The Hardest Breakup I’ve Experienced Was With My Oura Ring
On data, devices, and the knowing I stopped trusting
It was Masters weekend.
And if you were watching closely, you noticed something subtle when the camera zoomed in tight.
On the wrists of some of the best golfers in the world, there’s data.
WHOOP Straps.
Tracking recovery. Heart rate. Strain. Sleep.
All in the name of optimization.
And yet, these are the same players who talk about feel.
About trusting the swing.
About knowing when to push and when to pull back.
Not from a screen.
From somewhere internal.
Because for the better part of five years, I’d been doing a version of the same thing. A subtle outsourcing of self.
To the WHOOP that left an indent on my wrist and a tan line on my arm. To the Oura Ring and its crowns and its various scores. I’ve tried them all.
If I got a crown, it meant I slept well. If it was green, I was ready. If it said I was strained, suddenly I could feel it.
I stopped asking myself.
I started checking.
There were days I felt run down. Off. Not quite right.
And instead of listening to that, I looked for confirmation.
If my stats didn’t reflect it, I overrode myself.
Green meant go, right?
I recall shaking my wrist on an airplane just to close a ring. Walking a few extra steps down the hallway just to keep my streak. Like 25 steps before bed, in a circle, down the hall and back, actually counted. I know.
As if the data mattered more than the reality of where I was.
It’s not that different from reading your horoscope and then living into it.
Waiting for something external to tell you what your day is.
Last summer in Huntington Beach, I sat down with a tarot card reader at a street fair.
For fun.
When I stood up, I turned to Dave and said, “Don’t ever let me do that again.”
Not because it was wrong.
Because I could feel what it did.
It shifted me out of my own knowing and into anticipation.
And then, unintentionally, everything went quiet.
I left a bag on a Delta flight.
Inside it were my chargers.
Including the one for my Oura Ring.
By the time I landed, on a remote island, a full weekend ahead, the ring was dead.
No data.
No recovery score.
No readiness.
Nothing to check.
Just me.
And what I could feel.
I thought it would be freeing.
It wasn’t.
It was uncomfortable.
Because somewhere along the way, I stopped trusting the one source that had never actually been wrong.
Myself.
And then this weekend, I was in yoga.
One of my favorite instructors was teaching. She arrived for the weekend from Kenya. Grounded in a way you can feel before she even speaks.
At one point she said something simple.
There are other modalities. Pilates. CrossFit.
And then there is yoga.
It’s different.
It asks more.
Not more effort. More listening.
It asks you to pay attention.
To follow your breath.
To be guided by something you can’t measure.
Your gut.
Your intuition.
And it registered.
Because somewhere along the way, I lost that.
Buried in stats.
Hidden inside movement.
For me, that was running.
Don’t get me wrong. I love all of it. The data, the structure, the runs, the Pilates. But I can see now there were moments I was also escaping.
I’ve been moving fast enough not to hear myself.
And at some point, I stopped listening.
I’m on the fence about replacing my Oura Ring.
Not just because the charger is gone.
The ring itself looked tired.
Chipped. Worn.
Like a manicure entering its third week.
It had done its job.
Maybe more than its job.
Before I replace it, I’m staying here for a minute.
Without it.
Listening again.
Trusting what I feel before I check anything.
Because if I’m honest, it’s not just the ring.
I can see other places where I’ve handed that knowing over.
To systems.
To routines.
To people.
Different forms of the same giving.
A cupboard full of supplements I stopped questioning somewhere along the way.
A subtle outsourcing of self.
These stats operate like so many others. The external validation we seek beyond the devices. I realize, in the absence of it in one area of my life, how dependent I’ve been on it in others. In the midst of significant decisions right now, I can’t look elsewhere for the answers. I can’t call on a device, an audience, or even others for this.
There’s an old saying. Wherever you go, there you are.
For a long time, I just made sure I was well-tracked when I got there.
Perhaps stripping away the Ring was exactly what I needed.
For now, I’m here.
No stats. Just me. Listening again. Trusting again.
Always EDITing,
Leslie
This was such a good read! I didn’t want to stop. And such a good reminder to stop overriding my body and listen to it more often (with or without a watch)! Thank you!
I can relate to this too! First thing every morning, I check my sleep score, my body battery, and training readiness. After my workouts, I log them into my device. I track all my health statistics. Somewhere along the way, I stopped relying on how I felt and instead, what my device was telling me. It’s time to step back and simply listen to my body!