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For the past few months, I’ve had a simple but powerful morning ritual:
wake up → drink water → take supplements → do 8 minutes of light gymnastics.
During that last part, I always listen to motivational compilations or philosophy snippets — short speeches from athletes, thinkers, and peak performers.

And something clicked.

All these highly successful people — Khabib, Ronaldo, Kobe Bryant, Jordan Peterson, David Goggins, etc. — they say the same things.
Different words. Same patterns.
Same mindset.

Recently, one voice really stood out. A bit older, slower, but razor‑sharp:
Jim Rohn.

Maybe it’s the phase I’m in — deeply reflective, immersed in learning, reading, thinking, rewiring my brain (thanks, neuroplasticity) — but Rohn hit me hard.

Not with hype. With clarity.

He gave his seminars back in the 1980s — the decade I was born — yet somehow his voice reached across time and pulled me in.
There’s something about his calm, deliberate rhythm… his structured wisdom… that felt timeless and magnetic.

So I started listening to full seminars. And thinking. And writing.
I began planning my days more deliberately and doing evening reflections in a journal.

Many things he says, I had discovered on my own — like:

• “Learn to work harder on yourself than on your job.”
• “You can read your way out of almost any trap.”
• “Practice emotions like you practice physical skills.”

Even things like using traffic jams or delays as training for emotional resilience — I had already been doing that intuitively. But hearing it articulated gave it structure and gravity.

Then came the phrasing that paused me:

“If You Have Enough Reasons, You Can Do the Most Incredible Things.”

“Reasons come first, answers second.
You don’t get the answers to do well until you get the reasons.”

That felt like the crux of all growth.

That’s the key.
And that’s where I paused.
Sat in silence for a while.
Fell into thought.

There’s something deeply human in his voice. Not just knowledge. Wisdom.

And for now, that’s all I’ll say.

Recently, I stumbled upon a brilliant metric that perfectly captures the quality of communication – in meetings, in leadership, in life.
It’s called Signal Ratio.

Originally from engineering (signal-to-noise ratio), it’s now showing up in productivity circles and leadership talks. The core idea is dead simple:

How much of what you’re saying is actually signal – and how much is just noise?

Kevin O’Leary, a former Apple vendor, once said:

“Jobs had maybe 80/20 – 80% signal, 20% noise.
But the only person he knew who was better was Elon Musk.
He’s basically at 100% signal.”

That hit me hard.
Suddenly I understood why I fucking hate meetings.

Not because they’re boring.
Not because they’re long.
Not even because people talk too much.

But because the Signal Ratio is like 5/95.
5% signal.
95% bullshit.

And since I lead with Strategic Thinking in my Gallup strengths — with themes like Learner, Focus, Analytical and Intellection — this shit hits me even harder than most. I don’t just want action. I want clarity, precision, and ideas that matter.

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🚀 What’s next?

Now I’m wondering — if AI can summarize meetings, why not measure Signal Ratio too?

Like seriously:

• How many decisions were made?
• How many actionable insights?

And at the end, just give me a clean stat:

Signal Ratio: 14% — you could’ve emailed this.

If that tool exists — I want it.
If it doesn’t — maybe we should build it.

On June 15th, I officially began the Amy Parkerson-Mitchell 5K Garmin Plan — with a time goal of 22 minutes on 5K.

Honestly? I did not expect this plan to be hard.
I assumed the real difficulty in running plans comes from volume, not intensity.
My intention for this year was to follow a similar structure to the 17-week adaptive plan I’d done before — lots of long runs, up to 17 km even in a 5K plan. And I was ready for that kind of grind.

But this? This started brutally:

• The benchmark had me flying at 95–100% HR for almost 4 minutes.
• The very next day? Speed repeats — six sprints of 1.5 minutes at redline.
• Then came the “tempo” workout, which I completely gave up on pacing-wise.
  I was supposed to run at my final goal pace, but I was already crushed. I ran it 30 seconds slower, keeping it in Zone 3 just to finish.

To make things worse, the benchmark revealed the truth:
3:44/km on 1K, a full 10 seconds off my PR.
I secretly hoped I’d hit a new record there.
I had zero chance.

This first week just wrecked me.

• Sleep dropped hard. From Garmin scores of 75–85 down to 65–74.
• HRV dipped to 112 (my range is 118–132).
• Resting heart rate climbed from 41 to 46.

I honestly thought about quitting.
But a few things held me back:

1. It’s a new stimulus — I’ve never trained like this.
2. Online reviews mention that many people drop out, but those who survive break their PRs. And looking at this brutality, I believe it.
3. I know I can grind through pain — I’ve done it before.

But here’s the worry:
Looking back at 2024, I wonder — will this just be another Pyrrhic victory? A new PR… but a broken body?

My strategy:
Don’t be super strict.
Listen to my body.
And try to stay in this game — not just finish it, but grow stronger through it.

On July 13th, I started a deliberate 8-week reset from the most culturally normalized psychoactive substance: caffeine.

For years, I’ve had two rounds of double espresso daily — six shots total — not because I liked the taste, but because it worked.
It got me into flow. It helped me stay focused.
But eventually, I asked myself:

“I cycle everything else — supplements, training, recovery…
Why not caffeine?”

🧠 Why I’m Doing This

Caffeine works by blocking adenosine receptors, and while it improves alertness in the short term, it’s still a stimulant.
Over time, it subtly rewires brain chemistry. Nothing in biology is free — everything has a cost.

Even though coffee helps me sit down and grind, I’ve noticed something strange:

My best insights, creative bursts, and flashes of genius don’t happen because of caffeine —
They happen when I’m off it.

This reset is not about punishment or discipline theater.
It’s simply part of my long-term strategy for sustainable mental performance.

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⚙️ My 8-Week Off-Ramp Plan

Week 1: 2x single espressos (down from 2x doubles)
Week 2: One double + one single
Week 3: One double (10:00 only)
Week 4: One single (10:00 only)
Week 5–6: One espresso every other day
Week 7: One espresso every third day
Week 8: None

No tea, no yerba, no synthetic replacements.
Just hot water with ginger, lemon, and chili — enough to wake the system up, not hijack it.

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🛠️ Additional Stack Note

Also started creatine monohydrate (5 g daily) on this day —
for the next 2 months, as my training volume ramps up after a 2.5-month deload phase.

Frustrated Recovery (Jun 26 – Jul 10)

I’m entering a recovery phase, not because I want to, but because I have to.

After finishing a brutal 4-month training cycle on May 28, I tried to re-enter training with some structure — a couple of lighter weeks, some base runs, then moderate threshold work. But somewhere in the second week, things began to break down:

• Base pace collapsed from ~5:45/km to over 6:15/km at the same HR (or higher)
• HRV dropped during what was supposed to be recovery
• VO2max fell by 2.5 points despite consistent activity
• Garmin flagged “strained” on easy days
• I felt power only in the first kilometer of any workout, then the “engine overheated”

It’s frustrating. I always feel like everything comes to me the hard way. And even when I finally reach a new level, something finds a way to fall apart right after. That’s how it feels now.

But okay. I’ll try to be smart this time.

Reset 2.0 – The Plan

For the next two weeks, I’m doing something I’d usually avoid: a strictly controlled reset.

• 3–4 base runs/week, 20–30 minutes each, no faster than 6:15/km
• HR cap at ~150, ideally 140–145
• 1–2 long walks/week (5–8 km)
• No threshold, no intervals, no trying to prove anything
• Watch HRV, RHR, and mood

The goal isn’t to progress. It’s to stabilize.

Why?

Because I know myself. I could keep pushing — I’ve done it before. But I also know how that ends: worse burnout, longer fatigue, months wasted. So maybe this time I take the cue early. Maybe this becomes my version of a mid-season off-cycle, like I naturally have in winter (Nov–Feb), where I usually come back stronger.

At least I’m not injured. That’s something.

And maybe — just maybe — slowing down now buys me speed later.