How I learned to love the process and stop quantifying my existence

Earlier this year, I made a decision that had a butterfly effect on my mental state. I was set to compete in June in Men's Physique at the NPC Duel of Champions. I was six weeks out, and everything was coming together. My abs were showing, my muscles were full, and my calories were still above 2000 per day. I was on point to deliver a better package than my first show in 2021 in Des Moines.

I was fighting a battle inside that was coming to a head, and I was getting suicidal again. To be fair to the prep process, there was nothing wrong with that actual process, and it didn't trigger the depressive symptoms, but something had to be done before the point of no return was hit. I was wrestling with the idea of pulling out from the June show for a few weeks, as my heart wasn't in it despite my prep going so well. I was losing focus on my business, personal life, "me time," and mental health.

I was doing what I did in the past so many times - hiding pain behind the physical, but something was wrong. I couldn't push through it as I have in the past, and I am thankful for it.

I value therapy, mental health work, and inner peace. I am aware of the ramifications of neglecting those and am self-aware enough to know when it's time to get back to work.

I gave my gun to my business partner and sought help again from a therapist and a psychiatrist. I have already been diagnosed with PTSD and treated for it with medication and psych work (it's ongoing for those who are wondering), but my focus was horrid, and I could get by from sheer work ethic for years.

Work ethic wasn't enough anymore. I was losing my life. I was losing what made me - me.

After several sessions with the shrink, he diagnosed me with Bipolar disorder and ADHD, and we started to work on treating those with medication. My Lexapro dosage was increased, and I was given Adderall.

Therapy was helpful as she gave me work to do outside of our sessions that held me accountable and helped me process feelings and emotions better.

I decided to "retire" from all competitions, as I have mentioned before, but I quickly backtracked, texted my coach, and told him I would shoot for 2023. I told a few close friends about it and continued to eat and train.

But something happened when I pulled out of the June show to the decision to un-retire. I was able to maintain my ultimate goal bodyweight of 225 with ease. I was no longer feeling the need to grow and eat more than I needed, and I was finally happy in my skin from a physical perspective.

It is funny to read that, but I can assure you it is true. I spent a few decades training to be big, strong, fast, jacked, powerful, explosive, and a physically dominating force on the sports field. When I quit rugby in 2009, I wasn't ready to stop pushing for excellence. I took up powerlifting. Looking back, it was the worst decision I ever made with my training and mindset. I became obsessed with numbers, would train through pain, and be frustrated with myself over it. I threw tantrums, ate to grow, and jeopardized my health from the lack of care. I was already beaten up from the years of strongman and rugby, so why did I choose another activity that would put the same stress on my body as the prior ones?

Ego. That's all.

I stopped PL after a bout of A-Fib and heart failure and spent the next few years training for myself after the long road of recovery. I lost a ton of strength, and I am not sure I would ever get that back, considering my age, history, and unwillingness to do what it took to get to that level again.

There was even a brief point where I decided to compete again, this time at 220. Why? I saw Missouri State master's records that were well within reach for me, and my ego thought, "why not?" I hired a coach and went to work. I tweaked my knee squatting and had to go through PT for it. That made me decide to go from full power to push/pull. The moment came during a deadlift day when I didn't want to do this anymore. I sat and looked at the loaded bar and quit. Flat-out quit.

I emailed my coach, thanked him for being such a great human to work with, and that day I felt free. I trained for myself again, not for anything else but me.

Fast forward a couple of years, and I was back training the way I was when I first entered a gym. I grew up loving bodybuilding and always wanted to try it, but I thought I could never do it. On a whim, I decided to enter a Men's Physique show, picked the date for the November Des Moines NPC show, and got to work.

I trained, ate perfectly, and did all the work I needed to do. I came in 2nd in my class while only losing to the man who won overall. My first time on stage was a success, and I was proud. I thought I found my place, and for a while, I did, but as I wrote earlier in this excessively long article, something happened.

I grew tired of quantifying my food, body, training... well, all of it. I grew tired of body image issues while overthinking everything - my training, eating a "cheat meal," I was stepping on the scale 3-4 times a day, I was dreading going to the gym and had little desire to push myself the way I did during my successful prep. I hit a wall so hard that it triggered an existential crisis. I silently decided to end it all, not my life, but the quantification of training and my body. I spent too long trying to be "perfect" that I lost track of what made me happy.

Training is a lifestyle for me. It is an entrenched habit, but it was fast becoming something I disliked. I needed to make it fun again. I needed to find something different.

While sitting at Steel Panther Tattoo waiting to get some work done by Noelle, a woman was there with her friend waiting for her to finish. Her name, amazingly enough, was Noelle. We started a conversation, and she shared that she trains BJJ at the gym around the corner. That gym is within walking distance from where I live. I have experience with martial arts from the past, but it's been a very long time. I never had much interest in BJJ as I erroneously thought it was too passive, but I wanted to try. I emailed the school, registered for a try-out class, showed up, borrowed a gi, and suffered.

My technique is completely new, and my conditioning is terrible, but my strength is a significant asset. I left the class, signed up for a membership, and ordered a gi and rash guard the next day.

I am forced to slow down, think, be present, and train in a way that enhances my sport rather than my body. Sure, I love to look good, but obsessing over it is a toxic mindset for me, and after so many years of shit body image, it was time to be an athlete again.

Little did I know how much I missed that.

The feeling of accomplishment at learning a new submission, nailing technique, and being humbled by better athletes is something I cannot describe adequately for you. The allure of sport for me is rooted in the feeling of primal competition.

My actions can directly affect how you perform and vice versa; however, in lifting "sports" like bodybuilding, CrossFit, Strongman, powerlifting, Highland Games, etc. I can do nothing to help myself win other than do my absolute best. I can only do my best and hope my competitors are off that day or I am better than they are. That me v. me shit wasn't cutting it anymore. I battled with myself enough physically and mentally. I was exhausted from it and wanted no more parts in that game.

Friends have noticed I am calmer, happier, and more "peaceful." Overall, it seems like I have better energy physically and mentally. Despite being tired, humbled, and sore, I feel refreshed after rolling. I am forced to train less and do more conditioning work, and I am thrilled with it.

Being an athlete means I no longer strive for a "perfect body". I strive for a body made for my sport. Looking good is a byproduct of eating well, recovering well, and being smart about training.

I have embraced being smaller, lighter, more mobile, and even losing a little muscle in the process.

Five years ago, that sentence would give me anxiety.

Today?

I breathe easier saying it.

I will never fully beat my mental health issues, but I have learned to cope with them. One thing I have learned from my life that is a stone-cold lock:

"Your happiness is your calling in life. Seek it at all costs. The journey to find it can be painful, heartbreaking, and unbearable, but when you see that light starting to shine on the path at the end, you will run to it with open arms and never take it for granted."

All the years of pain and mental agony, all those mistakes.... there is nothing I can do about them but move forward.

I may lose the battle to mental health one day, but not yet. There is time and hope remaining.

Here's to a new chapter in my saga.