August 20, 2026

I apologize for disappearing for a few weeks.

Sometimes life gets busy.

Sometimes training gets hard.

And sometimes you have one of those weeks where the goal isn’t to get faster, stronger, or better.

The goal is simply to survive it.

To make it to the other side.

These last couple of weeks have been some of the hardest I’ve had in a while.

And they taught me something I probably needed to learn.

I’m not 20 anymore.

The Follow-Up

Two weeks ago, I went to my follow-up appointment with the GI specialist.

Turns out I have a severe case of H. pylori.

Great.

At least we finally had a game plan.

Two weeks of antibiotics, get the infection under control, and start moving forward.

Except my body apparently had other plans.

The following week, I barely ran.

Two days.

I had been feeling like my internal body temperature was running hot, but I didn’t have a fever.

My wife would touch my skin and tell me how hot I felt.

I figured it was probably the heat.

I had been running in the heat.

I had spent Sunday in the pool.

Nothing seemed completely out of the ordinary.

Until Friday.

The Day Everything Stopped

I was at work when it happened.

I had been running hot, and then suddenly I became cold and clammy.

Then I started shaking uncontrollably.

My first thought was that I had somehow double-dosed one of my medications.

I called Poison Control.

They told me that even if I had accidentally taken a double dose, what I was experiencing didn’t really fit that situation and that I should be okay.

I got off the phone with my wife and told her I was going to the doctor because I didn’t feel right.

I made it outside to tell my manager that I needed to leave.

I finished my sentence.

And then everything changed.

I became incredibly calm.

Not peaceful.

Not relaxed.

Just…empty.

It felt like everything inside my body suddenly dropped.

My heart felt like it was going to stop.

My lungs didn’t want to cooperate.

I told my manager, “I’m going to pass out in a couple of seconds.”

I gave him my list of medications.

My supplements.

How much I had been exercising.

Everything I could think of that might be important for the EMTs because I honestly didn’t know if I would still be awake when they arrived.

And in that moment, I thought I was going to die.

Funny how your brain works when you think you might not make it.

I wasn’t thinking about running.

I wasn’t thinking about work.

I wasn’t thinking about anything I had accomplished.

I was thinking about my family.

Keeping myself together for them.

My heart rate was around 100 beats per minute, which honestly wasn’t terrible.

But something was clearly wrong.

About five minutes later, the EMTs arrived.

They hooked me up to the machines and started checking everything.

They asked if I wanted to go to the ER.

Yes.

Absolutely.

I could barely walk to the stretcher.

I ended up being carried into the ambulance.

And as we drove to the hospital, my brain went somewhere I didn’t expect.

Where did I go wrong?

What did I do?

What mistake landed me here?

I kept going through everything in my head.

The medications.

The supplements.

The running.

The heat.

The lack of sleep.

The infection.

Work.

Family.

Everything.

I was trying to solve the problem while lying in the back of an ambulance.

The Reality Check

When I got to the hospital, my wife met me in the room.

I spent a lot of time evaluating everything that had happened.

What had I done wrong?

What had I missed?

What had caused this?

And eventually, I came to a pretty simple conclusion.

I had been treating my body like it was the body of the 20-year-old version of me.

That guy could tank almost anything.

But that guy didn’t have the responsibilities I have today.

The 20-year-old version of me didn’t have a family depending on him.

He didn’t have a team at work depending on him to lead.

He didn’t have the same responsibilities.

He didn’t have the same stress.

He didn’t have the same life.

I’m 33 now.

I’m a father.

I’m a partner.

I’m a leader.

People depend on me.

And somewhere along the way, I forgot that my body has limits too.

The doctors were concerned about possible heart issues and elevated CPK levels.

I was put on a no-running restriction until I could meet with my primary care doctor.

And honestly?

I took it hard.

I wanted to run.

I didn’t want to lose the progress I had made.

I was afraid that the weeks and months of work I had put in were going to disappear.

I didn’t want to start over.

Then I started thinking about David Goggins.

I mean, this guy ran while pissing blood.

And here I was lying in an ER because my body wanted to shut down.

I was frustrated.

Embarrassed.

Angry.

I didn’t want to be the guy who stopped.

But Then I Looked Back

I started looking at everything I had been stacking on top of myself.

I was averaging four to five hours of sleep a night.

I had been fighting a bacterial infection that had been affecting me for roughly half a year.

I was running during the hottest parts of the day at 300lbs.

I was stacking supplements.

I was still showing up for my team at work because they needed me.

I was still showing up at home because my family needed me.

I was dealing with other personal issues.

I had other ongoing health issues.

And somehow I expected my body to just keep taking it.

No rest days.

No real recovery.

Just keep pushing.

Keep going.

Keep stacking more.

Eventually, the stack became too heavy.

My body finally said no.

And I was paying the price while lying in a hospital bed.

That was probably the most important lesson of all.

Rest Isn’t Quitting

I had to pivot.

That word has become important to me lately.

Pivot.

Adjust.

Make the correction.

Keep moving.

I started taking medication to help me sleep, and I’m now averaging six to seven hours a night instead of four to five.

I came up with a food plan where I’m eating every couple of hours.

I’m working through my personal issues and getting those resolved.

I stopped taking my supplements until I finish my medications.

None of these things are particularly exciting.

But they are necessary.

Yesterday, I finally met with my PCP.

I told him I felt like the appointment was a waste of time and money because I felt fine, but I wanted to do the right thing and get checked out.

He looked at my labs.

Listened to my heart.

Checked me over.

And basically told me I was healthy as an ox.

I was cleared to run.

I could finally get back out there.

The Fear Was Still There

I wanted to run yesterday.

It was the hottest day of the summer.

Of course it was.

But my body was still recovering.

So I took one more rest day.

That was another lesson.

Being cleared to run doesn’t mean you have to run.

Sometimes listening to your body means choosing not to.

Today, I went back.

Forty minutes.

In the heat.

And I felt great.

Honestly, I felt like I could have kept going.

But this was my first run since the incident.

So I stopped.

This weekend, I’m supposed to run six miles.

And I’m not going to lie.

I’m scared.

Before today’s run, I was texting my wife about it.

I told her I was scared of going out there.

Scared my body would react the same way.

Scared of overheating.

Scared about six miles this weekend.

Scared about what this means for my half marathon.

Scared about whether I can actually accomplish MOAB 240 someday.

I was letting fear dictate my running.

Then my wife brought me back to reality.

Just show up.

Listen to your body.

If you can only do 20 minutes of a 40-minute run, that’s okay.

You showed up.

You tried.

That’s the truth.

Sometimes That’s Enough

There are going to be days when you can run for an hour.

There are going to be days when you can only run for ten minutes.

There are going to be days when you don’t run at all.

The important thing is learning the difference between quitting and listening.

I think I had confused the two.

For a long time, I thought toughness meant pushing through everything.

But maybe real toughness is knowing when to push.

And knowing when to stop.

I’ve done scary things before.

I’ve gone through scary situations.

I’ve been through things that, at the time, I wasn’t sure I would make it through.

So why was this any different?

Because this time I wanted to be comfortable.

I’m not 20 anymore.

I’m not the kid who went through boot camp years ago.

I’m a father.

My family needs me.

Being strong doesn’t mean pretending that doesn’t matter.

It means making sure I’m still here for them.

Back to Work

So today I went out.

I ran for 40 minutes in the heat.

I listened to my body.

I didn’t chase a pace.

I didn’t prove anything.

I just ran.

And when I got home, my body felt like a million dollars.

That’s when I realized something.

We’re cooking now.

The engine is still there.

I just need to stop treating it like it’s indestructible.

I need to trust the plan.

I need to trust the process.

And I need to trust myself enough to make adjustments when something isn’t working.

The Storm

These last couple of weeks have been a storm.

H. pylori.

Medication.

Exhaustion.

An ambulance ride.

An ER visit.

Fear.

Frustration.

A forced break from running.

And a lot of uncomfortable self-reflection.

But storms don’t last forever.

Eventually, you come out the other side.

And sometimes you come out a little different.

I made mistakes.

I pushed too hard.

I didn’t recover.

I ignored some of the signs my body was giving me.

But I also learned.

I pivoted.

I made corrections.

And now I’m moving forward.

Maybe that’s what life really is.

You make a mistake.

You learn from it.

You fix what you can.

You keep moving.

You don’t get to go back and change what happened.

You only get to decide what you do next.

For me, what’s next is simple.

Trust the plan.

Respect the recovery.

Listen to my body.

Show up.

One run at a time.

One mile at a time.

One correction at a time.

Slow.

Steady.

Deliberate.

Forward under load.