Health Optimized to Death

Why data-driven health tech can feel more like judgment than guidance.

I love training plans. I enjoy building elaborate spreadsheets filled with pace goals, progress charts, and color-coded milestones. I don’t just have goals. I track them, measure them, and quantify the hell out of them.

This summer, I am summiting Mount Whitney, the tallest peak in the continental U.S., clocking in at 14,505 feet. Let the training plan fun begin.

But as much as I love structure, I’ve learned that data can be a double-edged sword. I wear a Garmin, and while it’s great for tracking progress, it also has a way of feeding my anxiety, turning helpful metrics into obsessive check-ins and spirals of self-doubt.

I wake up with data.

I check my Garmin sleep score before I even get out of bed. I started doing this last year to optimize my sleep routine. I experimented with different bedtimes, adjusted my alarm, and figured out when I genuinely feel most rested. But now that I have a rhythm, do I need a score to tell me how I slept? Probably not. Yet, I still check it every single day.

That’s the slippery slope: data can be helpful, until it becomes compulsive. Until it stops feeling like guidance and starts feeling like judgment.

The Metrics That Mess with Me

Let’s break down the numbers I obsess over:

• Training Status: Garmin has four levels of training state: “Recovery,” “Maintaining,” “Productive,” or “Overreaching.” If I’m not in “Productive” mode, I panic. Even though I know it doesn’t accurately track all of my training days. It doesn’t account for yoga, fitness classes, or strength training, so it misses key data points about my exercise routine. Yet, when that training status is not in “Productive,” I feel like I’m behind. I feel so guilty.

• VO2 Max: This one estimates my cardiovascular fitness and updates only with outdoor activities, such as running, walking, hiking, and biking. Therefore, I pressure myself to get outside, even when I need rest or the weather sucks. I use it as a performance barometer when it is a stressor.

• Fitness Age: This is the strangest number that I obsess over. I’m not even sure how scientifically backed it is. Even on the Garmin page, the description behind this data point is vague. For example, I’m 29. Garmin says my “fitness age” is 28, but suggests I aim for 25.5. Why? Who knows. Apparently, I need to lose weight, increase my workout frequency, and push harder to regain my 25-year-old self. However, I’m not 25 anymore. My body knows it. My schedule knows it. Yet, this number makes me feel like I’m aging wrong. It begs the question: Is this data point even necessary?

• Resting Heart Rate: I’ve been trying to get mine below 60, not because a doctor told me to, but because I read somewhere years ago that it’s a sign of peak health. My resting heart rate is perfectly healthy now, but the inner athlete in me still chases this arbitrary number. I track it weekly like a stock ticker, even though that competitive, performance-at-all-costs mindset doesn’t serve me anymore.

• Altitude Acclimation: This one’s helpful. I often hike above 10,000 feet, which gives me insight into how well I’m adapting; a rare win.

• The Scale: Recently, I started weighing myself again. I hate it. I’ve become fixated on it, not for its looks, but because I’ll be carrying a 30-pound pack up Mount Whitney, and I want to “lighten the load.” I know strength is more important than weight. My fitness goals are not about reaching a specific weight, but rather how well I can complete a 14er or a 6-mile run. But when that number doesn’t go down, I spiral.

Health tech is a blessing and a curse.

Wearables like Garmin, Apple Watch, Oura, and Whoop promise to make us healthier, stronger, and more in control. They give us access to a universe of data, and we consume it because it feels empowering. It feels like progress, tracked in real-time and revealed through fun charts. It gives us a sense of control over our health, right on our wrists, whether it’s truly accurate or not.

However, without context or metrics that are blatantly arbitrary, these numbers are deeply demotivating. They do not always accurately reflect our reality, goals, or bodies. Even when the data feels personal, it often isn’t. And it’s essential to remember that wearables aren’t just about improving your health. They’re part of a $84+ billion industry built on your pursuit of “better.

1. Wearables don’t account for our changing needs and fitness goals.

   Training for a 14er is not the same as prepping for a half marathon. Nor is it the same as merely trying to stretch our legs and breathe during a stressful week. But wearables don’t know the difference. They measure our effort against a fixed definition of progress and reward constant intensity, not sustainability.

   These devices aren’t designed for balance, rest, or joy. They are modeled after the needs of elite athletes whose full-time job is to perform at the highest level. So when our watch tells us we’re not “productive” or stuck in “recovery,” it can feel like failure. But really, it’s a mismatch between how we live and how the system was built.

2. The data isn’t as personalized as it claims to be.

   Most wearables rely on generalized algorithms built on data from people like us (e.g., our height, weight, and estimated activity levels), rather than the actual complexities of individuals. Wearable companies are now trying to access more of your data to create a more comprehensive health profile of you. Apple can collect your menstrual cycle. Whoops, monitors your stress, glucose, mood, and more.

   However, this raises a larger question: should tech companies, whose primary goal is engagement and optimization, really be the ones holding your most intimate health information?

3. We don’t need more data. We need better guidance.
   I don’t need a watch to tell me I slept poorly; I can feel it. Most of these platforms don’t offer real insights. They dump numbers on us and expect us to figure out what to do. Most of the time, we’re left guessing and feeling bad that the numbers are what they are. What would be more helpful is technology that can provide us with context on our data and help us achieve our own personalized goals.

So, is this tech really helping us thrive, or just making us feel like we’re never enough?

Now, when I catch myself spiraling, I pause and ask:

1. How does this data point actually serve my fitness or health goals?

2. Am I using this information to grow or just to punish myself?

3. Do I have actionable steps I can take, or am I just drowning in numbers I don’t know what to do with?

We deserve tools that support how we actually live, not metrics that shame us into achieving a certain level of performance. We deserve health data that helps us navigate the world with greater confidence. The goal isn’t to become perfectly optimized machines. It’s to live well in bodies that can carry us through mountains, messy lives, and moments of joy.