I’m going to tell you something that would have made my twenty-five-year-old self roll her eyes so hard she’d pull a hamstring. Six months ago, I walked into my nutritionist’s office with bloodwork that showed elevated cortisol, borderline burnout, and the kind of afternoon energy crashes that no amount of cold brew could fix. Her suggestion wasn’t another training tweak or a stricter meal plan. She looked at me and said, “Have you tried ashwagandha?” I nearly laughed. For two decades as a competitive athlete and coach, I’d lumped adaptogens into the same category as crystal healing and moon water…