The Origin Story

The Innocent Beginning

Baseball was my first love, captivating me with its magic and inspiring grand aspirations. I dreamed of one day playing for my beloved Mets, though that dream never materialized. However, baseball led me to strength training, which became a pivotal part of my journey.

In my parents' basement, armed with sand filled weights and boundless determination, I fumbled through exercises I barely understood. Looking back, my form was atrocious, but something magical was happening—I was discovering the connection between training and performance. Even with my clumsy approach, I was getting stronger, hitting farther, throwing harder. I was hooked.

The Moment Everything Changed

Then middle school arrived like a storm cloud. I was "husky" kid—a 1980s euphemism that meant "fat kid." Sure, I harbored some extra weight, but I wore my confidence like armor—until that armor was pierced by a single moment at my first school dance.

The gymnasium lights were dimmed, terrible pop music blared through speakers, yet somehow my youthful confidence allowed me to approach an "older woman" (8th grade) and ask her to dance. I'm not sure how I thought this was a good idea or that it would turn out well, but in a moment of delusional bravery, I made my move.

I don't remember anything about the girl, but I do remember the crushing embarrassment after she rejected my offer. It was a moment that changed the trajectory of my life. In an instant, like Adam after eating the apple, the veil of innocence had been lifted from my eyes and self-consciousness was born. What had been an abstract concept—my weight—suddenly became a perceived liability, a flaw to be corrected at all costs.

Descent Into Control

The next morning, I declared war on my body. Lunch became a luxury I determined I could not afford. The weight began melting off—five pounds the first week, another fifteen by month's end. What started as a mission for acceptance twisted into something darker, more consuming.

My mother's concerned glances turned to outright panic as my body shrank and my obsession grew. But in my distorted reality, each pound lost was a victory. I began to document everything: logging miles run, calories consumed, and hours trained with military precision.

By summer, my weight had plummeted below 100 pounds. Even baseball had taken a backseat to the ruthless pursuit of thinness. My body was disappearing, but more frighteningly, so was the innocent little boy of just a few months earlier.

The Hospital: 101 Days of Reckoning

I was hospitalized with an eating disorder by early August. The hospital's approach was mechanical: gain weight, go home. But something within me—perhaps the last flicker of self-preservation—knew that simply adding pounds wouldn't fix what was broken.

Those 101 days were a masterclass in self-discovery. Between the sterile walls and scheduled meals, a revelation emerged: this was never about weight. It was about control in a world where a 13-year-old feels powerless. The weight loss was merely the battlefield I had chosen.

The pivotal moment came when I negotiated with my doctor for time to work out in their physical therapy facility. "If I have to gain weight," I argued, "let me gain it my way." This wasn't just about building muscle—it was about rebuilding agency over myself. My doctor, seeing beyond the charts and numbers, recognized this wasn't just a physical battle but an identity crisis. She agreed.

The Renaissance

The transformation was nothing short of miraculous. In a moment my entire being changed, I was no longer riddled with insecurity and overwhelm. With each controlled rep and each purposeful meal, I was developing a healthier, more confident relationship with my body.

After more than two months of standstill (even losing weight in treatment), everything changed. Within two weeks, I had gained enough to leave the hospital. But I had gained something far more valuable than pounds—a sense of peace and respect for my body.

A Matter of Course

My journey into the fitness industry wasn't a choice—it was a calling. For over three decades, I've been blessed with the opportunity to transform my passion into a livelihood. Health and fitness has given me so much, and my mission remains steadfast: to help others discover the transformative power of exercise and healthy eating.

Nearly 45 years ago, one young girl unknowingly changed my world. Her somewhat innocent rejection became the catalyst for discovering my life's purpose. If I could, I'd thank her from the bottom of my heart for such an incredible, albeit painful, gift.

Every client I train carries their own origin story, and I'm convinced that strength and fitness will serve each narrative uniquely. I've witnessed hundreds, if not thousands, of transformations, recognizing a piece of myself in every one. It's a never-ending journey of discovery and rediscovery as life continually presents new challenges.

This isn't just my origin story—it's the evolution of my life. It's a testament to the profound impact that health and fitness can have, not just on our bodies, but on our entire being.