Endurance athletes. Marathon runners, ultra-cyclists, mountain climbers — the ones who push themselves to the limit and keep going. In survival games, I’m exhausted after jogging across a frozen lake with a backpack full of sticks, so I have huge respect for people who do the real thing without a pause menu.

(For digital endurance tests — usually ending worse — Survivor Incognito has the stories.)

By doing the exact opposite of relaxing: playing survival games. For some reason, dodging wolves, zombies, and blizzards calms me down more than meditation apps ever could. If I can unwind while starving in The Long Dark, real life feels positively restful.

(Plenty more questionable relaxation methods at Survivor Incognito.)

Yes — against every wolf, cougar, and zombie that’s ever ended one of my permadeath runs. Do I forgive? Eventually. Do I forget? Absolutely not. Those pixelated ambushes live rent-free in my head, and probably always will.

(Plenty more grudges, respawns, and survival stories at Survivor Incognito.)

Honestly? Somewhere between a safehouse in The Long Dark and a base in Subnautica. Warm, stocked with supplies, maybe a decent view — but without the constant threat of wolves, blizzards, or flooding. Basically, four walls, a roof, and the comforting knowledge that I don’t need to boil my drinking water.

(Plenty more questionable housing choices at Survivor Incognito.)

Because survival games are too good not to laugh at. I blog to turn my in-game disasters into stories — freezing, starving, or getting mauled by wolves feels a lot better once it’s written down with humour. It’s part therapy, part chaos log, and part proof that thriving is possible (even if my characters keep proving otherwise).

(Plenty more survival chaos turned comedy at Survivor Incognito.)

Playing survival games — or at least writing about them. It’s my way of turning stress into stories, chaos into comedy, and reminding myself that if I can laugh at freezing to death in The Long Dark, I can probably handle real life too.

(Plenty more daily doses of survival chaos at Survivor Incognito.)

The crafting recipe for something I definitely should have memorised by now. In survival games, I’m always convinced I’ll remember how to make the essentials — until I blank mid-blizzard and have to look it up. Real survivalists carry manuals; I carry Google.

(Plenty more questionable survival “research” at Survivor Incognito.)

Mostly cartoons where the characters survived ridiculous disasters with nothing but luck and slapstick timing. Guess I was training for survival games earlier than I thought.

(From cartoon pratfalls to permadeath playthroughs, the survival chaos continues at Survivor Incognito.)

Late evening. The world quiets down, the day’s chaos settles, and I finally get to sit with a console in hand — ready to make even more chaos in some poor survival game. Peaceful in real life, disastrous on screen.

(Plenty more late-night survival disasters at Survivor Incognito.)

Nachos — because they’re basically the survival food of the modern age. Minimal effort, maximum comfort, and you can pile on whatever you’ve managed to scavenge from the fridge. In survival games I’m boiling unsafe water; in real life, I’m melting cheese. That feels like a fair trade.

(Plenty more questionable survival meals — digital and otherwise — at Survivor Incognito.)