THE LIZARD BRAIN LIED TO ME — AND I HAVE THE DATA TO PROVE IT

5:10 pace. 136 bpm. First session back in six months. The lizard brain said stop. The Garmin said Zone 2. Last night, my Oura ring recorded 0 bpm while I slept. I woke up fine. Turns out building a Ferrari engine has some side effects.

My HRV/ RMSSD — the gold standard measurement of heart rate variability — came back at 272.5 milliseconds. Elite endurance athletes average 50-100. The lizard brain was arguing with a number nearly three times world-class. I thought that was high, so I took a second reading, came back at 183 mS, so some variation, but either is stellar.

What do these metrics really mean? I feel great for one. At 25 years old, it means push harder. At 59? Also, push harder. And in that answer is the way forward. Find a way to push to that edge one more time. At my age, maybe the final time to consistently push the gears over the next handful of years.

This is my Rubicon. Not everyone's at 59 — just mine.

I have worked this hard, fought through a boatload of physical issues, built something real, and now I'm finding I've forgotten how to push to the edge. Not to be blasphemous, but Jesus Wept. All of that struggle and now this?

Let me recap. My resting heart rate is below 40. At night, it drops below 34. Zombies have a higher heart rate. I built a Ferrari — maybe with old 1967 parts, but still a Ferrari — and I have the proverbial little old lady driving the thing. Gets too fast, and it's "oh no, slow down."

Embarrassing? Absolutely, there is nothing worse than an endurance athlete who can’t push the envelope. But embarrassing or not, it is a challenge. And challenges are what I do.

So how do I fix this?

A trainer and friend recently told me to just "let the dog out."I had to translate that to old people's language – stop being a wuss.

Simple. Terrifying. Correct.

When I started this journey, my goal was to find that fun 17-year-old who just ran. No watch. No data. No second-guessing. Just run. Be first or die trying. I'm closer now than I've been in decades. The metrics prove it. This is a mental block, not a physical block — and that distinction changes everything. Because mental blocks can be broken.

I've done this before. That's my tremendous advantage. There are some benefits to being older than dirt — at least I keep telling myself that. How did I do it the first time? Then with the triathlon? Did we go over how you lose some memory as you get older? You know, forget where I put the keys, for example. Goodness, how did I get fast? Been a minute or thirty plus years, give or take a few.

So here is the process.

Find new brutal ways to hit 170 bpm and hold it. No idea exactly what that takes — how much stronger, how much more mental toughness. But I am going to find out. Boys and girls, it is time to literally go GenX, to go old school.

Forget watching the Garmin. Forget checking MyZone mid-run. These tools matter — I will note the data — but I will not be managed by them. I refuse to look at my watch during track work. I will start the Garmin and just run by feel. Nice and smooth? That's Zone 2. Track day? Run the sprints as hard as possible and don't think about bpm or pace. Find a way to the front of the pack. Fight for every bit you can get.

The goal right now is to reconnect with how it feels. Human performance is partly biological. Part faith.

It's time to believe again.

Pre used to say racing is an art.

To me, racing is an expression of yourself. All that hard work mixed with the belief that what you do matters. That you matter. Your role is not to be weak or slow just because someone decided your age means you should be.

I think as we get older, we forget that. We have a role. And it is not to fade.

Will I get there?

I already am, now I must move like it. One data point at a time. One foot in front of the other, boring, consistent, relentless.

Let’s go.