When it comes to feats of strength and endurance, I like to keep it in perspective and keep it a little fun. I’ve stopped comparing myself to my 20-year-old numbers and instead hit the reset button every year. New age, new scoreboard.
At 37, here’s where I’m at strength wise:
Are they lifetime PRs? No. Do they still get the job done? Absolutely.
But the real wins look a little different these days:
That’s the kind of strength and endurance that actually matters.
Level 3 Certified CrossFit Trainer
CrossFit Gymnastics
USA Weightlifting Level 1
CrossFit Nutrition 1
Anatomy
Teaching Movement
Spot The Flaw
CPR
I grew up in a competitive household where effort was the baseline and competition were part of daily life. With two brothers and a tight-knit group of friends, there was always something to train for, play for, or prove. We were all multi-sport athletes—football, basketball, baseball, track, wrestling—and that constant exposure to competition shaped how I approached challenges early on. It wasn’t just about winning; it was about showing up, improving, and finding ways to push past your limits. Football became my primary focus, and I eventually earned All-Region honors as a defensive player, with an opportunity to play at the small college level. But at that point in my life, I chose a different path. I stepped away from pursuing athletics in college and enrolled in school instead. After about a year and a half, it became clear I wasn’t ready for that environment. I lacked direction, discipline, and maturity, and I knew I needed a change. That change came through the military. In 2008, I enlisted in the U.S. Army as an infantryman. What started as a fascination sparked by childhood games, war movies, and family history, quickly became one of the most defining decisions of my life. The Army forced a rapid transition from a 19-year-old still figuring things out into someone responsible, accountable, and dependable. I deployed to Iraq in 2009, and after returning, reenlisted and was stationed in Hawaii for three more years. While in Hawaii, I made the decision to push myself further. I set my sights on the Army Ranger School, one of the most demanding leadership schools in the military. After completing pre-Ranger training, I earned the opportunity to attend. Ranger School was, without question, one of the most physically and mentally grueling experiences I’ve ever faced. Over the course of those 60+ days, I learned the true meaning of resilience, leadership under pressure, and most importantly teamwork. Success wasn’t about individual strength; it was about how well you could work with others, adapt, and contribute when everyone was pushed to their limits. After earning my Ranger tab, I was selected to become a pre-Ranger instructor at the 25th Infantry Division Lightning Academy. In that role, I helped prepare other soldiers for the same challenge, teaching them not just the physical standards, but the mindset required to succeed. It was my first real exposure to coaching, and it lit a spark. Around that same time, I discovered CrossFit and it immediately clicked. The intensity, the measurable progress, and especially the competitive environment reminded me of everything I loved about sports growing up. It wasn’t just training; it was a test of both physical and mental capacity. I dove in headfirst. In 2013, I earned my CrossFit Level 1 and began coaching at a local gym in Hawaii. What started as a side passion quickly became something more. Five years later, I earned my Level 2, continuing to refine my ability to coach, communicate, and connect with athletes. Another five years after that, I set my sights on the Level 3, one of the most rigorous credentials in CrossFit. I didn’t pass on my first attempt. That failure forced me to study deeper, sharpen my understanding, and come back better. When I passed on the second attempt, it validated years of effort and commitment to mastering my craft. From there, I pursued a spot on CrossFit’s Level 1 Seminar Staff, an elite group of coaches responsible for teaching the methodology to others around the world. After over a year of internships, evaluations, and feedback from some of the top coaches in the industry, I was given the green light to join the team. While I’m still waiting for my first assignment, reaching that level was a defining moment on par with earning my Ranger tab. It proved to me that I wasn’t just participating in coaching, but that I was capable of operating at a high level within it. Today, my coaching is built on everything I’ve experienced: the competitiveness of my upbringing, the discipline and leadership forged in the military, the resilience earned through failure, and the deep respect for process and progression that comes from years of training and teaching. I believe in pushing people, but doing it with purpose. I believe in building both physical and mental strength. And I believe that real growth happens when you step outside of what’s comfortable and commit to something bigger than yourself. This isn’t where my journey ends, but it’s exactly what shaped the coach I am today.
Every good story has a hero and an enemy. Mine wasn’t a person, it was self-doubt. Growing up undersized, I learned to compete hard and push even harder. From the outside, it looked like drive. Underneath, it was insecurity. Even after earning recognition and opportunities to play at the next level, there was a quiet voice telling me I wasn’t capable. So, I hid from the work, from the risk, and kept telling myself I just wanted to enjoy college. When really, I was afraid to find out my limits. The turning point came when I decided to stop running from that question and face it head-on. Joining the Army was the first step. It wasn’t about proving anything to anyone else, it was about proving to myself that I could do hard things. And I did. Over and over again. But even then, the doubt lingered. Ranger School, instructing, coaching. Each milestone came with a shadow of imposter syndrome. It took years of showing up, doing the work, and stacking small wins to finally quiet that voice. Now, I can look back and own what I’ve done. I’m proud of the coach I’ve become, the veteran I am, the community I help lead, and the people I serve. The enemy is still there, but it no longer gets the final say.
My purpose in coaching is simple: build better humans. I’m not here to drag people across the finish line or convince them to want something they don’t. I’m here as a guide for those who are ready to do the work. The ones willing to be uncomfortable, to be challenged, and to show up consistently even when it’s hard. A lot of people are curious. Fewer are committed. There’s nothing wrong with that, but I’m here to serve the committed. The ones who want real change, not just the idea of it. Coaching, to me, goes far beyond movement and nutrition. It’s about helping people raise their standards, follow through on what they say they want, and become someone they’re proud of. If you’re willing to step into that, I’m all in with you.
