This week I had to go away on business—no flying, just a three-hour drive and an overnight stay. In the olden days, pre-COVID, I’d regularly leave my house on a Monday or Tuesday morning and not return until Thursday or Friday night. Every week. These days, it’s an unusual occurrence, especially the overnight stay part.
I had a plan this time.
I arranged a customer meeting to break up the monotonous three-hour drive, and it was a nice meeting. More like old colleagues having lunch than a formal customer catch-up. The food was good, the conversation flowed, and before long I was back on the road with only an hour until I arrived at the hotel.
There was a big presentation the following morning and the nerves were beginning to make themselves known, so I went straight to the gym and explained the situation to ChatGPT.
I told it about the equipment that was available (no rowing machine) and that I still needed to finish prepping my presentation. I asked it for a plan. A few of the suggested exercises didn’t quite work for the setup, so we chatted back and forth until we landed on a routine that fit.
And the plan was absolutely spot on.
Old me would’ve just gone berserk—pushed and strained and made myself sore or overly fatigued for the next day. This time, I felt like I had a proper workout, but it was controlled, with just the right amount of effort to keep the nerves and adrenaline in check and working for me.
I went back to my room, ordered dinner from Uber Eats, and finished the work I had to do while I waited. Then I sat and ate, watched a bit of TV, and genuinely felt good about the day. Nerves under control. Presentation prepped. Body and mind relaxed.
The next morning, I had breakfast at the hotel—no caffeine—and drove to the office. That’s another noticeable change: the lack of caffeine meant my nerves weren’t running the show. I was.
When I arrived, I discovered a wrinkle. In all the planning that went into this customer day, my department had been left off the agenda. Others were due to present my solutions. That’s not something I could let slide. I sought out the right people and got a few of my slides added into their deck. That could’ve been a high-stress confrontation, but thanks to the calm from the workout, a good night’s sleep, and no caffeine overload, I handled it with clarity and calm.
The event started. I did my bit. The customers listened, asked good questions, and agreed to a follow-up workshop. That was the goal—and I hit it.
And here’s something else that made me smile: the outfit I wore.
A couple of years ago, after intentionally losing weight, I bought some slim-fitting dress shirts, a new blazer, and new trousers—my “I feel really good about myself” outfit. Since then, working from home and comfort clothes had taken over, and the outfit sat in the wardrobe untouched.
Earlier this year, I tried it on for a meeting and… it didn’t fit. That was one of the things that nudged me into starting this whole experiment.
I weigh myself every Wednesday at 7:15 a.m., naked, on the same tile in the bathroom to reduce variability. The number hasn’t changed in five weeks. That’s been disheartening.
But on Tuesday, while packing, I tried the outfit on—and it fit. It fit comfortably. And I wore it. And I felt great.
So it raises the question—what is it with the obsession with weight?
Is it just because it’s easy to measure? I don’t know. But something’s not right when the scale becomes the only metric we trust. At some point in history, we got tangled in the number. We let it define us.
We need to rethink this.
Because the goal for me is to be healthy. And really, I just want to wear that outfit and feel great in it. That’s what matters. Not the number blinking back at me once a week.
Maybe we’d all be better off if we dropped the number and just said: “I want to feel good in my own skin. I want to wear that outfit and feel like myself again.”
Let’s be nicer to ourselves. Let’s be gentler. There’s no medal for self-criticism.
After the presentation, I drove home—via the woods I visited last time. It was 20°C and sunny. The birds were singing, the sky was blue. I walked for 90 minutes and enjoyed every bit of it.
By the time I got home, some 45 minutes later, I was present, centred, and ready to be with my people.
Still amazed by how much this is evolving.
This is the Sub-7 Experiment.
The Sub-7 Experiment 