
I was told that one workout per week wouldn't work. That I'd need at least three sessions to see results.

My trainer wasn't trying to upsell me. He genuinely believed I was wasting my time. And technically, he was right. More training does produce better results.

But I knew something he didn't: I'd already moved mountains with small, consistent pressure. I knew one workout per week would beat zero workouts per week. And zero is exactly what I'd get if I committed to three and burned out after a month.

So I said no. Once per week was all I could handle. Maybe once every two weeks on a weekend if we could schedule it.

I was told that there would be no progress. But I started anyway.

May 10, 2023 was my first session. One per week, that was the deal.

TLDR: The optimal plan you never start is worth exactly nothing. Minimal effort that you actually sustain compounds into results that look impossible when you start. One workout per week beats zero workouts. One hour on your side project beats zero hours. Stop comparing small effort to optimal effort—compare it to doing nothing. The question isn't *"What's the optimal amount?"* but *"What can I actually sustain?"* Because 0.1 beats 0, every single time.

## What Two Years of *"Not Enough"* Looked Like

I love sports. I've been an athlete my whole life. I love running, playing football, any kind of ball games. I love moving (definitely less now than when I was younger, but still).

But the gym? The gym has never been pleasant for me. I can't work out alone. I just won't do it.

Once my trainer canceled when I was already at the gym. I thought, okay, let me try working out alone. Ten minutes later I was in the shower.

It's not that I don't know what to do. I know how to train progressively, what exercises to do. But here's the thing: I just don't enjoy it. Working out alone at the gym doesn't work for me.

With a trainer, it does. Because I need someone to tell me what to do. Someone who won't ask if I'm enjoying it. Who won't ask if I have the strength. Who won't ask what I want to do next. Because the answer would always be the same: I don't want anything. I'm not enjoying this. I want to go home. I don't want to be here.

That's exactly why once per week worked. It wasn't about enjoying it. It was about what I could actually handle. Not exciting, not impressive, just doable.

After I got used to showing up, I added a second session. Not because I wanted to become a fitness expert, but because two felt like a good compromise for maintaining my health.

Over the next two years, from May 10, 2023 to September 17, 2025, I completed 130 training sessions. That's roughly 1.2 sessions per week on average. Some weeks I skipped. Some weeks I made it twice. But I kept showing up.

The results: I went from doing 5 pushups to over 40. I can do multiple pull-ups now. I look better, I'm stronger, my body composition improved. I look closer to my actual age. I feel more masculine, more confident.

Would I look better if I'd trained three times per week and focused on diet? Absolutely.

But if I'd insisted on that level of commitment from the start, I'd have gotten nothing. I'd have quit.

## The Math That Actually Matters

Here's the math my trainer was using:

- 3 sessions/week × optimal intensity = best results
- 1 session/week × moderate intensity = zero results

Here's the math I was using:

- 3 sessions/week × burnout after 4 weeks = 12 sessions total
- 1 session/week × sustainable for 2 years = 130+ sessions total

The key: 0.1 beats 0. Every single time.

The optimal plan you never start is worth exactly nothing. The minimal plan you actually stick with compounds into something you won't recognize in two years.

## How It Actually Works

Even now, with a different trainer, training twice per week, there are mornings I absolutely don't want to go. But I don't give myself the option to skip.

Training is in my calendar. The alarm goes off on Wednesday or Sunday morning. I don't ask myself how I feel. I don't evaluate whether I have energy. I don't decide if I'm motivated.

The alarm rings. I turn it off. I get my things ready. In 30 minutes I need to be at the gym.

No negotiation. No decision. Just automatic action.

This isn't about loving the gym. I still don't love the gym. It's about showing up regardless of how you feel before, during, or after.

## This Works for Everything

You look at a side project and think: *"I'd need three hours a day to make real progress."*

So you don't start.

Same with learning a language. Same with building a business. Same with any long-term goal.

You're running the wrong math. You're comparing optimal intensity against starting small, when you should be comparing starting small against not starting at all.

Worse, you're comparing yourself to people who already hit the goal. But you don't know how many months they put in. What their starting line was. What predispositions they had. You're comparing your day one to their day 500.

One hour per day on your project beats zero hours. One session per week beats no sessions. Ten minutes of practice beats zero minutes.

The question isn't *"What's the optimal amount?"* The question is *"What can I actually sustain?"*

Because sustained effort, even minimal, compounds into results that look impossible when you start.

Two years ago I could barely do 5 pushups. Today I can do 40.

You might think that's pathetic. Only 40 pushups at 34 years old? But I think doing 5 is more pathetic than doing 40.

Start small. Keep showing up. Let time do the rest.

0.1 beats 0. Every time.


My trainer wanted three sessions per week. I gave him one. Two years and 130 workouts later, I went from 5 pushups to over 40. Even the smallest effort beats zero.

0.1 beats 0: Why I Chose Minimal Training Over Perfect Plans


I was at a friend's house a few years ago. Living room, evening, just sitting and talking. I couldn't relax. The conversation was fine, the space was comfortable, but something felt off.

When I got back home to my own living room, I realized what it was. The light. Their light was very cold—not broken, not flickering, just the wrong color temperature. Bright white, almost blue. My body had been getting signals that it was midday, time to be alert and active, while my brain knew it was evening and wanted to wind down.

They didn't notice. To them, that's just what light looks like.

TLDR: Most homes have fixed light temperature—cold in the bathroom, warm in the living room, same all day. But your needs aren't fixed. At 7 AM you want bright, cool light to wake up. At 10 PM you want dim, warm light to wind down. Fixed lighting can't do both. Smart bulbs that adjust temperature throughout the day help your home work with you instead of against you. Start with bulbs that do both temperature and colors. Temperature is essential, colors are optional but can create moments worth having. Once you have them at home, you'll notice at your friends' visits when they don't.

## I Thought I'd Use Colors

Ten years ago I was renovating my apartment. I wanted to control lights from my phone and use motion sensors instead of wall switches. I installed Philips Hue bulbs. Not because I understood lighting. I just thought it would be cool to change colors, set scenes, maybe have the lights pulse with music.

I almost never used the colors. Maybe a few times to show off before a visit. What I ended up using every single day was temperature adjustment.

In the living room, warmer light turns on an hour before sunset, even if it's still bright outside. In the bedroom, the warmest light with low brightness starts at sunset—a signal that this room is for sleep. In the bathroom and the kitchen, cold light on a motion sensor. That's it.

When we moved to a new house, I went overboard. We have 100+ smart bulbs and lights now, spread across every room. That's excessive, but here's what it does: the entire house shifts throughout the day automatically. Morning: cooler, brighter. Evening: warm, dimmed. Night: very warm, very dim.

I don't think this fixed any specific problem. I didn't have insomnia before, and I don't sleep dramatically better now. But the mood is different. The home feels like it's helping me wind down instead of keeping me alert.

Before smart lighting, I'd walk into a room at night and turn on a light. Whatever was installed, that's what I got. Bright white, same color temperature regardless of time. It worked, technically. But it wasn't helping.

## The Hacker's Den Exception

My small office has eight spotlights, one large central light, and a small desk lamp. Up to 12,000 lumens in 15 square meters. That sounds insane.

I don't believe you can over-light a room with smart bulbs. If it's too bright, you dim it. If you need more, you add it. The flexibility is the point.

But here's where colors actually matter: when I sit down at my computer at 8 PM and warm light isn't enough anymore, I switch to Miami. It's a preset mode from Philips that floods the room with deep blue, salmon pink, and flamingo shades. It gives me energy when I know I should probably stop. One last breath, one last swing of the hammer before I close everything for the day. It ends the day on a positive wave. Ideally with music playing at full volume.

## What Actually Matters

The bedroom is my favorite place in the house. Not because the walls are painted differently, or the furniture is nice, or we have special bedding. We don't.

It's the two bedside lights that turn on automatically in the evening. That's it. There's safety there. I'm home there. No fear. My body knows it can rest.

Light and brightness do that. Not paint. Not furniture. Light.

## Why Fixed Lighting Doesn't Work

Most homes have the same light temperature all day. Cold white in the bathroom, warm white in the living room—morning, afternoon, evening, doesn't matter.

But your needs aren't fixed. At 7 AM you want bright, cool light to wake up. At 10 PM you want dim, warm light to wind down. Fixed lighting can't do both.

Historically, people sat around fires in the evening. Not the sun. Our brains are wired for warm, orange light at night—it signals that the day is ending. Cold light signals midday. That's useful at 8 AM, less useful at 10 PM when you're trying to relax.

If I were starting from scratch, I'd start with mixed bulbs—the ones that do both temperature and colors. That's what everyone should start with. Temperature adjustment is essential. Colors are optional, a bit of an indulgence, and significantly more expensive. But if you find that one moment like my Miami mode that makes it worth it, expand to more rooms. If not, temperature alone is enough.

Fixed lighting temperature doesn't work. Not because it's broken, but because your needs change throughout the day. If your home lighting can't adapt, it's working against you.

You probably don't notice. But once you have these bulbs at home, you'll notice it at your friends' visits when they don't.


I couldn't relax at a friend's house until I got home and realized—their light was cold. Ten years of smart lighting taught me that fixed color temperature doesn't work because your needs change throughout the day.

Your Home Lighting Is Working Against You (And You Don't Notice)


I work on [Edicek](https://edicek.com) almost every day. Five to six days per week, minimum.

I started on March 20 this year. Today, as I'm writing this, I've made 1,184 changes and improvements to the project.

Some days it's ten minutes. Some days I just think about it while falling asleep. Most days I put in one or two solid hours.

The amount doesn't matter. What matters is that I show up every single day.

This is the "no zero days" principle: do something, anything, every day. Even if it's small. Even if it feels insignificant. Just don't have a day where you did nothing.

TLDR: I've made 1,184 improvements to Edicek in 8 months by working on it almost every day. Some days it's 10 minutes, some days it's 2 hours. The time doesn't matter. What matters is momentum. When you work daily, you never lose context. Your brain plans in the background. You always know what to do next. Most changes are tiny—text edits, button moves, small bug fixes. But 5 tiny changes per day × 260 days = a real product other people can use. No zero days. That's it.

## The Math of Daily Consistency

Here's what most people think: _"I'll work on my project this weekend when I have 8 hours."_

Then the weekend comes. You're tired. Life happens. The 8 hours never materialize. Zero progress.

Here's the alternative: work on it every day. Don't care about the time. The real advantage is momentum.

When you work on something every day, you never lose context. You don't spend the first hour remembering where you left off. You don't rebuild motivation from scratch. You just continue.

And here's the thing: when you think about the project daily, you're always planning. You're running through different options in your head. Testing ideas. By the time you sit down to work, you already know exactly what to do next. You don't need to open a todo list (though it doesn't hurt). You just know what today's work is.

1,184 changes in 8 months. That's an average of 5 changes per day. Some days I did one. Some days I did twenty. But I kept showing up.

Most of those changes are tiny. Really tiny. Changed text on the landing page. Moved a button. Improved navigation. Fixed a small bug. Nothing heroic. Just small improvements, every single day.

## How It Actually Works

I don't wait for perfect conditions. I don't wait for a free afternoon. I don't wait until I feel motivated.

Some days it's a real work session. I sit down, write code, solve problems, ship features.

Some days it's ten minutes. I fix a small bug. I update documentation. I refactor one function.

Some days I'm too tired to open my laptop. So I think about the project while falling asleep. I sketch ideas on paper. I plan what I'll build tomorrow.

All of those count. None of them are zero.

The trick is removing the barrier. If I told myself _"I need 2 hours to make it worth it,"_ I'd skip most days. But 10 minutes? I can always find 10 minutes.

And here's what happens: most days, those 10 minutes turn into 30. Then an hour. Then two. Because starting is the hard part. Once you're in, momentum takes over.

## Daily Beats Intensive

You might think: _"But wouldn't it be better to dedicate full weekends? Get into deep work?"_

Maybe. In theory.

In practice, I've tried both. Weekend marathons feel productive in the moment. But then Monday comes and the project feels distant. By the time the next weekend arrives, I've lost the thread.

Daily work keeps the project alive in your head. You go to bed thinking about it. You wake up with solutions. Your brain works on it in the background because it never fully logs out.

That background processing is where a lot of the work happens. But it only works if you feed it daily input.

## What This Looks Like Over Time

- **Day 1**: First commit. The project is just an idea.
- **Week 1**: Barely functional. Lots of bugs. I'm learning as I go.
- **Month 1**: It starts to take shape. Still rough, but I can see where it's going.
- **Month 3**: Features I didn't plan are emerging. The project is evolving.
- **Month 8**: 1,184 improvements later. The thing I started is barely recognizable. It's real now. Other people can use it, not just me.

None of those milestones came from heroic 12-hour coding sessions. They came from showing up. Every single day. Even when it was just ten minutes.

## The Compound Effect

Ten minutes feels insignificant. What can you really accomplish in ten minutes?

Not much. On day one.

But ten minutes × 260 days? That's 43 hours. Except it's not. Because the work compounds.

The function you write on day 10 uses the foundation you built on day 5. The feature you ship on day 100 wouldn't exist without the infrastructure from day 50. Everything builds on everything else.

That's why daily consistency beats intensive spurts. You're not just accumulating hours. You're accumulating context, momentum, and compounding progress.

1,184 changes didn't happen because I worked harder. They happened because I worked daily.

## Start Today

You don't need the perfect setup. You don't need 4 hours. You don't need to feel ready.

You need 10 minutes. Today.

Then 10 minutes tomorrow. And the day after that.

Most days, it'll turn into more. Some days, it won't. That's fine. The goal is no zero days.

A year from now, you won't believe how far daily consistency took you. Not because any single day was impressive. Because 365 days of small progress adds up to something you can't achieve any other way.

No zero days. That's it.


1,184 improvements in 8 months. Some days 10 minutes, some days 2 hours. The key isn't time, it's momentum. Daily work beats weekend marathons because you never lose context.

No Zero Days: Why Daily Consistency Beats Intensity


I go to a sauna that charges $20 for entry. They used to sell lemonade for about $2 per cup, or $3 for unlimited refills during your visit.

Every time I went, I'd stand there calculating whether the unlimited made sense. I knew I'd drink it once, maybe twice at most. The lemonade wasn't amazing. And the bigger problem for myself: they rotated flavors. They had maybe ten different options, but only two or three available each day. Some days the flavors they had just weren't good.

So most visits, I'd skip the lemonade and just drink water (or I'd go to a different sauna without really knowing why).

TLDR: My sauna raised lemonade prices, added expensive frozen fruit, and switched to a fixed four-flavor menu. Their cost per cup went up and customers drink more refills, so their margins got worse. But I now drive past a closer sauna to go there three times a week because I know exactly what drinks I'll get. Sometimes the hidden incentive that drives behavior matters more than the per-unit profit.

## What Changed

They raised the unlimited refill price to about $4. But they made two other changes:

First, they switched to better syrups. Not fancy, just noticeably better quality than before.

Second, they fixed the menu at four flavors—raspberry, mango, cucumber, and ginger. When you order raspberry or mango, they dump frozen berries or frozen mango chunks into your cup. Cucumber gets actual cucumber slices. Ginger gets fresh ginger.

When I first saw it, I thought they were crazy. They raised prices but their costs went up way more. Frozen fruit isn't cheap. And people are going to drink way more refills now that the drinks are better—which means even more frozen raspberries per customer. Before, the production cost was minimal because they just used basic juice. Now, with these ingredients, their margin on lemonade is orders of magnitude smaller. For some customers, they might actually be losing money on the drink itself.

## What Actually Happened

I now choose this sauna over others specifically because of the lemonade.

Before, I'd drink maybe two refills per visit, and I went occasionally. Now I drink four or five refills, and I go three times a week. That's $60 in entry fees every week that they wouldn't get otherwise.

From their accounting perspective, yes, they're making less margin on the lemonade. The frozen raspberries cost more than the old syrup, and I'm drinking more of it. But I wouldn't be there at all if they hadn't made these changes. I have a closer sauna to my home, but I drive past it to go to this one instead.

## The Hidden Incentive

The fixed menu matters more than the quality upgrade. Knowing exactly what flavors will be available when I show up means I don't have to gamble on whether today's selection will be worth it. I can count on it. And not just me—every customer knows what to expect.

This looked like a bad business decision at first—raise prices while also raising costs, resulting in worse per-unit margins. But the per-unit margin doesn't matter if it drives frequency and loyalty. The sauna makes most of their money on entry fees, not lemonade. The lemonade is just the reason I keep coming back instead of trying other places. At least in my case.

Not all incentives are obvious. Some things that look like they hurt margins actually drive the behavior that matters. The frozen raspberries aren't about the lemonade. They're about making sure I show up next time.


My sauna raised lemonade prices and added expensive ingredients. Their margins got worse, but I now go three times a week.

The Hidden Economics of Fresh Raspberries in Lemonade


I looked at my electric car's dashboard and saw 35% battery. Immediately, my chest tightened. I was 40 kilometers from home, and I started calculating whether I'd make it. Should I find a public charging station? What if I get stuck?

Then I checked the actual range: 80 kilometers remaining. More than double what I needed.

This happens constantly. The percentage creates stress that the actual range doesn't justify. 18% battery in my car might still mean 60 kilometers of range. 5% could be 40 or 50 kilometers. But the number itself triggers anxiety because of how we've been conditioned by every other device we own.

TLDR: Battery percentages in electric cars trigger anxiety because phones and laptops trained us to panic at low numbers, even though 18% in a car might still mean 60 kilometers of range. Electric cars should ditch the battery icon and percentage display and go back to the simple segment-based fuel gauge that gas cars used for decades.

## The Phone Problem

We carry phones and laptops that train us to panic at low battery percentages. 18% on your phone? You're probably not making it through the day. 35%? Better find a charger soon. This conditioning is so deep that seeing those same numbers in a car triggers the same response, even though the context is completely different.

An electric car battery is massive compared to a phone. 5% of an EV battery is equivalent to dozens of fully charged phones. The percentage doesn't mean the same thing, but your brain doesn't care. It sees the number and reacts.

## How Gas Cars Did It

Traditional cars had simple fuel gauges—either a semi-circle or a horizontal bar divided into quarters. You'd glance at it and see: full, three-quarters, half, quarter, nearly empty. That's it. No precise percentage, no number that made you calculate exactly how much you had left.

Some manufacturers like Audi used a narrow horizontal rectangle instead of the semi-circle, but the principle was the same: show roughly how full the tank is using segments, not percentages.

This worked because it matched how people actually think about fuel. You don't need to know you have exactly 37% of a tank. You need to know if you're fine, should fill up soon, or need to fill up now.

## What Actually Matters

The only number I care about in my electric car is kilometers remaining. That's the information that actually determines my decisions. Can I get home? Do I need to charge? The percentage is irrelevant noise that just creates stress.

Every person I know who drives an electric car agrees when I mention this. Some didn't even consciously realize they were experiencing unnecessary anxiety until I pointed it out. They just felt it.

## The Solution

Go back to the segment-based display. Remove the battery icon, remove the percentage, and show people what they need to know: roughly how much charge they have using the same visual language that worked for decades in gas cars.

Electric cars are already different enough from gas cars. The charging infrastructure is still sparse—there are far fewer charging stations than gas pumps. I charge at home specifically because I don't want to deal with public charging stations. The last thing we need is interface design that adds psychological stress on top of practical challenges.

Stop making me think my car is dying when it has plenty of range to get home.


Battery percentages create unnecessary anxiety in electric cars because we're conditioned by phones to panic at low numbers.

Electric Cars Need the Old Fuel Gauge Back


You want to set up social profiles for your product. You check the obvious username. It's available on most platforms. One has it taken. Now what?

Two options. Keep the clean name where you can and use something different on that one platform. Or pick a new name that works everywhere. The first option sounds practical until you realize what it costs. Someone finds you on Twitter, then searches Instagram and sees a different username. Looks inconsistent. Looks like you didn't plan this. Looks amateur.

Consistency matters more than having the perfect name on some platforms. Better to have the same handle everywhere than your ideal name in four places and a compromise in one.

## Suffix or prefix

Once you decide to add something, the question is what and where. Suffix or prefix.

Suffixes don't work. I don't know many examples beyond `_app` or `_official`, and both feel technical. Corporate. They work for enterprise tools maybe, but not for products built for people. Not for love brands. Adding `_app` feels like an apology. Like you're saying _"sorry, someone got here first."_

Prefixes are different. `hey`, `the`, `get`, `try`, `use`. They change the vibe, not just solve the availability problem. They feel intentional. A prefix sets a tone.

## Match the prefix to your product type

- **the** feels authoritative. Established. Like you've been around. Think `theverge` or `theguardian`. Use this when your product really stands out.

- **hey** feels approachable. Community-oriented. Friendly. Good for consumer products and services built for people.

- **try** or **get** feel action-oriented. Developer tools. _Try this_ or _Get started_. Very SaaS. Skip these if you're not building for developers.

- **use** has a hook quality. `use[product]` tells you what to do. Also dev-tool territory.

## Write it down and look at it

Repeating letters kill otherwise good names. `theedicek` has two e's touching. `gethey` would have `th` and `he` overlapping. You won't see it in your head. Write it on a document. Imagine it on a billboard or a business card. If it looks weird, move to the next option.

## Ask someone who'll tell you the truth

I wanted `theedicek`. Sent it to my wife along with `heyedicek` and `edicekapp`. She picked `theedicek` last. The double `e` bothered her. I hadn't seen it, but once she pointed it out, I couldn't unsee it.

You need someone outside your head. They'll spot the thing you missed. The visual weirdness. The odd connotation. The option that just looks wrong.

Pick one and use it everywhere. Register it on every platform you might use, even the ones you're not active on yet. Someone will take it if you don't. Consistency beats perfection.

-Petr


Consistency beats having the perfect name on some platforms. Prefixes beat suffixes. And you need someone else to spot what looks weird.

Petr Homoky

Get new posts in your inbox

0.1 beats 0: Why I Chose Minimal Training Over Perfect Plans

Your Home Lighting Is Working Against You (And You Don't Notice)

No Zero Days: Why Daily Consistency Beats Intensity

The Hidden Economics of Fresh Raspberries in Lemonade

Electric Cars Need the Old Fuel Gauge Back

Your product name is taken on social media. Now what?