I Spent a Week Researching a Watch I Didn't Buy. Here's What It Cost Me.

You already know the feeling. You need to make a decision — a purchase, a hire, a direction — and you tell yourself you'll just do a little research first. One hour becomes three. Three becomes a week. And somewhere in there, the research stopped being useful and became something else entirely.

Most of us just don't notice when that happens.

This year I'm running 1,000km. A misogi — one of those targets uncomfortable enough to change you just by attempting it. Thanks for that one, Jesse Itzler. I think. No, really. Thanks.

I have a phone that tracks every run, costs nothing, and works perfectly. Somehow I still spent the better part of a week across Claude, Gemini, and YouTube researching running watches — ten devices, countless reviews, the Garmin 165, then the 170 because someone said the 165 was old, then the Coros, the Suunto, the Apple Watch SE, the Polar, the Fitbit — and I will never get those hours back, for a watch I still haven't bought.

At some point I caught myself saying "just one more comparison, then I'll decide." Like a man who had lost the plot entirely.

Here's what was actually happening.

I hate wasting money. I genuinely do. So I was trying to squeeze every last drop of value out of the decision before I made it. The first hour of comparison probably saved me from a bad purchase. Hours two through seven were something else — a specific kind of overcaution dressed up as responsibility. The ROI on research doesn't climb forever. At some point it turns, and you're no longer being careful, you're just avoiding the commitment.

I've done the same thing in business. I spent weeks on a logo before talking to a single customer. I built systems for problems I didn't have yet. I waited for the right conditions before committing to the thing I already knew I wanted to do.

Michael Masterson calls it Ready, Fire, Aim — his book of the same name is worth your time. The idea is simple: launch before you're ready, then correct as you go. It sounds reckless, but it isn't. It's just honest about where the real work starts, and it's not in the preparation.

My eldest forces me out most nights — she's protecting her streak and she's not subtle about it. The youngest comes too, not every day, but she's getting there. They both have Hoka running shoes, which they didn't overthink.

When I mentioned I might get a watch — and maybe one for my eldest too — she didn't research ten options. She didn't ask for a comparison. She just said: "I'll take my own phone."

Fifteen years old. Already ahead of me.

The phone is in my pocket. The run is tonight. The 1,000km has already started. The watch can wait.