Most of my life, I pushed too hard for two weeks then burned out. I stopped. Then I hit 40. Then COVID.
At first, I wasn’t thinking about health. I was drinking a bottle of wine nightly, eating pizza, sitting on the couch. It was easy. Life was paused anyway.
Then the realization set in. Normal wasn’t coming back. Everything was out of my control except this body. I had to fix it.
I found an online challenge. Eight weeks. Five days a week. Each session lasted just 20 minutes. That was it. No gym required. Just bodyweight and some random household items like a broomstick or pillows. Simple. Doable. I liked that.
Along with the movement, I fixed my food game. I was done with restrictive diets. Starvation isn’t a lifestyle. For two months, I cooked at home. Real food. Lean protein. Vegetables. Whole grains. Healthy fats. No frozen dinners.
The shift was real. In eight weeks, the extra weight vanished. Muscle showed up. I actually felt energy in my legs.
But the best part wasn’t the physical change. It was that I didn’t hate it. I wasn’t suffering through it. I enjoyed the process. Consistency became its own reward. Each week felt better than the last. I didn’t want to stop.
That short burst of discipline became permanent. I kept lifting. I kept eating whole foods.
Then I started running. Just to clear my head. I alternated walking and jogging. Slowly. Over a few years, my endurance grew. Half marathons. Full marathons. I fell in love with the pain and the pace.
Now it’s 2025. I’m chasing the biggest goal yet: The Great World Race.
Seven marathons. Seven continents. Seven days.
The seed was planted earlier that year watching Becs Gentry run it. She showed up with grit and mental toughness. She made me ask myself what was possible with enough preparation.
I’m turning 46 this November. I’m competing then. Two years of training got me here.
With six months to go, running dominates my week. But I don’t just jog. I have a plan. I became a certified trainer to understand my own body, though I check everything with the race’s official coach.
The weekly grind
- I run five days.
- Thirty to 40 miles total.
- Three easy runs for endurance.
- One tempo run to push speed.
- One long run to build mental callous.
Strength work stays in the mix. I lift heavy twice a week. Running is just jumping from one foot to another. So I train unilaterally. Split squats. Step-ups. Single-leg Romanian deadlifts. Balance is key.
Core strength? Non-negotiable. If your core fails, your form fails. On rest days from lifting, I spend 30 minutes doing stability work. Dead bugs. Side planks. Bird dogs. It keeps me upright when I’m tired.
Fueling and repair
Recovery gets as much brainpower as training.
I eat to support the work. Carbs are fuel. Potatoes. Pasta. Rice. Dried fruit. These replenish glycogen. Protein repairs the damage. Chicken. Eggs. Salmon. Steak.
Active recovery is mandatory. I stretch daily. I use compression boots to drain soreness. I soak in Epsom salts.
Sleep is the foundation. I go to bed at 8 p.m I wake up at 4 a.m Every single day. Eight hours.
Miss a night, and everything else falls apart. It that simple.
What keeps me going
I enjoy the work.
For years, I was all or nothing. On or off. This mindset caused burnout. I judged myself on results. Was I fast enough? Were the gains coming quickly?
I shifted the focus. Not to the outcome. To the daily habits. The small improvements. Exercise stopped being a transaction and started being pride.
I link my habits.
Discipline is just a chain.
Choose breakfast -> Train -> Eat -> Recover -> Sleep.
Each link holds the next.
The chain breaks sometimes. We’re human. If I skip a workout or eat poorly, I don’t spiral. I don’t try to fix it all in one day. I just start the next right action. The metric isn’t how long the streak lasts. It’s how fast you restart.
I don’t cap my potential.
Five years ago, one marathon felt like a reach.
Today, seven continents feels like Tuesday.
What stands out isn’t any single workout. It’s capacity.
I can run 12 miles Saturday. Recover Sunday. Lift heavy Monday. Tempo Tuesday. I’m still ready.
This resilience wasn’t born in a week. It was built gradually. Through years of 20-minute sessions and patience.
Every challenge expanded what I thought I could handle. I still don’t know where the limit is.
Maybe there isn’t one. 🏃
