The Day I Zigzagged

When the “Will” says go, but the cells vote “No.”

I like to believe I have a very strong will.

I pride myself on the ability to “get myself” to do what I want. If there is a hill, I climb it. If there is a deadline, I meet it. I have spent years operating under the assumption that if I just command the body loudly enough, it will obey.

But one morning, my body humbled me.

I hadn’t run in a long time, but I woke up feeling ambitious. I saw a window of opportunity in a busy schedule and decided to seize it. I laced up my shoes and took off—not at my usual humble pace of 7 mins/km, but at a blistering 5 mins/km.

Photo by Barbara Olsen

I wasn’t just running. I was proving something. I was competing.

Then, the negotiations started.

It began as a tightness in my chest. My breathing lost its rhythm, became a jagged gasp. My “Will” (the Pilot) looked at the dashboard and said: Ignore it. Keep pushing. If you stop now, you’re a loser.

So I pushed harder. I tried to override the signals with mental grit.

The discomfort didn’t fade. It amplified.

My calves started screaming. A stitch stabbed the side of my torso like a knife. And then, suddenly, I lost the ability to run in a straight line.

Photo by Barbara Olsen

I started zigzagging across the pathway. My vision narrowed. The decision was taken out of my hands—I had to stop.

I resigned the run and walked home, defeated, gasping for air. I realised I had been trying to move a “heavy body” too quickly—not just heavy in weight, but heavy with the pressure of my own ego.

Photo by Barbara Olsen

I wanted a straight line. My body gave me a zigzag.

The Dictator in the Cockpit

In the last article, we talked about the Astronaut and the Suit. That morning, I wasn’t acting like an Astronaut.

I was acting like a Dictator.

A Dictator believes the body exists solely to execute commands. When the body says “Oxygen levels critical,” the Dictator says “I don’t care. Do it.”

We often praise this as “mental toughness.” But in the reality of the body, this is a failure of leadership. You aren’t piloting the ship—you’re setting the engine room on fire.

The Cellular Group Chat

Why did I start zigzagging? Why couldn’t I just force my legs to stay straight?

Because you are not a monolith. You are a collective.

Your body is millions of cells organised into tissues, tissues into organs, organs into systems—all the way up to “you,” the consciousness reading these words. Each layer has some agency. Each layer is solving problems and sending signals.

Biologist Michael Levin’s research reveals that the body operates like a “Cellular Group Chat.” Cells aren’t passive bricks—they’re active agents communicating via bioelectricity, constantly voting on the state of the system.

When I was running, my muscle cells, lung tissues, and heart were all in a frantic group chat:

Muscles: “We are out of fuel.” Lungs: “We can’t clear this CO2 fast enough.” Heart: “System overload imminent.”

They took a vote. The vote was unanimous: Stop.

Since I refused to listen to the warning lights (the chest tightness), they pulled the emergency brake and cut the power. The loss of motor control was not a “failure” of the machine. It was a successful veto by the collective to save the system from damage.

Tonos: Finding the Right Grip

The Greeks had a word for what I was missing: Tonos—the dynamic tension that holds a structure together, like a violin string that’s neither too loose nor too tight.

I think of this as finding the Optimal Grip.

Imagine picking up a disposable cup filled with water. If your grip is too loose, it slips. Too tight, the cup crumples. The right grip is precise—firm enough to hold, light enough not to crush.

My ambitious run was a “squashed cup” moment. I wanted the output (speed) without the requisite foundation (conditioning). I was gripping too hard.

Pain is often just a report of transition—a signal that we’re moving beyond safe operating limits.

A Steward respects the report. A Dictator shoots the messenger.

Making the Body Lighter

So what changed?

I realised the problem wasn’t just physical. I was trying to move a heavy body with a heavy mind—weighed down by ego, expectation, and the fear of being “a loser” if I slowed down.

To run lighter, I had to think lighter.

The next time I ran, I didn’t check my watch. I didn’t measure myself against my younger self. I listened to the Tonos—the living tension between effort and capacity.

If the breath was rhythmic, I kept going. If the group chat signalled distress, I slowed down.

By listening to the body, I actually ran further (though slower) than I did on the day I zigzagged.

The Steward’s Log

We treat our bodies like employees we can bully. We skip sleep to finish projects. We push through pain to hit Personal Bests.

But the body always holds the veto power.

If you push too far into the red zone, it will force you to pay—by waking up on the floor, getting sick, or zigzagging across a path.

The morning I zigzagged, I learned something humbling: true strength isn’t overriding the body’s signals. It’s learning to listen before the veto happens.

Now when I run, I check in with the body. How’s the breathing? What’s the group chat saying? Can we go faster, or do we need to ease off?

It’s slower some days. But I finish. And more importantly—I’m learning to trust the signals before they become a veto.

Questions for the Steward

Where in your life are you currently “zigzagging”—where is your body refusing to go in a straight line?

Think of a challenge you are facing. Are you holding it too loosely (avoidance) or too tightly (control)? What would the “Optimal Grip” feel like?

What expectation are you carrying that is making your body “heavy” today? What happens if you put it down?