The Levers We Pull
On performance, the things we think we need, and what actually makes us better.
Human performance is fascinating. It’s one of the primary reasons I coach.
There are clear, systematic progressions that help most people improve, and then there’s the nuance. The part that resists standardization. The part that makes each athlete their own experiment.
There are principles I believe serve nearly everyone: adequate sleep, intentional training, fueling for performance, thoughtful approaches to fatigue, positive self-talk, and a strong network of care. And then there are levers of performance that feel deeply personal.
This week, an athlete texted me asking about my thoughts on compression boots. For context: I don’t own them. I’ve used several brands, and personally, I don’t notice much of a difference. I also coach athletes who swear by them, who recover better and perform more consistently because of them. For me, compression socks, foam rolling, and putting my legs up the wall work just fine.
That’s the point. We all have different levers that we can pull to optimize our own performance.
Beyond the fundamentals, most tools and suggestions should be held lightly. When someone credits a single product or action for their success, it’s usually worth peeling back the layers. Behind that claim is likely years of training, consistency, care routines, fueling habits, and maybe a few unglamorous truths.
Running has increasingly become a consumer-driven world. Products, programs, races, and experiences are constantly marketed as the thing, leaving many runners feeling that if they don’t buy this, drink that, or train there, their efforts somehow don’t count.
This is simpler than we make it out to be.
If you want to be a runner, you run.
If you want to be a better runner, you run more intentionally.
If you want to perform well, you nourish your body.
If you want to feel energized, you prioritize rest.
If you want to be faster, you add variety.
If you want better endurance, you go longer and ease the intensity.
If you want to feel accepted as a runner, you start by accepting yourself as one.
So often, the endless lists of things we think we need are really proxies for how we want to feel. “Better” can mean a mile without stopping. It can mean finishing a run with energy left for the rest of the day. It can mean racing a qualifying time, or simply running in a way that makes you proud.
I’ll never push an athlete, or myself, away from pursuing better or the tools, habits, and practices that can take us there. But I do care deeply about defining what better actually means.
Before adding a new product or routine, it’s worth asking: What am I hoping this gives me? More confidence? Less soreness? Greater consistency? A sense of control?
For me, that currently looks like a collection of habits: lifting heavy once or twice a week, running most miles slower than race pace, acupuncture, caffeine before speed work, post-run nutrition, familiar breakfasts, long-standing PT exercises, handwritten pacing plans, and a mantra I return to daily: When you ask for change, you ask for discomfort.
I’d happily recommend many of these things. But you are not me.
What works for me works because I’ve lived with it long enough to let it shape me. You deserve the same relationship with your own practices and the tools that you use to support that. So if compression boots excite you and help you deepen your practice, go for it and make them part of your process.
When the next product or promise pops up on your screen, pause. Ask what you’re really seeking. Let the answer capture your attention more than the ad does.
