Measuring Effort in an Era of Trackers and Highlights

One of the most magnetic things in ocean sports is comparison. It’s why we check trackers, compare speeds on apps, and look at how others handle heavy conditions. It can motivate us to rig up, push through the hesitation, and chase bumps we’ve only imagined. It can also chew us up and spit us out.

The hardest part of it all is that we erase context when we look at others. We ignore age, time on the water, gear setups, local knowledge, and tolerance for risk. There are versions of healthy progression and shared stoke, and there are the ones that drain the joy right out of your session. So what do we need to look for to avoid those traps? How do we keep from being dragged down by our obsession with what everyone else is riding or how fast they’re flying?

Over the years, the happiest ocean athletes I spend time with are the ones who drift away from those judgments and cultivate a simpler, truer relationship with the water they are on.

I’m not a psychologist or hydrodynamicist. I’m just someone who watches people suffer needlessly on the beach because their downwind speeds or foil setups aren’t matching what they think the internet demands.

Why Do I Care?

I can’t count the number of foilers I’ve seen staring nervously at a rolling horizon, wondering if they look competent to the crew on the beach, or agonizing over whether their average speed was high enough to post. We worry about being judged by other people at the launch.

I try to remind them that everyone at that point or beach is entirely self-obsessed—worrying about their own gear, their own preparations, or whether they’re going to be able to get on foil—and probably won’t even remember your run by sundown. But it goes deeper than that.

I like to flip the script a bit. Instead of worrying about what people are saying, remember that you are out there for yourself, chasing a feeling that very few people on earth actually understand.

I think a great first step is observing our own behaviors. Are we genuinely stoked on someone else's progression, or are we secretly sizing up their gear and weighing our own worth against it? When you find yourself feeling envy, frustration, or that strange, quiet bitterness because someone else seems to glide effortlessly through difficult conditions, it’s worth stepping back to examine it.

When you feel those feelings, use the mirror trick: ask yourself, "What exactly is making me envious?" Usually, your envy reveals what you deeply want for your own progression. If you’re jealous of how calm someone looks when conditions turn hectic and the wind spikes to forty knots, it’s a sign that you’re dealing with your own mental friction in big water.

Progression Isn’t Scarce

Most comparisons come from a scarcity mindset—the quiet, insidious belief that there are only so many good waves, so many epic runs, or so much respect to go around. We have to counteract this by paying attention to our own baseline.

A simple, grounding habit is to write down three micro-improvements from your week on the water, no matter how minor they seem.

Did you keep your composure when the foil nearly breached at high speed?

Did you link for longer than last week?

Did you make some progression with your foot placements?

We have to remember that the only thing we can train is ourselves. The ocean doesn’t care about anyone else’s metrics; it only responds to Your connection, Your abilities, and Your inputs.

Along those same lines, actively cheering for other paddlers and foilers is the best way to trick your brain into understanding that their success does not diminish yours. When the crew at the beach genuinely wants to see you link the bumps and make it home safe, it changes everything. It removes the scarcity and creates an environment where everyone rides better.

It’s What Goes In

Too many of us are obsessed with outcome goals. If we got a clean downwind run with high average speeds, it was a great day. If the wind dropped, and we spent half the session swimming, the day sucked.

The truth is, you cannot control the wind, the swell period, the tide, or the chaotic variables of the open ocean. But you get to control every single bit of your input.

This is why it helps to shift your focus away from the final GPS track and toward the effort itself. Put a mental star next to the moments on the water that actually required courage and execution:

Was it committing to punch through a heavy shore break when you wanted to turn back? Give it a star.

Was it choosing to stay calm and methodical while deep in open water instead of panicking? Give yourself a star.

Was it paddling hard into a marginal bump when you were already exhausted? Star.

At the end of the month, look at your inputs, not just the highlight reel. The beautiful thing is that those disciplined, quiet inputs are what eventually lead to effortless glides—and a lot more of them.

When we measure our sessions by what we brought to the table, the noise of comparison fades away. You can’t control the ocean, but you can control your attitude, your preparation, and your willingness to put yourself out there. Be consistent, embrace the discomfort of big conditions when you’re ready, and remember why you started Downwinding in the first place.

Hydrate.