For someone who likes plans, certainty, and clear direction, the past few weeks have felt particularly uncomfortable.

My daughter hasn’t been well, and we still don’t have clear answers. Maybe it’s nothing. Actually, it’s highly unlikely that it’s nothing; we simply don’t know how serious it is yet — and that uncertainty has a way of sitting heavily in the background of everything else.

I’ve realised how much I rely on things being measurable, definable, and predictable. I like knowing what I’m dealing with and what comes next. Not knowing feels like standing still without a map.

And perhaps that’s why, lately, I haven’t felt particularly reflective. The only thing that has stirred any real thoughts was something our coach shared recently:

Fitness does not equal speed.

I understand that. I really do.

But at the same time, I can’t help noticing that speed is still what we mostly use to measure fitness. Metrics like VO₂ max and VDOT — the numbers many of us track so closely — are ultimately based on how fast we run. Even when other factors are considered, speed remains central to how fitness is quantified.

And that can be frustrating.

Because despite consistent training over years — strength work, track sessions, strides, all the things we’re “supposed” to do — my speed hasn’t really improved. My watch still gives me the same VO₂ max it did years ago. My VDOT hasn’t meaningfully changed.

It’s hard for me not to feel like I’m standing still.

Which is why I hold onto a memory from about fifteen months ago.

I was admitted to the hospital after a spider bite that had to be surgically opened and drained. Before the procedure, as part of the routine questions, I was asked whether I exercised. I said that I run.

Afterwards, the surgeon told me something I’ve not since forgotten.

Apparently, while I was in the theatre, the staff became quite concerned because my resting heart rate was so low (like in the thirties low). They thought something might be wrong. The doctor and anaesthetist had to reassure them that there was no issue — that my heart rate was simply low because I was very fit.

She later told me that she could not recall having a patient as fit as I was. Which to me was the nicest thing anyone has ever told me. The story must’ve made an impact on her as she told it to me again at my follow-up.

In a world where my fitness often feels defined — and limited — by numbers on a watch, that moment stands out.

Because there were no metrics in that room. No pace, no VO₂ max, no VDOT. And I wasn’t awake to plead my case either.

And yet, my fitness was undeniable.

It makes me wonder how often we rely on measurements that only tell part of the story.

We want numbers because they give us certainty. They make things feel controlled and understandable. But not everything that matters fits neatly into something we can track or quantify.

Right now, with my daughter, we don’t yet have clear answers. There are no definitive numbers to hold onto. And that is incredibly difficult for someone like me.

But perhaps this is the same lesson, just a different context.

Not everything real is measurable. And numbers don’t always fully reflect reality.

I still check my watch. I still wish my speed would improve. And I still struggle with uncertainty. But I’m starting to realise that sometimes, the truth exists — even when the numbers don’t show it.

What in your life is still true… even when it doesn’t measure as that?

#BeyondTheNumbers #Uncertainty #WhatMattersMost #TrustTheProcess #InvisibleProgress