sleep

The App I Built Is the Opposite of Everything I’ve Been Warning You About

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“This phone is the devil”

— a childhood friend, via text, this morning

He’s getting off Instagram. Can’t say I blame him.

I’ve spent years writing about your phone. Specifically, about what it’s doing to you. (And to me.)

In January 2024 I wrote about Johann Hari’s Stolen Focus and the trillions of dollars arrayed against your ability to pay attention. In February 2024 I went deeper on why it’s so hard to focus — the dopamine dependency, the slot-machine mechanics, the infinite scroll engineered to exploit our evolutionary hard-wiring. In October 2024 I wrote about Jonathan Haidt’s The Anxious Generation and what the smartphone has done to our kids. And before all of that, Cal Newport’s Digital Minimalism convinced me to deliberately downsize my iPhone use, strip the social media icons off my home screen, and mute the notifications pulling my attention toward that hunk of plastic and glass in my pocket.

The research is clear. Maggie Jackson, in Distracted, put it as starkly as anyone: with our attention scattered among the beeps and pings of a push-button world, we are cultivating a culture of distraction and detachment.

I didn’t just write about this stuff. I lived it. A while back I documented my own month-long attempt to break up with my iPhone — the rubber band around the phone, the grayscale screen mode, a Giants game where I didn’t look at a screen once (one of my prouder moments). The whole messy field report is in the Phone Breakup series if you want to go down that rabbit hole. The short version: it’s hard, it’s worth it, and I failed more than I succeeded. But I kept trying.

And then I went and built an app.

I know.

Here’s the Thing I Had to Reconcile

When I first started thinking seriously about building the Coach Keir AI app, I had a problem. Not a technical problem — that was my developer Alex’s department. Rather, I had to address a philosophical one.

I had spent years making the case that our smartphones are attention-harvesting machines designed by very smart, very well-funded people to keep us glued to screens as long as humanly possible. I had written about Anna Lembke’s Dopamine Nation and the way pleasure-seeking loops get forged into deep neural grooves. I had cited the Center for Humane Technology and Tristan Harris’ warnings about what engagement-maximizing technology is doing to human cognition. I had recommended Catherine Price’s How to Break Up with Your Phone to pretty much every athlete I coach.

And I was about to add another app to the App Store?

The only way I could do it in good conscience was to build the opposite of what everyone else was building.

So that’s what I did.

What “The Opposite” Actually Looks Like

No infinite scroll. No push notifications engineered to pull you back. No streaks. No engagement metrics. No algorithmic filler designed to keep your eyes on the screen.

The app gives you what you need and sends you back to your life. That’s the design spec. Use it as a springboard, not a slot machine. Remember Patagonia’s famous “Don’t Buy This Jacket” ad in The New York Times? Same energy. I want you to use this app. I also want you to use it for two minutes and then go to sleep.

Speaking of sleep.

Meet “Julie”

One of my longtime Foghorn athletes — I’ll call her Julie — has a bedtime habit that will be familiar to a lot of you.

She gets into bed at 10:30. She picks up her phone to “check one thing.” An hour later she’s still on Instagram, heart rate quietly elevated, nervous system humming, cortisol doing what cortisol does when you’ve been consuming a high-speed feed of other people’s highlight reels for 60 consecutive minutes. She falls asleep somewhere around midnight. Her Whoop recovery score the next morning is dismal. She’s groggy, short-tempered, and reaching for an extra cup of coffee by 9 a.m.

We’ve talked about this in our sessions. A lot. She knows the science. She’s read the posts I’ve sent her. She knows that the blue light from her phone suppresses melatonin, that the emotional arousal of social media keeps her sympathetic nervous system activated exactly when she needs to be downregulating, that the unpredictable reward schedule of Instagram is the same mechanism that keeps people at slot machines.

Knowing isn’t the same as doing.

So a couple weeks ago I told her to try something different. Instead of reaching for Instagram when she gets into bed, open the Coach Keir AI app and type in what she’s feeling.

Here’s exactly what Coach Keir said:

Julie, put the phone down right now. Instagram at 10:30pm is gasoline on the anxiety fire — the algorithm is literally designed to keep your nervous system activated. I know it feels like comfort but it’s the opposite.

Here’s your downregulation breathing protocol. Do this right now: Close your mouth. Keep it closed throughout. Start with a quick body scan from head to toe — wherever you find tension (jaw, shoulders, chest), let it dissolve on your exhales. Now breathe:

• 4 counts in through your nose, belly-led

• 8 counts out through your nose, slow and controlled

• No aggressive pauses, circular and gentle

• When your mind wanders to work anxiety, gently bring it back without judgment — no self-criticism, just return to the breath. The extended exhale is the physiological key — it directly activates your parasympathetic nervous system. Your body cannot stay in fight-or-flight with a long nasal exhale. This isn’t woo, it’s autonomic nervous system science. Do this for 5 minutes. Then finish with one big inhale all the way to the top, slight hold, then the longest possible nasal exhale you can sustain. That final exhale is your reset.

One more thing: If you want guided support for this, Headspace has excellent sleep meditations that pair perfectly with this protocol. It’s the only meditation app I use and endorse. Your move: Phone face down across the room. Lights out. Start breathing. You’ve got this Julie. Goodnight.

Two minutes to read that. Five minutes to do the breathing. She was asleep by 10:45. That’s not a miracle. That’s a tool.

The Irony Is Intentional

Yes, this requires using a phone to stop using a phone. I get it. That’s a real tension and I won’t pretend otherwise.

But here’s what I’d offer: the problem was never the device. It’s what the device is typically used for. Instagram, TikTok, and the news feed are engineered for maximum engagement. A breathing protocol is not. One is a slot machine. The other is a tool.

Catherine Price’s framework — ask yourself “What for? Why now? What else?” before you reach for your phone — is the right instinct. Most of the time, the answer to those three questions is damning. But occasionally the answer is: I need a downregulation protocol so I can sleep. And for that, a phone can actually help.

The Slowfit Method® has always been about intentional choices. Being deliberate about how and why we are living our lives, rather than just pouring more water into a glass that is already overflowing and hoping for the best. The app is the method in your pocket. Use it intentionally. For two minutes. Then put it down.

That’s the whole pitch.

Download My App

What “Julie” Said Last Week

“Honestly? I forget sometimes and I end up on Instagram anyway. But when I remember to open the app instead, I’m asleep in under 15 minutes. When I don’t, I’m awake until midnight and I hate myself a little.”

Not a case study. Not a controlled trial. Just a Foghorn athlete who found one thing that works slightly better than the thing that wasn’t working.

Which is more or less what the Slowfit Method® is for.

My buddy from childhood is getting off Instagram. Good for him.

The phone doesn’t have to be the devil. But it’s up to us to make sure it isn’t.

Stick around.

Best,

Keir

P.S. The app is free to download. Coach Keir AI is available to all users. The full Vault — 270+ books, podcasts, tools, and on-demand workouts — unlocks with a paid subscription. Download here.

P.P.S. Want to work on sleep, distraction, or any other pillar of the Slowfit Method® with a real human coach? That’s what the 1:1 work is for. Book a session at foghornfitness.com. I have availability. Hit that button.

Book a Session

P.P.P.S. Paid Substack subscribers get the deeper dives and the full resource library behind every pillar. Upgrade here.

P.P.P.P.S. The new Foghorn Fitness site just launched. All ten pillars, the full method, everything in one place. foghornfitness.com.

I Asked My Own App for Help. Here’s What It Said.

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A dispatch from the edge of new puppy ownership.

It is 8 a.m. I have already been awake for hours.

Meet Ellie. She is a puppy. She is adorable.

She is destroying me.

I want to be clear about something. I am a human performance coach. I have spent years building a ten-pillar framework for maximizing health and happiness. I teach people how to manage stress, optimize sleep, build resilience, regulate their nervous systems. I have a registered trademark, for crissakes.

And I am currently being defeated by a creature who weighs less than my lightest kettlebell.

So I did what I’ve been encouraging all of you to do. I opened the Coach Keir AI app and typed in my problem.

“I’m struggling with the stress of parenting a new puppy as a full time job, on top of my full time job.”

I want to share exactly what it said. Verbatim. Because it’s better than anything I would have written at that hour…

What Coach Keir Said: Round One

The first response named what was actually happening:

KJ, welcome to the puppy tax — the hidden cost nobody warns you about. Sleepless nights, constant vigilance, zero personal space, and a tiny furry creature who has absolutely no idea what you’re going through. It’s basically a newborn who will eventually chew your furniture.

Here’s what’s actually happening physiologically: you’re running a chronic stress response. Interrupted sleep alone tanks your cortisol regulation, impairs decision-making, and reduces emotional resilience. Add constant unpredictability (will she destroy something while I’m on this Zoom call?) and your nervous system is on high alert all day. That’s exhausting.

Immediate tools from the Slowfit toolkit:

First, your breathing. When the puppy stress spikes, do a quick downregulation reset: mouth closed, 4-count nasal inhale, 8-count nasal exhale. Repeat for 3-5 minutes. That extended exhale is a direct dial into your parasympathetic nervous system — it physiologically cannot stay in fight-or-flight mode with a long exhale. Do this during any quiet moment, even while the puppy naps.

Second, protect your sleep ruthlessly. Also grab a Manta Sleep mask with this link — blackout sleep is non-negotiable when you’re already sleep-deprived.

Your move today: Do that breathing protocol right now, then schedule one 20-minute walk — just you, no puppy. Your nervous system needs a reset.

What’s hitting hardest — the sleep deprivation or the constant unpredictability?

I answered: the sleep deprivation. And the follow-up was even better.

Round Two: The Neuroscience of Running on Empty

KJ, what you’re describing is textbook — and it’s not a character flaw, it’s neuroscience. Sleep deprivation doesn’t just make you tired, it literally impairs your prefrontal cortex (the rational decision-making part of your brain) while simultaneously amplifying your amygdala (the emotional alarm system). You’re essentially driving with no brakes and a heavy accelerator.

Dr. Lisa Feldman Barrett’s work is essential here — her book How Emotions Are Made explains exactly what’s happening to you. Her “body budget” model is brilliant: sleep, nutrition, exercise, and social connection are the bedrock of emotional stability. When sleep is depleted, your brain’s predictive emotional processing goes haywire — it starts catastrophizing and overreacting because it literally doesn’t have the resources to regulate properly. You’re not overreacting because you’re weak. You’re overreacting because your brain is running on empty.

Practical interventions right now:

Protect whatever sleep you’re getting ferociously. Same wake time every single day — even weekends, even after bad nights. This anchors your circadian rhythm when everything else feels chaotic. Grab a Manta Sleep mask and get Momentous Magnesium Threonate (with code foghorn) — it crosses the blood-brain barrier and meaningfully improves sleep quality.

Track your recovery with Whoop — join Team Foghorn Fitness free. When you can see your actual recovery data, you stop guessing and start making smarter decisions about when to push and when to protect.

Your move today: Set one non-negotiable sleep boundary tonight. What time does the puppy allow you to be in bed?

The resource tiles that surfaced below the response: Dr. Alia Crum’s Science of Mindset podcast, the Wim Hof Method book, Full Catastrophe Living, How Emotions Are Made, Hope for Cynics. Every one of them relevant. Every one of them something I personally put in the Vault.

Why I’m Showing You This

I’ve published three posts about this app. One about the features. One about why I designed it to not be addictive. One about the ethics of building AI for human performance.

This is the post I should have written first.

The app is not impressive just because of its feature set. It’s useful because at 8 a.m., when I’m running on fragmented sleep and have a full day of coaching ahead, it gives me fast, direct, specific access to the synthesized thinking of someone who has spent years studying this stuff.

That someone is me. Which means I’m getting my own best thinking back when I’m too depleted to access it myself.

That’s a strange and genuinely useful thing.

A few things I want to flag about that exchange, because they matter:

• It called me KJ. Not Coach Keir, not Keir, not “I understand you’re struggling.” It knew who it was talking to—because of a few questions in the onboarding process— and it was direct.

• It named the physiology immediately. No sympathy spiral. No “that sounds really hard.” Here’s what’s actually happening in your nervous system. Here’s why.

• The affiliate links surfaced organically. Manta Sleep mask, Momentous Magnesium, Whoop — these are products I actually use and recommend. They appeared because they were relevant, not because an algorithm was optimizing for commission.

• It ended both responses with a single, specific action. Not a list of ten things. Not an attempt at endless dialogue to artificially increase engagement. One move. Today.

• It asked a follow-up question. It didn’t assume. It narrowed toward what I actually needed. Then it sent me on my way.

That’s what “trained on my methods” actually means in practice. Not a chatbot that has read some random fitness content. A coaching interface that reflects a specific philosophy about how to help people, built from years of my writing, research, and direct work with athletes.

You don’t have to have a puppy. You can have a deadline, a training plateau, a sleep score trending the wrong direction, a knee that won’t cooperate, or just a week when everything feels like too much.

That’s what this app I built is for.

OK. Ellie is ramping up for another loud barking session in her puppy zone at the moment, looking for attention. I’m going to do the breathing protocol right now.

Best,

Keir

P.S. The app is free to download. Coach Keir AI is available to all users. The full Vault — 270+ books, podcasts, tools, and on-demand workouts — unlocks with a paid subscription. Download here.

P.P.S. If you’re dealing with something the app can’t fully address — an injury, a major life transition, or you just want a real human in your corner — that’s what the 1:1 coaching is for. Book an intro session at foghornfitness.com.

P.P.P.S. All ten pillars of the Slowfit Method® live here on Substack. Paid subscribers get the deeper dives and the full resource library. Upgrade here.

P.P.P.P.S. Photo credit to my pal, Jana Ašenbrennerová.