The tyranny of data

We measure everything. Our steps, our sleep, the rhythm of our hearts, the calories devour — numbers mapped onto graphs that promise control. Probably even a longer, better life if you get the correct numbers. Each metric is a tether, a way to assure ourselves that we are doing it right, that we are not falling behind, that we have proof of our worth. Yet, beneath this ritual of tracking, there is a hum of fear. A fear of not doing the right thing. A fear of uncertainty. These devices don’t just monitor us; they feed our anxieties. And in that endless quest for certainty, we’ve become prisoners of our own need for precision.

With every new data point, we lose something. For every number we gain, we surrender a piece of intuition, of trust in our own bodies, of the quiet wisdom that comes from feeling rather than measuring. What happened to us? Just forty years ago, the world produced athletes at the highest levels—world champions, record breakers—without any of the tools that solvent amateurs now swear by. Yet their performances were, in many cases, better. How did we buy into the idea that we need these metrics, that our bodies cannot be trusted without constant surveillance? What have we traded away in this deal?

But what if there’s value in not knowing? What if freedom is found in the undefined, in the willingness to trust the body, the moment, and the feel of it? I threw my heart-rate monitor out of my training room recently because it had become a source of unnecessary pressure—again. Expectation crept in, suffocating the joy of movement. Without it, I found myself returning to focus, to feel, to the rhythm of my breath as it was, not as it was measured. The undefined became a relief. Precision promises control, but what it truly robs us of is the ability to trust ourselves. To feel the nuance of effort, to learn to listen to our body, to learn our body.

And yet, even as we monitor ourselves to feel in control, someone else benefits more than we do. The companies that collect and own this data grow fat on our fears of imperfection, our inability to handle uncertainty. We enrich them. We hand over our most personal information—the details of our bodies, our health, our lives—and what do we gain in return? Anxiety, pressure, and the creeping sense that no matter how much we measure, it’s never enough. Their precision serves them, not us.

What if all this exactness is wrong? What if we forget that life, sport, performance is more complex than an algorithm? It is messy, unpredictable, and gloriously imperfect. Instead, we gain freedom — the freedom to live, to trust ourselves, and to focus on what truly matters, unburdened by numbers that were never meant to define us.

If you live by numbers you’re limiting yourself.

You are serving them and are numbing yourself.

I hope your battery never runs out.