🪖🎖️ Vet Taking Back His Life! 💪🏋️‍♂️

How did I get here?!?

That's what I wondered when I looked in the mirror a few weeks ago.

Once upon a time, I was an elite athlete. A U.S. Army Special Forces Soldier and a competitive Martial Artist with an impressive record of 24-0 (16 TKO) under my Black Belt.

I ran, swam, and rode motorcycles in countries around the world. I went on forced marches for 20+ miles with a full ruck - and (harder still) carried my children and grandchildren around Disney World on my back (okay, I loved every second of that).

Now... Look at me. Old, fat, and grey. 70 pounds overweight. A surgical scar running vertically down my sternum.

It's not all my fault - but much of it is.

The cardiologist told me ten years ago that I was born with a congenital heart defect. Given the exertion that accompanied the life I lived, it should have killed me long before I reached 25. Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy, they call it. I called it an excuse to give up.

The symptoms were so insidious at first I didn't really notice them. I got tired more quickly and easily. I became winded and short of breath, eventually with even minor exertion. When I woke every morning at my customary 5:00 a.m., by 8:00 I would need a nap. Eventually, there would be more and more naps. And more and more snacks.

As I resolved myself to the fact that I was just getting older, and my heart would no longer permit me to be as active as I once was, I began to pack on the pounds. 10, 20, 30... Just before open heart surgery, I tipped the scale with an extra 60 lbs.

For the first 3 months following the surgery, I did what the doctors said. I took it easy. I rested. And I ate. I added another 10 lbs

When I saw the scale said 280, it finally hit me; there was no end to how many pounds I might pack on.

That's when my extraordinary, wonderful, superhero wife - who has now been in ICU RN for 40 years (!) - told me, "ENOUGH!"

If I didn't want to end up back in the hospital (I did not!); If I didn't want to continue to live a diminished life (a non-starter); If I didn't want to be dead in a year... I could just keep going as I was. Alternatively, I could get off my increasingly fatter a** and get to work!

In the course of my life, I've made my share of mistakes. Heaven knows, I have my flaws. But failing to listen to my brilliant better-half of 35 years has never been one of them.

So, a few weeks ago, at 60 years old and 280 lb, I finally started to take it seriously - and to reclaim my life. The journey has just begun, but I'm already down 10 lb and my energy level is starting a return. Best of all, the gym doesn't cause nearly as much pain as it did - and thanks to this wonderful app, and the even more extraordinary friends I have met through it, my goal doesn't seem as impossible as it once did.

I've always been more than a bit on the stoic side. I've never asked for a handout, or even a hand up. I have walked my own path and carried the weight. But I now find myself asking for help.

If you are interested in friending me, I will be in your debt. I am looking for anyone else who is walking this path and looking for Accountability, Affirmation, and occasional Applause.

The Army came out with an ad years ago that none of us who served cared for very much: "An Army of One".

One person does not make an army. One person cannot get the job done.