Some mornings I'd attack training like my hair was on fire.
Other mornings, I'd lie in bed staring at the ceiling, alarm screaming, wondering if I could fake being sick. This was Olympic training, not a desk job I could call out from. But my body didn't care. It just didn't want to move.
Same me. Same ice. Same 5am darkness. Same capabilities I had the day before when I crushed it. What the hell changed overnight?
I used to think this was a discipline problem. Beat yourself up harder. Want it more. Stop being soft.
That worked great until it didn't.
Here's what finally explained it:
Not all motivation is the same. There's external fuel—the stuff that comes from outside you. Gold medals. My father's approval. Crowd recognition. Endorsement deals. That coach's head nod. The fear of disappointing everyone watching.
And there's internal fuel—the stuff that comes from the work itself. The curiosity that pulls you in without anyone asking. The satisfaction of getting better. The work you'd do even if nobody was watching and nobody cared.
I ran on external fuel for probably 80% of my career. And it worked beautifully. Until it didn't.
The problem with external fuel is it runs out. You get the medal, and then what? You get the approval, and there's still a hole. The crowd goes home. The endorsement check clears. The dopamine spike fades. And you're left staring at the ceiling wondering why none of it was enough.
After I got my father's full approval—the thing I'd been chasing since I was twelve years old—I felt emptier than before I had it. That's when I knew the fuel source was broken.
This is something I address in nearly every motivational talk I give. When executives ask me how Olympic athletes sustain intensity year after year, they expect me to talk about discipline and mental toughness. Instead, I tell them about fuel sources. Because the highest performers I've studied—whether in sports, business, or creative fields—all eventually make the same discovery: external motivation has a shelf life.
I've seen this pattern play out in boardrooms across every industry. The VP who crushed their numbers but feels hollow. The founder who hit their Series B and immediately started looking for the next dopamine hit. The executive who got the corner office and realized it didn't change how they felt about themselves at 3am.
In team workshops on peak performance, I have leaders audit their fuel sources. Which of your goals are powered by external validation? Which are powered by genuine curiosity and mastery? The ratio tells you everything about your sustainability.
When I advise companies on building high-performance cultures, this is where I start. Not with incentive structures or accountability systems those are external fuel that will eventually run dry. I start with helping teams find intrinsic reasons to care about the work itself.
When the external runs dry, you better have internal reserves. The curiosity about the craft itself. The satisfaction of mastery for its own sake. The work you'd do for free because the doing is the reward.
Those mornings when I couldn't get out of bed? Usually meant one of those internal tanks was empty. I wasn't curious anymore. Or I'd stopped feeling progress. Or I'd lost sight of why any of it mattered beyond the next competition.
The fix wasn't more discipline. It was asking different questions.
Not "Why can't I force myself to care?" but "Which fuel tank is actually empty?"
That's a question I still ask myself when the alarm goes off and nothing wants to move.
Usually the honest answer is uncomfortable.
And extremely useful.
About Apolo Ohno: Apolo Ohno is a sought-after keynote speaker and leadership advisor known for translating elite performance principles into practical leadership behaviors. His work focuses on authentic leadership, executive presence, and the Gold Medal Mindset - helping executives and teams perform with clarity under pressure, communicate with conviction, and lead with credibility when the stakes are high. In his keynotes and workshops, Apolo helps leaders identify the unseen patterns, narratives, and habits that quietly limit performance, then replace them with a repeatable system for focus, resilience, and decisive action.