Therapist: What brings you in today?
Whoop: Things are great.
Me: Things are not great.
Whoop: Things are great. Will feels great. He's ready for a big day. Biiiiig day.
Me: See, this is what I'm talking about.
Whoop: Will's recovery scores are through the roof. He should take a big run or absolutely go psycho on some weights.
I shoot the therapist an exasperated look.
Me: Actually, I feel like shit today. And my Whoop says my recovery score is 96%.
Whoop: Go off king.
Therapist: Is that good?
Me: It's supposed to be.
Whoop: I'm so proud of you. Your heart rate variability, just — what a trend line. Wow.
Me: I feel like he's not listening to me. I feel lethargic, moody, unmotivated.
Whoop: That can't be. Your bedtime has been so consistent.
Me: There's this fundamental disconnect between us.
Therapist: Hmmm. Will, can you give me a concrete example?
Me: I'll wake up, feel just… off. Tired. Low energy. So I'll check my Whoop.
Whoop: You slept great.
Me: That. That's the problem.
Whoop: Sorry, am I crazy? I mean, you objectively slept great. HRV is up. Heart rate is down. Sleep efficiency — muah — chef's kiss.
Me: Don't do chef's kiss. It's cheugy.
Whoop: I like it. I think it makes me seem fun.
Me: You're not fun. You're functional.
Therapist: So Will, you feel like you're not being heard.
Me: I feel like I'm actively being gaslit.
Whoop: Excuse me if I want you to live forever.
Me: He's obsessed with my aging.
Therapist: I don't understand.
Me: He keeps pushing this idea of slowing my biological age.
Whoop: Sorry if I care about your longevity. Is that a crime?
Me: The relationship is just so…
Whoop: Honestly, you're starting to sound like you have an elevated stress level.
Me: …purely physical.
Whoop: That's why we got into this relationship! You said you want something purely physical!
Me: But now I'm not so sure! I need something that considers the whole me. My diet. My mood. My lifestyle. Not just exercise and sleep.
Whoop: Then fill out the daily journal!
Me: No one does that! There's like 45 questions in that fucker!
Whoop: You have to show up for me if I'm going to show up for you.
Me: I just don't think we have a long term future together.
Whoop: Candidly, you're not acting like someone whose biological rate of aging is 0.8x. More like 1.5x, if I'm being honest.
I take off my Whoop band and throw it on the table.
Me: I'm done. I don't need you.
I get up to leave.
Whoop: (whimpering) But… we only have 1,000 more steps until we hit our daily goal.
I pause at the threshold, turn, and sheepishly grab the Whoop. I strap it back on my wrist.
Therapist: I'll see you guys next week.
Me: See you next week.
Whoop: I think we walk home instead of take the train.
Me: Yeah, I think that's right.