The Sub-7 Experiment

Tag: Concept2

  • When the Numbers Say “Go”

    Today’s session felt very different from yesterday.

    Yesterday was a “didn’t want to go” day. Recovery in the yellow, head not really in it, and a steady, controlled endurance session to keep things moving.

    Today was the opposite. All the dials were pointing in the right direction. Sleep was good. Recovery was good. Strain and stress from yesterday were reasonable. Heart rate variability looked solid. It was one of those mornings where WHOOP was basically saying, “You can do something here.”

    So I fed the stats into Coach GPT again.

    This time the plan that came back was not long and cruisy. It was a power session. A decent warm-up to get everything moving, then five 500 metre sprints on the rower. Each one at a set pace, hard enough to demand focus but not so fast that form would fall apart. Tunes on, eyes on the monitor, simple structure.

    It felt great.

    Every interval was controlled. No wild spikes, no heroic last-gasp strokes, just repeatable effort. By the fifth rep I knew I had worked, but I was nowhere near the point of dreading the next one or wanting to lie down on the floor.

    That is the thread running through these last two days. Yesterday, the plan was to turn up and not overdo it. Today, the plan was to lean in a little and build some power. In both cases, the decision came from the mix of WHOOP data and what Coach GPT built on top of it.

    I walked out of the gym feeling strong, not wrecked. I feel like I have done something meaningful, and I am ready to get on with the rest of the day at work.

    This is The Sub-7 Experiment. And it continues.

  • Trusting the Data on a ‘Meh’ Day

    I have just come out of the gym after my first proper session in a while. Last week was a family trip to London, which was brilliant, but it knocked me out of my routine.

    This morning was one of those days where I really did not fancy going at all. WHOOP had my recovery in the yellow. Sleep was fine, stress and strain yesterday were nothing dramatic, but I still felt flat. It would have been very easy to decide that today was not a gym day and leave it at that.

    Instead, I tried the new approach I have been talking about. I took my WHOOP numbers and dropped them into ChatGPT. In return, I got a clear session plan with target figures that matched how my body was supposed to feel on a “medium” day.

    The structure was simple. Five minutes of warm up at a set pace to get moving. Then three blocks of 2,000 metres on the rower, again at a set pace. Nothing heroic. Just long, steady, repeatable work.

    On paper it looked almost too easy, especially with that “you should probably train” yellow score. In reality it was exactly what I needed. Each 2,000 metres felt long and cruisy. Hard enough that I knew I was doing something, nowhere near the point of blowing up. By the end of the third block I felt like I had trained, but I did not feel broken.

    The bigger difference was in my head. I walked into the gym tired and not really in the mood. I walked out feeling lighter and quietly pleased with myself. The combination of WHOOP data and ChatGPT as coach gave me just enough structure to get over the hump of not wanting to start.

    It is early days for this experiment, but right now it has promise. If this is what a “didn’t want to go” day can look like, I am curious to see what happens on the days when I actually feel ready.

    This is The Sub-7 Experiment.

  • Welcome to The Sub-7 Experiment

    Rowing Machines – Lurking in the Shadows

    Rowing machines. You’ve seen them. Lurking somewhere in the back of the gym, pushed up against a wall, out of the way. More often than not, they’re gathering dust, untouched, while people hammer away on the treadmills or load up the bench press.

    I’ve had a long, love-hate relationship with these things. Never really knew how to use them properly. Never really cared, if I’m honest. Every now and then, I’d climb aboard, crank the handle on the side to somewhere in the middle, start pulling, and within minutes, be gasping for air, sweating like a pig, and regretting every life choice that had led me to this moment.

    But then—once I was done, once I dragged myself off the thing, hot, sweaty, and totally wrecked—there was a buzz. A moment of satisfaction. I’d conquered the beast.

    And then I’d ignore it again for months.

    This went on for years. If I was in a hotel gym by myself, I’d maybe give it five minutes between the bike and the sauna. Or between the bike and the restaurant. Same thing.

    Then, a few years ago, something changed. My relationship with the ERG—yes, that’s what they’re properly called (I’ll get into that in another post)—shifted completely.

    It started with my son’s swimming lessons.

    Every Saturday, I’d take him to a local hotel with a great swimming pool and gym. While he had his lesson, I’d sit in the hotel lobby, drinking coffee, eating scones, and feeling very pleased with myself. That was my routine.

    Then the hotel gym ran a ridiculous deal on family memberships. We signed up, and suddenly, instead of coffee and scones, I was in the gym.

    At the time, I was into cycling, so I stuck to the static bike, grinding away for 30 minutes while keeping an eye on my son’s lesson. But every session, out of the corner of my eye, I could see it.

    The ERG.

    Just sitting there. Watching me. Daring me.

    And one Saturday, I gave in.

    I climbed on, set the dial somewhere in the middle (because I still had no clue what I was doing), and started pulling. And panting. And sweating. Five minutes in, I was closing in on 1,000 meters, so I figured—why not? Might as well push through. Seven minutes in, I hit 1,000m. Maybe I could get to ten minutes? My legs were screaming, my lungs were on fire, but I refused to stop.

    Forward. Backward. No technique. No idea. Just sheer bloody-mindedness.

    And then—2,000 meters.

    I stopped. Absolutely done. But something clicked.

    That was the start of something. From then on, every week during my son’s swimming lessons—and whenever else I could fit it in—I came back. I pushed further. Rowed harder. Lasted longer.

    Now, rowing is a central part of my life—not just physically, but mentally too.

    This blog, The Sub-7 Experiment, is a record of why I row, how I’m chasing a sub-7-minute 2K, and everything I learn along the way.

    Let’s see where this goes.