athlete psychology 2025-09-15T01:02:27Z

Rain lashed against the garage window as my fingers froze around the rower's handle. 3:47 AM. The third straight night of insomnia had morphed into a masochistic impulse to row through the numbness. My gym spreadsheet—abandoned weeks ago—felt like evidence of failure. But as I mindlessly strapped in, the phone mount vibrated. Spark's auto-recognition had detected the Concept2's Bluetooth signature before I'd even gripped the handle. In that blue pre-dawn glow, the screen flickered to life with y

Rain lashed against my cycling glasses like tiny bullets as I hit mile 75 of the Granite Peak Challenge. My thighs screamed bloody murder, each rotation feeling like dragging concrete blocks through molasses. Somewhere between the third mountain pass and the fourth existential crisis, I wondered why anyone pays to suffer like this. That's when my watch buzzed - not with another soul-crushing elevation alert, but with a message from my idiot training partner: "Quit pretending you're dying, I see