TL;DR: Rucking is the only exercise that trains the exact cognitive skill my ADHD brain needs most: constantly re-deriving why I’m doing something hard, while I’m doing it, before I lose the thread. Every other productivity system assumes you can remember your motivation. Rucking assumes you’ll forget.
The Moment It Clicked
Mile six of a ten-mile ruck. 40+ pounds on my back. The Texas sun doing its thing. Dinner is waiting for me at home.
My brain starts its familiar negotiation: Why are we doing this again? We could stop. No one would know. This is stupid. We could be comfortable right now.
And instead of fighting the thought or feeling guilty about it, I do what rucking has taught me: I re-derive the answer. Fresh. Right now. Not from memory, but from first principles.
Because this discomfort is training my nervous system. Because this weight is building bone density. Because this forward momentum is proving I can do hard things. Because in an hour I’ll feel like a god.
The voice quiets. For now. I know it’ll be back in another quarter mile, asking the same question. And I’ll answer it again. And again. Until I’m done.
That’s when it hit me: Rucking is training the exact cognitive skill my brain needs most.
The ADHD Problem Nobody Talks About
Here’s what the productivity world doesn’t understand about ADHD: it’s not that we can’t start things. It’s not even that we can’t focus. It’s that we can’t hold the context of why we’re doing something across time.
Neurotypical brains start a project with motivation, and that motivation persists. It’s stored somewhere accessible. When Thursday gets hard, they can reach back to Monday’s “why” and pull it forward.
My brain doesn’t work that way.
When I started that project on Monday, I was a different consciousness operating from a specific context. By Thursday, that context is gone. I’m staring at a half-finished thing with no felt sense of why it matters. The motivation isn’t faded—it’s evaporated. I have to re-derive it from scratch or abandon ship.
Every. Single. Time.
This is why “just remember your why” is useless advice for me. I can’t remember it. I have to rediscover it.
What Rucking Teaches
Rucking is brutal in a specific way: it’s not intense enough to override your thoughts, but it’s uncomfortable enough that your brain never stops questioning.
Running can become flow state. Lifting has rest periods. But rucking? Rucking is sustained, moderate discomfort with a heavy thing on your back and nothing to do but keep walking.
Your brain has plenty of bandwidth to ask: Why are we doing this?
The difference: rucking trains you to answer that question in real-time, from first principles, over and over again.
Not from memory. Not from a motivation poster on your wall. Not from the excited feeling you had when you first decided to start rucking.
From right now. From the immediate truth of this step, this weight, this moment.
Why am I doing this?
Because I want to be strong at 60. Because I want to outrun my anxiety. Because carrying heavy things is what humans were built to do. Because the reward is coming. Because I said I would.
The answer doesn’t need to be the same each time. It just needs to be true enough to generate the next step.
The Parallel to Everything Else
This is exactly what my brain requires for projects, for relationships, for anything that extends across time.
I can’t rely on Monday’s motivation to carry me through Thursday. The context that made Monday’s decision make sense is gone by Thursday. So I have two choices:
Force myself forward on dead motivation (this is what most productivity advice suggests, and it destroys me)
Re-derive the “why” fresh, in the moment, from first principles (this is what actually works)
Rucking trains option two. Every quarter mile, my brain asks the question. Every quarter mile, I practice answering it without reaching for a stored memory that isn’t there.
The skill transfers. Now, when I sit down to work on my startup and the initial excitement is nowhere to be found, I don’t panic. I don’t beat myself up for “losing motivation.” I just ask the question fresh:
Why am I doing this?
And I answer from right now. From today’s truth. From whatever is actually true in this snapshot of consciousness.
Sometimes the answer regenerates energy. Sometimes it reveals that the project no longer makes sense and I should stop. Both are valid. The skill is in the asking and answering, not in the forcing.
The 100 Percent Reward
Here’s the part that surprised me: when you train yourself to constantly re-derive your “why,” you unlock something neurotypical productivity systems can’t offer.
You get to go at 100 percent.
Most people operate at 60-70 percent on most things. They’re hedging. Conserving. Protecting themselves from the possibility that the thing they’re working on might not matter. They’re managing their motivation like a scarce resource.
I can’t do that. My working memory won’t let me hold a “maybe” across time. Either I’ve re-derived the “why” and it’s alive right now, or I’ve got nothing.
But when I have re-derived it? When the answer lands fresh and true?
I’m not at 60 percent. I’m not hedging. I’m a Ferrari (or Jeep Wagoneer with the Heavy-Duty Trailer Tow package) at full throttle because in this moment, the context is complete.
This is the gift hidden inside the curse. The same architecture that makes me lose motivation also means I don’t carry stale motivation. Every time I recommit, it’s fresh. Every time I show up, I’m showing up for real.
Rucking taught me this. Mile after mile of answering the same question taught me that re-derivation isn’t a bug—it’s the unlock.
The Practice
Here’s what I do now, in rucking and in everything else:
1. Expect the question. My brain will ask “why are we doing this?” approximately every 15 minutes of sustained effort. I don’t treat this as failure or resistance. It’s just what my architecture does.
2. Answer fresh. I don’t try to remember past motivation. I generate the answer from scratch, right now. What’s actually true? Why does this matter today?
3. Let the answer be different. Monday’s “why” doesn’t have to be Thursday’s “why.” The project can be worth doing for entirely different reasons at different times. Flexibility here isn’t inconsistency, it’s responsiveness.
4. Honor the “no.” Sometimes, when I ask “why am I doing this?” the honest answer is “I don’t know anymore.” That’s not failure. That’s information. Some things should be stopped.
5. Go 100 percent when it’s “yes.” When the re-derivation lands and the “why” is alive, I don’t hold back. I don’t hedge. I give it everything because this moment is all I actually have anyway.
Forward Momentum Before Forgetting
The secret of rucking is forward momentum. You keep your feet moving. You don’t stop to think about whether to continue—you continue while thinking.
This is the discipline my brain actually responds to. Not “maintain motivation across time.” Not “remember why you started.”
Just: keep moving forward while you figure out why you’re moving forward.
By the time you’ve re-derived the answer, you’re already another quarter mile in. The momentum carries you through the gap between questions. The weight on your back keeps you honest. The finish line gets closer whether your motivation is stable or not.
That’s the only productivity system that’s ever worked for me.
Not storing motivation like a battery.
Generating it fresh, step by step, before the question can make me stop.
If you’ve ever felt broken because you couldn’t “just remember your why”—maybe you’re not broken. Maybe you need a practice that assumes you’ll forget and trains you to rediscover. The weight is optional. The practice isn’t.
Jon Mick is the founder of AIs & Shine, building AI-powered cognitive scaffolding for minds that work differently. He rucks 2-3 times a week and completed his first (10-hour) ultramarathon ruck earlier this year. His brain still asks “why” every quarter mile. He’s gotten pretty good at answering.