In 2014, when I started at the gym I was at such a low point in my life. Probably the lowest I’d ever been, in such a dark place emotionally. I felt like I had nothing left to give, no strength. Perhaps in some respects, feeling like I was face down, flat on the ground, was a helpful thing. Because it was almost like I felt like I couldn’t get any lower, fail any more than I already had. It makes me so incredibly sad to think about that time of my life and knowing the extent of the dark and lonely place I was in. Sometimes, I think it isn’t until we reach the absolute bottom that we find the complete recipe for grit and perseverance. And I think that is what happened with me. It doesn’t mean it wasn’t an absolute struggle many days, in the beginning, to get my rear into the gym. I was scared. So much that I was nauseous for months. Every day that was a gym day, I felt sick. Determined, but sick. Full of anxiety. Unsure of whether I could do it. Yet I knew I had to try. So I could be the strongest version of myself, for myself but also for my son.

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