You're looking at data all wrong
I went for a run last week and, as runners do, I checked the numbers afterwards. Distance. Pace. Time.
On the surface, it looked pretty unremarkable. Not my fastest run. Not my longest. Nothing record-breaking. If I judged it in isolation, I might have called it average.
But as marathon runners and other athletes know, training isn’t built on isolated efforts. It’s built on patterns. Some runs are slow on purpose. Some are short to allow recovery. Some stretch endurance. Some sharpen speed.
If you looked only at the pace of a recovery run, you might conclude I was getting slower.
If you looked only at distance, you might assume I wasn’t pushing myself.
But the data only makes sense when you understand the intention behind it.
And that’s true far beyond running. In business, in leadership, in faith, in personal growth — we collect data constantly.
Leads.
Revenue.
Engagement.
Attendance.
Outputs.
Streaks.
But data in isolation is misleading.
An ex-colleague of mine used to begin his presentations with a quote often attributed to Benjamin Disraeli: “There are three kinds of lies: lies, damned lies, and statistics.”
Tongue-in-cheek, I know — but not entirely wrong.
Because without context, without patterns, data can be made to say almost anything. Patterns, however, reveal purpose.
A single low-performing week does not define a trajectory. A quiet season does not mean stagnation. A slower pace does not mean decline. It might mean recovery. It might mean discipline. It might mean preparation for something longer.
A couple of weeks ago I wrote about rituals and how we often treat them as ends in themselves: complete the task, tick the box, record the streak, capture the data.
Then we analyse.
But analysing data in isolation means we’re treating rituals as the outcome — when in fact they are inputs.
Let’s get personal
This reflection couldn’t be more timely. Soon, around two billion Muslims worldwide (including myself) will welcome the month of Ramadan. For thirty days, many will fast from dusk till dawn (yes, not even water), give more in charity, increase prayer, recalibrate routines.
From the outside, these are measurable acts. But the purpose is not hunger.
Not metrics. Not religious performance. The purpose is closeness. Alignment.
The Prophet Muhammad ﷺ said:
“Whoever does not give up false speech and acting upon it, and ignorance, God has no need of him giving up his food and drink.”
— Sahih al-Bukhari
In other words: the ritual without the transformation misses the point.
If we judged Ramadan by isolated acts alone — days fasted, pages recited, money donated — we would be measuring inputs while missing outcomes. But if we focus on outcomes, the data becomes touchpoints within a larger story:
How have I grown in character since last year?
If it’s my first year fasting, am I unfairly comparing myself to someone who has been doing this for twenty years?
Is my understanding deeper?
Is my service greater?
Am I closer?
And so I ask you, my friend:
Are you judging your life on isolated data points?
Are you misreading your trajectory?
Are you interpreting through the wrong lens?
The question isn’t just: “What do the numbers say?” It’s:
What kind of run am I in?
What season is this?
What is this data preparing me for?
Do I even recognise the race?
Because growth is rarely visible in a single session. It is revealed in patterns. And patterns only make sense when you understand the purpose behind them.
Final thought
Before reacting to your latest set of numbers — in work, in training, in faith — ask yourself:
Am I looking at a moment… or a pattern linked to purpose?
Your Next Step may not be to push harder. It may be to interpret more wisely.
