Strava Doesn’t Track This

Why Therapy Is the Toughest Training Tool I’ve Tried

“In order for the butterfly wings to grow strong enough to support him, it’s necessary that he beat them against the walls of his cocoon. Only by this struggle can his wings become beautiful and durable. When you denied him that struggle, you took away from him his only chance of survival.” - Fred Mitouer

Let me begin with some things I’ve done that might look “mentally tough” on paper:

• Ran a 50k race with blisters the size of small countries.

• Bombed down a mountain trail so steep it probably required a parachute and a waiver form.

• Cycled up the Col du Tourmalet only to summit into a snowstorm, making the descent feel like I was being exfoliated by frozen bees.

And yet none of that made me as nervous as walking into my first therapy session a few weeks ago.

Seriously. I would’ve taken another round of arctic face slaps over that waiting room.

I booked the appointment because I’d been feeling … floaty. Ever since I stopped training like an athlete I’ve been living in a weird identity limbo. Was I less of myself? Or maybe just unsure who “myself” even was without intervals and long runs to anchor me.

I arrived, sat on a couch which was, disappointingly, not a leather chaise lounge like in the movies, and mentally prepared my TED talk on ‘how injury ruins identity’.

But instead of getting into that, we talked about… literally everything else.

Not running. Not racing. Not blisters or PBs or my tragic foam-rolling discipline.

We talked about my childhood. Control. Perfectionism. Burnout. Love. Fear. Identity.

It was like a garage sale of the soul. Dusty boxes and forgotten emotional furniture I didn’t even know I’d kept.

But here’s the part that no one warns you about:

I didn’t leave feeling better. I left feeling like I’d just done emotional hill sprints with no warm-up and questionable shoes.

Athletes Are Great at Coping, But Not Necessarily Processing

We athletes are masters of adaptive coping

We take pain and channel it into performance.

We don’t cry. We cross-train.

We don’t pause. We push through.

We don’t “process emotions.” We do hill repeats.

But what looks like discipline can sometimes be avoidance with good branding.

Therapy doesn’t strip you of your edge - it shows you where the edge became a wall.

I expected to walk out of that room feeling lighter. Like I’d unzipped a backpack full of emotional bricks and left it behind on the couch.

But I felt the exact opposite.

I walked out heavier. Slower. A little hollow.

Because I’d just spent 60 minutes talking about the parts of my life that make me feel the most vulnerable. The things I usually sweep under the rug or distract myself from with training and to-do lists and social plans.

Everyone has a coping mechanism. I think mine is keeping myself busy enough that I don’t have time to feel anything properly.

So to spend an hour sitting still, digging into the real stuff?

It felt like the most confronting hour of my life.

And I’ve only had two sessions. I’m not writing this from a place of resolution. Just a tiny door that I opened. And it felt heavy.

But weirdly, maybe that’s kind of the point.

Psychologists call this the “paradox of processing”. Research shows that talking about difficult experiences can actually increase distress in the short term. One study from the University of Texas found that people who wrote about emotional pain felt worse right after… but significantly better over the following weeks compared to those who didn’t write at all.

It’s called emotional exposure and like lifting weights, it only builds strength when it’s uncomfortable.

So if you feel heavier after therapy? That’s not failure. That’s a psychological DOMS. Delayed-Onset Mental Soreness, if you will.

The Courage to Be a Beginner

Since moving to France this year, I’ve been learning French in a classroom full of equally confused adults. Let’s just say: no one in there is winning spelling bees.

And the experience reminded me: kids are used to learning. They’re fine with looking clueless. Adults? Not so much.

We like being good at things. Competent. Capable. Efficient.

We don’t like showing up as total beginners, especially when it comes to our own minds.

And that’s not just ego - it’s neurobiological.

A 2016 study on adult learning found that the fear of looking incompetent activates the same brain region as physical pain. Literally, embarrassment hurts, which explains why vulnerability feels like someone’s poking your insides with a stick.

But the more you face that discomfort, the more your brain rewires itself to handle uncertainty and emotional complexity.

Translation: therapy doesn’t just change your thoughts. It changes your brain.

If we stop letting ourselves learn, we stop growing.

If we don’t ask for help, we get stuck in the echo chamber of our own overthinking.

And if we never get curious about the messy, uncomfortable stuff, how are we supposed to evolve?

That’s what therapy gave me: a space to be a beginner again.

To say, “I don’t know what I’m doing”, and not be judged for it.

To explore thoughts without needing to have answers.

To sit in the discomfort of being a human who is still very much figuring it all out.

And I realised, maybe that’s what we all need. A place to lay it down. A place where the pressure to perform or be perfect is lifted. A place to be reminded that we’re allowed to not be okay. We’re allowed to change. We’re allowed to grow.

Why this feels important to share?

There’s still this weird, lingering shame around seeing a psychologist.

As if it’s a sign that you’re broken or weak.

But you know what’s also a sign of weakness? Trying to solve emotional burnout with matcha lattes and “just pushing through.”

What if therapy wasn’t the last step, but the first?

What if it was a training tool? A mental massage gun for your thoughts?

We already do everything else for performance:

• Physios

• Nutritionists

• Strength coaches

• Sleep trackers

• Cold plunges

• Collagen gummies

• That weird breathing app your friend swears by

So why not this?

Why not give your brain the same TLC you give your hamstrings?

I honestly thought I’d walk in, talk about not running, cry a bit, and leave with some mantras and mindset tools. But what I found instead was a space to explore the stuff beneath the stuff.

And somehow, that was even more powerful.

A Final Thought: Add This Tool to Your Toolkit

Psychology isn’t a last resort. It’s a secret weapon. A performance enhancer. A quiet game-changer. It’s about becoming a better athlete by understanding the human underneath the Strava profile. About learning yourself. About building resilience before life (or sport) forces it on you.

And you don’t have to find “the perfect psychologist” on your first try. You didn’t find your favourite running shoe or coach or pre-race breakfast overnight, either. It takes trial. It takes error. It takes time.

But you deserve that time.

You deserve that space.

You deserve to know that help doesn’t mean weakness, it means you care enough about yourself to keep growing.

So if this spoke to you - book the appointment.

Don’t wait until you’re unravelled.

Don’t wait for burnout, heartbreak, breakdown, or injury.

Book it because you want to understand yourself better.

Book it because your mental health deserves just as much support as your VO2 max.

Book it because you’re worth that hour.

To my psychologist: thank you. For not talking about running. For reminding me I’m more than what I achieve. And for giving me permission to not know for a little while.

To everyone else: you’re allowed to do the same.