPT looks at my WHOOP recovery and sleep and says, “easy day today,” I treat that as a full stop. “Right, that’s it, we’re done.” No movement. No walk. Nothing. It’s basically become an easy out, and I’ll always find an easy out if you give me one.
The “mojo hunt” has turned into the same thing. If I tell myself I’m looking for my mojo and I can’t find it, then I have an excuse to sit on the back foot and do nothing.
I still want to row. I still want a sub-7 2,000 metres. That goal hasn’t changed. What I’ve lost sight of is that exercise, for me, is about far more than chasing a single number on the monitor.
The rowing – and the moving in general – is primarily about my mental health.
Case in point: earlier this week I was heading into a potentially confrontational meeting. I knew the people in the room probably weren’t going to like what I had to tell them. The old me would have carried that anxiety all day.
Instead, I went into the shed.
I told ChatGPT about the meeting and asked for a workout that would help channel the adrenaline and set me up properly. It came back with a plan that turned out to be perfect. By the time I’d finished the row, the energy was controlled, not chaotic.
I hadn’t even called the meeting – someone else had – but when it started I decided I was going to drive it. I would control the narrative. Everyone would get their say, everyone’s points would be noted, but at the end of the day there were only two options on the table. They could go one way or the other. That’s it.
I went in with that calm, directed energy from the row and nailed it.
Fast forward two days. I’ve just come out of the shed after another row and another thinking session, and the penny has finally dropped:
I never had “mojo” in the first place. What I had was movement. When I move, I look after myself. When I stop, everything starts to fog over.
My mental health depends on exercise. Full stop.
And so what if I’ve put on a few pounds lately. That does not define me. What defines me is the state of my head and my ability to deal with things calmly and rationally – whether that’s work stuff, dad stuff, husband stuff or just being a decent friend. That is what counts.
The next step isn’t hunting for some mystical spark. It’s much simpler and much more boring:
Go outside, even when it’s raining.
Get back to walking.
Go to the gym.
See people, even if it’s just a nod to the receptionist or a quick hello to the regulars.
I need the physical work and a bit of human contact. If I keep those two things in the mix, everything else won’t magically fall into place, but it will get clearer again. And clarity is what I need: for my mental health, my physical health, to be a decent dad and husband, and to be kinder to myself.
I’d lost sight of that.
This is The Sub-7 Experiment: not just chasing 2,000 metres, but remembering to look after myself.
I still think the process itself will work, but I need to change the order in which I do things.
Right now it goes like this: I wake up, reach for the phone, input my WHOOP scores, see what ChatGPT recommends for the day’s session and then… nothing. No enthusiasm, no drive, just “I don’t want to do that.” Then I get out of bed and start the day.
And that day has no exercise in it.
The realisation this morning is that I need to go back to the old routine. The one that actually worked.
Wake up. Get out of bed. Do the breakfast stuff. Make a packed lunch for my son. Put the gym gear on. Get to the gym or out to the rower. And only then ask ChatGPT for the fitness plan.
The crucial part is doing all of that without giving myself time to think my way out of it. No lying in bed, staring at a plan on a screen until I talk myself into doing nothing. At the moment that happens about a nanosecond after I see the suggested session.
So the change is simple: move the decision point from under the duvet to when I am already in my kit, standing next to the machine.
This is The Sub-7 Experiment: wrestling with routine.
OK, that was a good session. I didn’t think it was going to be.
My recovery, according to WHOOP, was down in the yellow at around 47%. Not terrible, not great. CoachGPT’s prescription for today was simple enough on paper: three 6-minute intervals at a pace between 2:02 and 2:05/500m, with a stroke rate of 22–24.
I looked at it and thought, what’s the point? It didn’t sound like there was going to be much effort involved.
Turned out I was wrong.
I did my warm-up and then got into the first 6 minutes. Holding 2:02 at 22 strokes per minute is actually a fair bit of work. It ties straight back to what we were talking about the other day: lower stroke rate means you have to put more power into each stroke.
By the end of the first 6 minutes I was puffing. I took the 2-minute rest, started the second 6-minute block, and I was definitely working by the end of that one too.
The third set was the most interesting. I couldn’t find a rhythm at all to start with. I was either rowing too fast or too slow. Pace drifting, stroke rate drifting. It took me nearly half of that final 6-minute interval to settle into the groove of 22 strokes a minute at around 2:02/500m.
Once I locked it in, it felt solid, but it was a much more intense session than it looked on paper.
The Sub-7 Experiment 