Seeing my name on EliteFTS's website and social media pages was amazing back in 2021. I thought, This will validate me. This will validate my feelings as a coach and athlete. It will show that I know what I'm talking about, and others will have to respect that because it's elitefts. After years of studying and applying my theories, I truly feel like I belong in this field.

I'll tell you what—it didn't! Even after writing a handful of articles and being a featured writer at the time. Even after Dave and the team sent me a care package and a handwritten note telling me to continue, it still fucking didn't.

Life has a funny way of kicking you square in the balls (or lady balls—I want to be politically correct here). The whole world was still recovering from COVID. I had landed a sweet work-from-home corporate job, and my garage gym soon turned into BCBC 2.0 because I finally found an old mill space for my training partners. I added more equipment, more partners, and some extra MMA athletes. I had a hot-ass wife. What else could I ask for?

Remember getting kicked in the balls? Well, let's just say my family is an expert at taking an ass-whooping. Before his third birthday, my son was diagnosed with level 1 autism—low support needs, high functioning; use whatever term you'd like. This isn't a death sentence or anything, but as young, new parents, the world became a bit scarier and bleaker. Then my wife got stage 1 breast cancer (she's still hot as fuck and doing well four years later). Somewhere in there, my son also became a type 1 diabetic, and my kid brother ended up moving in with us.

Through all of this, I was a husband, father, brother, coach, athlete, and now a gym owner. Well, amid all that, writing disappeared. I would, however, like to say I NEVER stopped training or coaching. The only days I missed were when we were at the hospital with my son. When my wife was recovering from surgery, I'd set her up, make sure she was good, and bring my son to the gym with me. How could I not? I had training partners who also depended on me. I still trained a few clients in person and had some online as well.

I'm PAINFULLY consistent as a person. What I mean is that if I commit to someone, it becomes part of my life. In seven years with a consistent training group or team, I can count on one hand how many sessions I've missed. When it's not all about me, I'll show up every damn time. Sick? I'll train through almost anything. It's not smart, and I don't advise it, but I can't miss. Family party? As long as it's not for my son or wife, I'll get there later or miss it altogether. My gym and team are a top-three priority in my life, so I will be there.

The painful part is that I expect that from others. Is it unrealistic? Sure. But, I mean, what the fuck are we doing here in the first place? Remember how I said my family can take an ass-whooping? More importantly, they always get back up—a 100 percent success rate. If that's not painfully consistent, I don't know what is.

Then this strange thing started to happen. I'd say about two years ago, I wanted to start writing again, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. My younger, less experienced, less accomplished self had been so eager. My older self learned that the more I learned and went through, the less I truly knew.

I started saying things like, Who will really read this? Someone stronger or much smarter has already written about it. To be honest, like a lot of people with daddy or mommy issues, I am always trying to prove to someone—or myself—that I'm worth it.

I also have an impossible standard to live up to. I feel that if I can't teach my idols, then what's the point? My coaching idols are people like Dave Tate, Louie Simmons, Seth Albersworth, Jim Wendler, etc. All of them are much smarter and more experienced than I am, and all were, at some point, stronger than me.

Then I turned the situation around: What if a younger coach, or another coach I valued, said the same thing to me? My response would be:

“Who gives a fuck? You have your own voice.”

Sometimes it's hard to see ourselves the same way we see others.

Trust me, it's not that I didn't have anything to say. Anyone in my gym will attest that I never shut the fuck up. As I said, I never stopped coaching. Since then, I've moved again into another mill—a bigger space—and started coaching full-time again. The teams have gotten larger, along with the in-person and online client rosters and the private gym membership.

I've competed in three full-power meets, earning an elite total at each and winning best overall lifter at two of them, plus a couple of push-pulls for fun. I've coached at about 15 more meets. I've changed my outlook on training, added new things, and thrown out some old ones. I've helped build more athletes, dealt with my own nagging aches and pains, helped rehab injuries, and learned more about leadership and mentorship.

In 2025, the team went to the Arnold, where we competed in the XPC like many before us. This was the first time we had really traveled for a competition. We had made three-ish-hour drives each way to meets a couple of states over, but never the 13-hour trip to Ohio. I handled athletes on both days and competed on Day 2. The lifting also took place on two stages at opposite ends of the Arnold Expo Hall. I wasn't alone—I have a great team, and extra members who weren't competing came to help—but there was still a lot to manage.

I doubled down on the low-hanging fruit. I didn't spend all day walking around the Arnold; I rested regularly. I planned and packed my meals. I'm also a big believer in visualization, so I took time throughout the day to visualize my success and my teammates' success.

Then two small problems came up in my own lifting. On my first squat attempt, when emotions were highest, and adrenaline was pumping, I got wrapped, waddled under the bar, and felt something was off as soon as I went to unrack it. I knew instantly that they had misloaded my bar. I stepped back, looked at the spotter, and said, "Someone misloaded it. Recheck." Then I quietly walked away for a few seconds.

Standing there nervous, with the pain of my wrapped knees, was not what I wanted. However, with the team and newer guys watching, it was an opportunity to show veteran status. I stayed calm, stood in the pocket, and came back to get the squat.

Later, on my third attempt, I was going for my first 700-pound raw squat. As my handler finished my last knee wrap, he dropped the end of the roll. My wraps were slightly uneven from side to side, and there was no time to rewrap. Yet again, it was an opportunity to show that things will not always go according to plan, but we can rely on the confidence we build through training. I went on to hit a squat, a 420-pound bench, and a 680-pound deadlift—all PRs—for a PR total of 1,800 pounds and first place in the 242s!

The most important thing I've learned when it comes to my athletes and training partners is to make a decision when one needs to be made. If I don't know the answer, I go find it and get back to them. Having all the answers isn't the skill; developing critical-thinking ability is.

I'm going to be even more vulnerable here than I already have. Call me soft; I'm in my hot-girl era, if that's still a thing. I don't think I'll ever be good enough in any area of my life. I know it's unreasonable, but it's true.

I bring this up because I'm sure someone else feels this way. I've realized that it doesn't matter how much more I accomplish in coaching or athletics. I will always create a new reason not to do it, when what I need to find is a reason to do it.

My point is that if you love something and have the ability to help others, you don't have to wait for some made-up finish line or accolade.

“If I’m 20 feet closer to the top of the mountain, I can help those who are 20 feet behind me.”

I was presented with a scenario: What if another coach—an avid reader of elitefts—has a small training crew, a full-time job, a family, and maybe a handful of clients, and desperately wants to contribute to the community but thinks they don't have anything to offer? What would I tell them?

I would tell them that their experiences are unique and can most likely help another coach, client, or training partner. Through this, I realized that I love mentoring and helping people who were once where I was. I want to help people avoid all the fucked-up, stupid shit I did and save them time so they can reach their destination faster and more efficiently. That, in a nutshell, is coaching.

For me, writing is an extension of coaching—the thing I love doing. It took me 14 years of coaching to fully understand this.

To bring it all back, seeing my name and an article on EliteFTS would still make me proud. It would still be a 100 percent accomplishment, but this time the meaning has changed for me. I'll still question whether I'm qualified enough. I'll still compare myself to my idols. I'll always think—and know—that someone smarter and stronger has already said it.

What will help me overcome those thoughts is simple: I still believe there are more people out there I can help, and I know there's a lot more I can learn along the way. Maybe that's enough of a reason to pick the pen back up.