I’ve learned a lot about cycling over the past three years. One big takeaway? It’s not something I’m naturally good at. Part of that is probably because I’m in my mid-thirties, and before getting into triathlon, I didn’t even own a bike. When I think back to my childhood, I can’t really remember how I learned to ride. My parents never taught me — honestly, I’m not even sure they know how to ride themselves. I think I figured it out staying over at a friend’s place in fifth grade. I remember leaning against a wall, just teaching myself how to balance.
Teaching myself has been my go-to approach with most hobbies. It just made sense — why pay for cycling lessons? That felt frivolous, like taking art class or something. Maybe someday I’ll get a coach and try to really improve, but for now, cycling and sports are about getting in shape, relieving stress, having an event to look forward to, and challenging myself little by little.
One big challenge coming up is climbing Cypress Mountain in Vancouver. I live near plenty of hills, so I’m familiar with climbs, but a 12km climb straight up? That’s new, and honestly, it’s a bit intimidating.
Sure, there’s probably a “right” way to train for something like this. But I’ve got to fit in running and swimming too — I still have two swim races, a triathlon, and a 10K PR attempt this year. If I had a coach, they’d probably guide me, but for now, I’m figuring it out on my own. And honestly? That’s kind of peaceful.
To get started, I decided to do an FTP test. I began using MyWhoosh a couple months ago, and it’s been a lifesaver. Before that, I tried Zwift and Rouvy, but for various reasons, I stopped using them. I’ve done FTP tests with different apps before:
In November 2023, I did an hour-long test and got 146 watts.
That was the last test I did, and since then, a lot has changed. My bike fitness has definitely dropped — I didn’t do many workouts over winter after unsubscribing from Rouvy. I’ve been cycling regularly but mostly just commuting and casual late-night zone 2 rides.
This third year of triathlon has taught me I don’t have a huge appetite to ride outside unless I really have to. There are just too many hazards out there, and self-preservation feels more important this year.
That’s why I got MyWhoosh and went back to indoor riding for this training block. But to get a true baseline, I needed to start fresh with a new FTP test — and that’s what I did today, with a Ramp Test on MyWhoosh.
Having done a few ramp tests before, they always feel deceptive. The start is easy, then suddenly it ramps up and crushes your legs. Right now, I think my peak wattage for about a minute is around 260. Anything more, and I fall apart — at least on a ramp test, where you’re already exhausted by the time you hit the top.
I didn’t feel great during this test. I’m not proud of my performance, but I gave it everything I had. One annoying thing compared to Rouvy was the mercy feature: when you can’t keep up, the test ends. MyWhoosh doesn’t seem to have that — or at least I didn’t find it. So I had to keep going, watching those red numbers and feeling bad for not hitting 300 watts.
In the end, I got a shock — my FTP dropped to 192 watts. That’s 38 watts lower than before, which feels like a lot. But it doesn’t seem unrealistic. FTP tests aren’t perfect, and honestly, this feels closer to what I could hold for an hour right now.
So here we are, at the start of a new chapter. There’s a lot to improve in my cycling — I want to climb that mountain feeling strong, not struggling. I’m not aiming to win, but I want to feel good, to know I can push myself further.
Training starts now. I’ve got a few areas to work on, and not much time, so being realistic matters. Reminding myself this is all new helps. Reminding myself it’s a journey of self-discovery helps too. And that I don’t have anything crazy to prove.
Cycling is just another story I’m telling myself — a story I’m still writing. And this is the beginning.
If you want to support pancreatic cancer care and research, please consider donating to my ride — I’d really appreciate it.
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I want to tell you a story. Not the one I’ve been writing, but the story of bringing it to life.
About five years ago, something sparked. A character showed up, then a scene, then a whole world. I remember thinking, This is it. This is the story I have to tell.
I had this image in my head of how it would go: sleepless nights, fast fingers, drafts piling up like magic. You know the stereotype, the fevered genius at the keyboard.
That didn’t happen.
Instead, writing this story turned into something slower. Quieter. Not a mad sprint, but more like wandering. I felt like a lost hiker, circling the same trees, passing the same landmarks, unsure if I was getting anywhere at all. But there was hope. Every plot breakthrough gave me energy—just long enough to run into the next wall.
In the beginning, everything buzzed. But the spark isn’t supposed to last.
At some point, the dialogue dries up. You lose the thread. You open your draft and just… sit there.
I told myself I was “thinking about the story,” when really, I was avoiding it. Because facing the page meant facing the fear that maybe this story wasn’t good. Or worse, that I wasn’t good.
That’s when I started to understand: inspiration might start the fire, but discipline keeps it going.
So I began showing up. On bad days. On tired days. For ten minutes at a time. I’d rewrite the same paragraph five times and still feel like I hadn’t moved. But that was progress, too.
Writers like George R. R. Martin have talked about the middle—the long slog—as the real heart of the work.
Eventually, I gave up on waiting for ideal conditions. I let go of perfect. Some days I wrote two pages. Other days, I added a single word only to cut it. That had to be enough.
What helped was remembering that no one reads the first version and that revision isn’t punishment—it’s a privilege.
Robert Jordan used to write sprawling, chaotic outlines just to figure out what he might say. Brandon Sanderson rewrote entire books. That gave me permission to take my time too.
Time wasn’t the enemy. It was the process.
There were moments I felt guilty for not writing. For thinking about quitting. For wondering if I should just start a new project with all that fresh, exciting energy again.
But there were also quiet wins: a chapter that finally clicked. A problem I solved after months of spinning. The story shifted. So did I. It stopped being about finishing fast and started being about building something I enjoyed.
Characters evolve not just in my drafts, but in my mind. Themes start to mean more. My voice changed. The world I wrote grows richer, not because I pushed, but because I lived with it.
That’s what chipping away builds. Not perfection. Not speed. But depth.
Every great epic—The Lord of the Rings, The Wheel of Time, A Song of Ice and Fire—wasn’t written overnight. They were sculpted. One patient, faithful, messy page at a time.
These days, I think of persistence as its own kind of art.
It’s not about grinding harder. It’s about staying close to the work. Trusting that something is happening, even when it feels slow. Especially when it feels slow.
So if you’re working on something long—something that keeps asking for your time and care—you’re not behind.
You’re not lost.
You’re an artist in motion.
Maybe you’ll finish the thing. Maybe you’ll shelf it. Maybe you’ll come back in a year with fresh eyes and finally crack it open. Whatever happens, the time wasn’t wasted.
If you’re in the middle of a project that’s taking longer than you expected. Keep chipping away.
And remember: art isn’t finished. It’s only ever abandoned. There is no end.
So maybe today’s the day you write one more sentence. Maybe that’s enough.
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Before we discuss the events in Striking Vipers, let’s flashback to when this episode was first released: June 5, 2019.
In 2019, the Movember Foundation ran a global campaign for men’s health with celebrities like Stephen Fry, Bear Grylls, Stephen Merchant, and Nicole Scherzinger using humorous videos and social media to encourage men to talk about their health.
Back in 2019, consumer VR was caught between promise and practicality. Premium headsets like the Oculus Rift demanded expensive, high-powered PCs, pushing total setup costs over $1,500. Meanwhile, budget-friendly options like Samsung Gear VR delivered underwhelming performance. With few blockbuster games to drive demand, mainstream adoption stalled. As a result, companies like IMAX closed their VR divisions.
Still, VR found new life in enterprise applications. Walmart used VR training modules to boost employee retention and immerse staff in real-world scenarios, while sectors like healthcare and manufacturing also adopted VR for training simulations
At the same time, 2019 marked significant milestones for LGBTQ+ visibility. Elliot Page (then Ellen) was a vocal advocate for gender-affirming care, Lil Nas X came out as gay during the peak of “Old Town Road”, and Pete Buttigieg launched his historic campaign as the first openly gay U.S. presidential candidate.
And that brings us to this episode of Black Mirror. Episode 1 of Season 5: Striking Vipers.
This episode welcomes us into a digital world where friendship, desire, and identity collide. Through the lens of a VR fighting game turned emotional crucible, the episode explores how immersive tech can both reveal and distort our deepest needs, leaving us with some unsettling questions:
What happens when technology offers a more fulfilling life than reality? Can a digital body expose truths we’re too afraid to face in the physical world? And as virtual experiences grow more vivid, are we prepared for the emotional and ethical consequences they bring?
In this video, we’ll unpack the episode’s key themes and examine whether these events have happened in the real world—and if not, whether or not it is plausible. Let’s go!
Blurred Realities
When Karl gives Danny a birthday gift—Striking Vipers X, a hyper-realistic VR fighting game—their casual nostalgia takes an unexpected turn. In this game, players don’t just control avatars; they fully inhabit them, experiencing every physical sensation their characters feel.
As their in-game battles escalate into a sexual relationship, the emotional intensity of their connection begins to strain Danny’s marriage and forces both men to confront their desires, identities, and the blurry lines between reality and fantasy.
While today’s VR systems don’t yet plug directly into our brains, the separation between real and virtual intimacy is growing increasingly thin. New technology like haptic suits and internet-connected sex toys like teledildonics lets people feel touch and physical sensations from far away. Companies like Kiiroo offer Bluetooth-enabled devices that sync with a partner’s movements or online media, making remote intimacy physically real.
However, the darker side of immersive technology is getting harder to overlook. Many VR platforms quietly collect personal data—like your heart rate, facial expressions, and even brain activity—often without users fully understanding or consenting.
According to the American Association for Marriage and Family Therapy, up to a third of internet users go online for sexual reasons—and nearly 1 in 5 can become addicted to it. As internet use becomes more common, more couples are running into serious issues like trust problems, emotional distance, and even breakups because of online infidelity.
A 2017 Deseret News survey revealed striking gender and generational divides in what people consider cheating. Women were significantly more likely than men to label both online and offline behaviors as “always cheating”—59% of women, compared to just 42% of men, said that sending flirty messages crosses the line, while 70% of women said simply having an online dating profile counts as infidelity.
In a survey of 91 women and 3 men affected by a partner’s cybersex addiction, 68% described sexual problems in their relationship directly related to the addiction. About 22% said the addiction was a major reason for separation or divorce.
Age also played a role in how people view cheating. Surprisingly, millennials were more likely than Gen Xers to say that watching porn alone is cheating. These changing opinions show how modern technology is making the line between loyalty and betrayal harder to define.
For Danny, the escape wasn’t just into a game. It was into a version of himself he couldn’t find in daylight. And maybe that’s the real question Striking Vipers leaves us with: when the fantasy fits better than the life we’ve built—what do we choose to come home to?
As the truth comes to light, Danny and Theo strike an agreement: once a year, he returns to the virtual world, and she explores real-life connections of her own. It’s not the first time they’ve played pretend—earlier in the episode, they flirted with role-play to revive their spark. But this time, the game is real. Their compromise isn’t a happy ending so much as a new set of rules.
In the United States, polygamy is extremely rare-less than 0.5% of households-but public acceptance is growing. Approval of polygamy as morally acceptable has risen from 7% in 2003 to 23% in 2024, especially among younger, unmarried, and less religious Americans. Interestingly, men are six times more likely than women to be open to polygynous relationships, according to recent UK research.
We already live at the edges of intimacy—crafting curated selves, clinging to parasocial ties, chasing comfort in the glow of a screen. VR, AI, and immersive worlds only pull us deeper, fusing intimacy and illusion into something hard to untangle.
Bodies in the Mirror
In the game, Karl chooses to play as a female fighter named Roxette, not just as a disguise—but as a truth he hasn’t yet admitted. What unfolds is less about sex and more about the fluidity of self in a world where identity can be downloaded and worn like clothing.
The episode reflects the real-world experience of exploring names, pronouns, and appearances in digital spaces before coming out in everyday life. It captures the emotional challenges that many LGBTQ+ individuals face during their coming-out journeys.
In 2023 alone, more than 30 new laws targeting LGBTQ-related education were enacted, reshaping the 2023–24 school year. These measures include bans on discussing sexual orientation and gender identity in classrooms, limits on pronoun use, and mandates for parental notification or opt-in before students can access LGBTQ-inclusive curricula.
Simply put, the physical world is not a welcome one for exploration, which is why so many turn to digital spaces to discover who they are.
A 2025 study on ZEPETO—a social app where people interact through avatars—found that female users who took on male avatars felt more connected to their virtual characters and more confident in their real-life gender identity.
Inclusive design has been shown to boost mental health and promote a sense of empowerment. A 2024 study of 79 trans and gender-diverse adults found that customizable avatars in games were associated with increased enjoyment, empowerment, and authentic self-representation, while restricted customization reduced engagement and could trigger distress or dysphoria.
Trans and gender-diverse youth face far higher rates of rejection, discrimination, and violence than their cisgender peers. As a result, around 61% experience suicidal thoughts, and nearly one in three have attempted suicide—more than four times the rate of cisgender youth.
In this context, the digital world becomes a lifeline. Research shows that having just one online space where LGBTQ+ youth feel safe and understood is linked to a 20% lower risk of suicide attempts and a 15% drop in recent anxiety.
Virtual bodies aren’t just avatars—they’re mirrors of inner truth. And for those navigating the margins of society’s acceptance, they can become windows into a more authentic future.
But here’s a deeper question: when does a safe space become a place to hide?
The Digital High
It starts with two old friends staying up all night playing the game they loved in their twenties—laughing, trash-talking, reliving the past. But what begins as nostalgia slowly shifts. The game becomes a secret habit, a nightly escape that feels more thrilling and alive than the routine of Danny’s real life.
Soon, he’s forgetting his anniversary and growing distant from his wife. Striking Vipers isn’t just about sex or fantasy; it’s about how addiction can sneak in under the cover of comfort, and how escaping reality too often can leave the real world behind.
Between 2% and 20% of frequent VR users display compulsive behaviors, with addiction risk linked to the immersive feeling of embodiment inside an avatar.
Our attention spans have dropped to just 45 seconds on average—and video games are a major driver. Many of the most addictive titles keep us hooked with competitive and social features (like Fortnite or League of Legends), immersive escapism (Skyrim, Stardew Valley), and personalized role-play (World of Warcraft, The Sims). These experiences trigger dopamine hits, making everyday life feel dull, chaotic, or unrewarding in contrast.
Video game addiction affects an estimated 3–4% of gamers worldwide, with higher rates among adolescents and young adults, especially males. Addicted gamers can spend up to 100 hours a week immersed in play, sacrificing relationships, hobbies, and responsibilities along the way.In Striking Vipers, the title itself becomes a metaphor: just like a viper’s deadly strike, addiction can sneak up unexpectedly, striking again and again as players hunt for that elusive thrill.
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The day finally arrived: my first triathlon of 2025. In fitting conclusion to a chaotic training block, race day kicked off with a perfectly miserable, rainy morning.
There were plenty of challenges leading up to this moment—months of work, unexpected obstacles, and less-than-ideal conditions. But we don’t sign up for this because it’s easy.
In addition to swim, bike, and run logistics, there was one more wildcard: our dog, Petey. We’ve been training him to handle crowds and noise, and he’s made a lot of progress. Still, we knew race day would test him. That morning, we left him with my wife at the car while I made my way to the start line. I had about an hour to set up before go time.
This was my fifth triathlon, so by now, the usual gear-check panic had faded. No more obsessing over whether I packed everything or anxiety about setting up in transition. Still, right before the start, I always feel it—that churn in the stomach. Pushing yourself to the edge while trying to pace it right? That’s always nerve-wracking.
Speaking of my stomach, I wasn’t feeling 100% physically. Digestively. But maybe it’s all in my mind. I chalked it up to the general discomfort of standing around in the rain. Yes, it was a very messy morning. The trek to the pool was a mudfest.
The swim was supposed to be 444m like last year, but a week out, we got an email that it’d be shortened to 300m. Not ideal for an apples-to-apples comparison, but with the rain, nothing was going to be a perfect match. Still, it was a chance to improve.
Last year, I finished 126th out of 276. This year, my goal was to break into the top 100. Not always the healthiest mindset—comparing yourself to others—but this race uses a staggered start, so standings are kind of a mystery anyway. I decided to treat it like a solo time trial.
To position myself in the most ideal spot, I tested a 300m swim in training and estimated I’d come in around 6:40. Last year, I guessed I could swim 444m in 10 minutes—it ended up taking me about 11, and I had to let a few people pass at the wall. This time, based on my test, I landed pretty close: 6:31 on my watch, and 7 minutes officially after running across the pool to hit the timing checkpoint.
As for the bike—there was no predicting that. I’d done a good chunk of zone two work leading up to the race, but not much hard outdoor riding lately. Still, my legs felt solid. The course was four laps on a rolling route with a 50m climb over 2km. Not brutal, but enough to require steady effort.
I went out a bit aggressively on lap one, eased off by lap two, and by lap three the rain was relentless. I started shivering on a descent and suddenly, my vision blurred. I literally had to shake my head to snap out of it.
I hadn’t trained much in rainy conditions, so from that point on, it was all about survival—just making it to the run.
Needless to say, I was relieved to finally get off the bike at 47 min and 18 seconds, which included both transition times. On my watch, I had 42 min and 42 seconds. A solid time, but I was completely out of it. I started the run with a group pacing around 4:30–4:45/km, which might’ve been fine on a good day—but not after that ride, and not in the state I was in. Once the hills kicked in, I knew I had to ease up.
The run course was no joke—lots of short, punchy climbs, with 128m of elevation packed into just under 5K. I didn’t have huge expectations. Sure, it would’ve been nice to match my 24-minute 5K from last month, but there was no pressure. I just wanted to give it everything I had.
And I think I did.
And just like that, it was over. Another race in the books. And to my surprise, I hit that arbitrary goal I set at the start. I cracked the top 100. Barely. 99th place.
The conditions were rough. The training block was fragmented and inconsistent. But I got through it, and now it’s a race I’ll remember fondly.
As for Petey? He didn’t quite share in my success. While I braved the rain, he opted for safety and comfort. My wife tried a few times to coax him out to spectate, but he preferred to wait it out in the warm car. After a bit of howling, he curled up in the backseat and took a nap.
Still, we all did our best. And I’m proud of the three of us for figuring it out—together.
There will be more attempts. There will be more challenges. Plenty more adventures ahead.
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Triathlon, for me, often feels like a selfish act. I train to get faster. I work out for my mental health. For my physical health. Because it’s my hobby—my escape. I race to beat my last time, to check a box, to prove something to myself. Most of what I do, I do for me. And I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.
We’re often told that everything we do should serve a greater good—that if something doesn’t benefit others, it’s not worth doing. But there’s value in doing something simply because it lights you up. Motivation matters. Not everything needs to be for something.
That said, sometimes tying your effort to something larger than yourself is exactly what keeps you going. When you’re exhausted, or stuck, or unmotivated, a deeper purpose can pull you through.
Pain can drive you, too.
A month after my dog Michael passed away, I ran my first half marathon. I was overwhelmed with emotion at the finish. It hurt to keep going—but I kept going, and it meant something.
Michael’s death was sudden.
I’d gone out for a swim that rainy evening, and by the time I got changed and rushed home, he was already gone. We learned he had an undetected tumor near his heart. It burst, and within hours, he was gone. There was nothing we could have done.
I still think about how I was off training—doing something for myself—when he left.
We only have so much time to do the things we want to do. Life is fragile—and it’s not just death that can take things from us. Injury, burnout, financial hardship, obligations—they can all pull us away from the life we imagined.
In stoicism, there’s a phrase for this: memento mori. Remember, you must die. When you carry that awareness with you, it creates urgency. You want to make the most of each day.
This summer, I signed up for a few races leading up to my second Olympic-distance triathlon. I’ve got two open water swims and my first-ever bike race: the Cypress Challenge, a climb up Cypress Mountain. It’s not just any ride—it’s an event that raises money for BC Cancer and brings attention to pancreatic cancer.
Any contribution is deeply appreciated. Donate here!
Now, please enjoy a couple of hill repeats with me up Queen Elizabeth Park, on this beautiful cherry blossom day.
Enjoy the ride.
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I knew triathlon training this season would be tough, but you never really know how tough until you’re in it. One thing that’s made this block especially challenging is Petey, our new rescue dog. He’s well on his way to becoming a great, obedient training partner, but the fear and stress from being abandoned on the side of the highway and his time in the shelter don’t fade overnight. We’re working with him patiently, step by step.
Our goal is to eventually leave him home alone for a few hours, but we’re not there yet. While we could leave him with someone we trust, we’re still nervous—especially about how he might react early in the morning. As devoted helicopter dog parents, we’re trying to strike a balance. Sadly, the world can’t stand still and wait.
Right now, that means adding Petey’s training to mine. Alongside preparing for my race, we’re also helping him get used to new experiences so he can join us at the event. We decided the best approach—for me, my wife, and Petey—is to go to the race together.
We know the environment could be overwhelming for him, but with gradual exposure, a little structure, and a lot of treats, we think we can make it a positive experience.
So, we set up a trial run. I signed up for a 5K at Rocky Point in Port Moody—the same place my wife and I got married. It’s a special spot for us, and now it’s tied to a new memory: Petey’s first race.
It was a small, inaugural event, which meant fewer people and a manageable crowd. After a warm-up walk, I headed to the start line while Petey busied himself sniffing a bush. Then it was up to my wife to keep him company—and for me to focus on the run.
I didn’t have a strict goal going in—this was mostly about training Petey—but I figured, why not aim for a personal record? My last 5K in 2023 was 25 minutes and 2 seconds. Those 2 seconds bugged me. So anything under 25 felt like a solid target.
I did it! Finished in 24 minutes and 1 second. Just shy of the minute mark—next time, maybe. Still, it was a strong run, especially on a hillier course than I expected. That’s a great sign heading into my upcoming sprint triathlon.
And Petey? He did amazing. Which really means my wife did amazing. She kept him calm the whole time I was running. A few months ago, having him in this kind of environment seemed out of the question. But today gave us hope. It was one more step closer to having a life filled with fun and adventures.
Of course, this was just a test—a short run. A triathlon is a whole different beast: longer, more chaotic, and way more logistically intense. It’ll be a challenge. But that’s the point, right?
Thank you for joining us on this run. I’ll see you in the next one.
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I think a lot about how momentum works. Not just in training—although yeah, I do love a good triathlon—but in creativity too.
When I’m training for a triathlon, I’m not just running every day. I swim. I bike. And I run. Each discipline works different muscles, keeps things fresh, and somehow… they all support each other. Like, I come out of a bike ride with stronger legs for the run.
And that’s kinda how I’m approaching my creative life too.
I don’t just write. I don’t just draw. I don’t just make videos. I move between all of them—and doing that actually helps me stay motivated and inspired. If I’m stuck in one, I switch to another. If I’m tired of reading, I pull out my camera. If I can’t sit down to draw, I cut up footage and express my creativity in a whole new way.
So today, I’m sharing something I call the Creative Triathlon. It’s a predetermined length of focused time on three different creative practices: illustrating, video creation, and writing. One discipline at a time. No pressure. No multitasking. Just a way to find time to do what you enjoy.
First leg: illustration. For the past 4 years, I’ve been working on this massive personal project—drawing every single Pokémon. Yeah. All of them. It’s been slow-going, not because I don’t love it, but because finding the time is hard. Life piles up. Other projects take priority. And as strange as it sounds, drawing Pokemon doesn’t pay the bills.
But when I do this creative triathlon, it forces me to carve out time for it. Even just 25 minutes. And honestly? It’s kind of like swimming. At first, it takes a while to get ready. But once I start? I don’t want to stop. It’s peaceful. It’s focused. And there’s something really satisfying about seeing one more little creature take shape.
This leg always reminds me why I started this project in the first place: because I love it. Because it brings me back to that kid part of myself that used to draw these things on notebooks.
I’m almost at 1000 Pokemon. I really want to finish before they add more. If you are interested in see the rest, check out this video in the cards and the instagram in the link in the description.
Second leg: video creation. Right now, I’ve been making a series of YouTube Shorts where I highlight key takeaways from books I’ve read. It’s honestly become one of my favorite creative outlets.
What I love about it is that it’s a true mashup of all my past-time activities—reading, thinking, writing, editing—it all comes together in these tiny videos. It makes everything I do feel active. Reading no longer feels like a passive intake of ideas. By turning it into a video, I get to spend more time with what I’m reading. I get to sit with the concepts, rephrase them, visualize them. And because of that, the lessons stick. They become part of me. A little snapshot of my life.
Video creation is great that way. It lets you experience your own thoughts in a completely new medium. You go from absorbing to articulating, from quiet reflection to something that moves and speaks. Seeing an idea come to life on screen—it just never gets old.
Final leg: writing. I’m currently editing the fifth draft of the first book in a trilogy I’ve been working on for years. And yeah—it’s a slog. A meaningful one, but a slog nonetheless.
It’s such a big project that most days, I’m just chipping away at it. I don’t always see progress. There’s no big “aha” moment, no flashy breakthrough. It’s slow, repetitive work. And honestly, it feels a lot like running. Not a sprint—a marathon. You get tired. You want to stop. But you don’t, because the work is worth it. The fatigue is part of the point. It’s what builds endurance. It’s what makes the story matter.
Working on something this big, this long—it becomes part of your life. It’s something you carry. And the beautiful thing about creativity is that it’s not like sports… there’s no finish line in the same way. It doesn’t end. But that’s why I love this Creative Triathlon practice—because it does give me small finish lines.
Instead of focusing on finishing the book, I just focus on finishing a session. That’s it. One 25-minute block. And when it’s done, I get this little burst of relief, a sense of accomplishment. Like I’ve closed a loop. It’s such a good feeling—being able to look back at my day and say, “I did something today.” No guilt. No disappointment.
So that’s my Creative Triathlon. Three disciplines, 25 minutes each for me today. It could be more on other days, but today was only 25 minutes. Which is enough to get a good chunk of work done. Know this, though, it’s not about finishing a masterpiece in an hour and a half—it’s about movement. It’s about momentum.
Just like in a real triathlon, each leg has its own rhythm. Some feel strong. Some feel slow. But they all carry me forward.
If you’re someone who loves multiple creative things—or if you’re feeling stuck—try this. Treat your creativity like a triathlon. Mix it up. Work different muscles. Let each practice breathe new life into the others.
Thanks for hanging out with me today. If you decide to try your own Creative Triathlon, let me know how it goes! And if you already have a different combo that works for you—maybe it’s music, painting, and cooking—drop it in the comments. I’d love to hear what you’re working on.
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Having completed “Right Thing, Right Now” by Ryan Holiday (Amazon), I want to highlight a chapter that stood out: “You Just Have to Be Kind”
As Kurt Vonnegut said, “There’s only one rule that I know of: Goddamn it, Joe, you’ve got to be kind.””
Be kind.
To the ones who serve you.
To the ones who frustrate you.
To those who falter, those who fall.
To the ones who follow you and the ones who came before.
To the ones you may never meet.
The history is filled with brilliant and successful people. You’ve probably encountered plenty. But how many truly kind people have you met? When we look back, one thing that never ages well is a lack of kindness.
The cruelty of mobs. The selfishness of leaders. The way whole groups of people were dismissed, diminished, denied their humanity.
It’s true: There is no leader who has not faced frustration. There is no wise person who has not endured foolishness. There is no good person who has not been wronged.
This is the way of the world.
But it is our strength, our wisdom, our decency that obligates us to be kind anyway.
You never know what someone is carrying. You never know how far a small kindness might ripple. But that’s not why we do it.
We do it because as Vonnegut puts it, it’s the only goddamn rule there is.
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When we talk about endurance sports, we often hear about battling through pain. So much of the sport is about pushing our limits, and it’s in that process where we truly improve. When it gets hard, that’s when we’re challenged. That’s when we discover who we are. That’s when we endure.
That’s when we prove to ourselves: we are not quitters.
Of course, this mindset isn’t just for sport. We can bring that kind of endurance to every part of life. Don’t give up on what you started. Follow through on what you said you’d do. As a creative, I know that struggle well. How many projects have I started only to abandon them halfway through?
In life and in triathlon, endurance is everything. When things get hard, scary, or painful, we have to push through. We have to keep going.
During this training block, I faced plenty of challenges—not just tough workouts, but all the resistance that comes with the sport. There are always reasons to stop.
Lately, I’ve been finding it hard to get on the bike for long rides. Not just because of the weather, but because of my schedule. This season doesn’t really allow me to be away for hours. And sure, I don’t need that long of a session for a sprint triathlon, but I still feel like I should be putting in the time. My new dog, my new job—life has been full, and it’s been keeping me off the bike.
But I’m still enduring. And enduring sometimes means problem-solving. Last year, I relied on Zwift for convenient indoor training. When it stopped connecting to my bike, I tried Rouvy. But I wasn’t riding enough to justify the cost, so I cancelled. I thought I just had to tough it out with nothing but numbers on my watch, but that’s unnecessary suffering. I signed up for MyWhoosh last week, and suddenly, my excitement for biking returned.
Things go wrong. Equipment breaks. Problems arise. We have to endure that, too. This is the good kind of endurance—the kind that builds patience, confidence, resilience. Not just physical strength, but mental strength too.
Recently, my GPS watch started glitching. After just a year, the battery drains quickly, and the elevation tracking stopped working. I’m working with support to fix it, but it’s frustrating. When my gear isn’t working, my motivation drops. I love collecting data—tracking workouts, measuring progress. When the metrics are off, everything feels off. It’s like playing hockey with dull skates. But I kept going anyway. And good news: I discovered Strava has a “Correct Elevation” feature, so even if my watch is wrong, I can fix it.
This is what endurance really looks like—dealing with the little things. Because when you don’t deal with them, they pile up. It’s like cleaning your house—if you clean as you go, it’s easy. If you don’t, it becomes a mess. Maybe even a hoarder-level mess.
Good endurance is good habit. It’s confidence. It’s delayed gratification.
But not all endurance is good.
Bad endurance is ego. It’s pushing through when you shouldn’t. It’s training through injury. It’s ignoring your mind and body. It’s refusing to fuel or rest properly. It’s bottling up your feelings. It’s not asking for help when you need it.
Bad endurance is thinking you’re strong for holding your hand to the flame. Sure, it might impress someone in the short term—but long term, it only burns you. Physically, mentally.
Bad endurance is staying in toxic relationships or jobs. It’s putting up with bullying and gaslighting. That kind of endurance doesn’t make you stronger—it chips away at you. It erodes your confidence. It delays your healing.
After everything I’ve been through these last few years, I’m learning what’s worth enduring and what isn’t. What makes me stronger, and what just does damage. What’s worth waiting for, and what isn’t.
Triathlon is an endurance sport—but that doesn’t mean you should endure everything. There’s good endurance, and there’s bad endurance.
I remind myself of this whenever I feel like quitting. I take a moment to reflect on what’s really stopping me. Am I avoiding a problem I could solve? Am I just making an excuse? Or am I actually being fair and reasonable with myself?
That said, training is going well. After a few speed bumps with my health, I’m feeling good. So I’m trying something new: riding across the Lion’s Gate Bridge into West Van, down to Ambleside Beach. It was my first time doing that route, and let me tell you—the descent off the bridge is way steeper than I expected. But I stayed calm. I didn’t stop. I managed the panic.
And that, to me, is good endurance.
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This is my third year training for triathlon. So many things that once felt new now feel like routine—but that doesn’t mean they feel old. A training plan stretches across months, and because life keeps moving—your schedule shifts, your body changes, the world changes around you—none of it ever stays the same. It’s like that saying: you never step into the same river twice. Even if the actions—swimming, cycling, running—are familiar, the route, the time of day, the body you’re moving in… none of it is exactly as it was before.
My body is in constant flux. Some days it’s tired, others it’s fresh. Sometimes I ache. Sometimes I feel strong.
Life throws a mix of old and new challenges. Things I’ve done before and continue to refine, and things I’m encountering for the first time. This season, like clockwork, allergies hit me hard. Hay fever, maybe a cold too—right during the week I had off before starting a new job. Not ideal timing.
The new job has been exciting—a fresh challenge, new systems to learn, new people to meet. It’s energized me, but it’s also demanded my focus, and that’s meant training has taken a back seat some days.
And then there’s Petey, our new rescue dog. It’s been three months now, and while he’s adjusting well, he doesn’t exactly make triathlon training easier. Every day is a puzzle of syncing his needs with mine and my wife’s schedules. On top of that, we’re trying to figure out what to do with him on race day—we don’t think we can leave him alone for that long. Ideally, we’d bring him with us.
That means, in a way, he’s training too. We’re slowly getting him used to more stimulating environments—other people, other dogs—but more importantly, we’re helping him get used to me leaving him. That’s been the hardest part. On walks, if I duck into a store or step away, he panics. So we’re working on that—teaching him to stay calm when I leave, helping him understand that I always come back. Patience, consistency, and making those moments feel safe are key.
There’s a lot going on. At times, more than I feel I can juggle. Priorities shift day to day. But strangely, all of this has helped me stay present. When I do get to train, it feels even more meaningful. Something I look forward to. Something that feels like mine.
I’ve done triathlon before. I’ve even raced this upcoming course before. But nothing about this season feels the same—and that’s what makes it thrilling.
Like today. I’m riding out to Burnaby to do what I call the Brentwood loop. I grew up in Burnaby North—a suburb just outside Vancouver—and this area is so familiar to me. But every time I return, something’s different. New buildings, new shops, new roads—but also, pieces of it stay the same.
Things shift—over years, over days, even from one moment to the next. One second it’s sunny, the next it’s raining. That’s just how it goes.
So: enjoy the ride.
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Elliot Chan 