My journey

Starting from scratch

In my early twenties I was about 20kg overweight and smoking. Compared with how I'd moved as a kid, I was out of shape in a way I could feel every time I tried to run. Those first runs hurt enough that I knew something had to change. I didn't have a crisp goal — just a vague pull toward being able to move without pain again.

Work pressures piled on. Progress stayed slow until I admitted the truth: an hour here and there wasn't going to get me healthy. Fitness had to become a serious project with real space in my life.

A system that stuck

My first real program was P90X. The trainer's mix of intensity and humor made hard work feel attainable and enjoyable. At first I couldn't finish a single workout. But it never felt impossible — I knew what to do next: more reps, better form, more time under stimulus.

What mattered wasn't the brand name. It was the signal. One to two hours a day, six days a week, for months. A clear, repeating demand my body had to adapt to — with goals still far enough ahead that I could improve for a long time without “finishing.”

Taiwan made movement normal

Around then I moved from the USA to Taiwan. I brought some equipment and planned to keep training alongside study and light work. What I didn't expect was falling in love with river runs in Taipei, outdoor pull-up and dip bars, and a city where bikes and the metro made sitting still the exception. Summer training sessions were brutal, but I loved it anyway.

Food helped too — cheap, balanced meals with vegetables, starch, and protein were easy to find. Being in a new environment meant creating a new routine in which I could dedicate more time to training. Completing P90X sessions became normal; runs and second workouts showed up on top.

Over the next four years across Southeast Asia I trained roughly one to three hours a day, five or six days a week. Thankfully my body still remembered its childhood athleticism. Running, push-ups, dips, hangs, pull-ups came back more naturally than I expected — form gaps and all. Injuries definitely happened - sometimes they meant months without training. But they're part of the process if you treat rest and rehab as training too (which you absolutely should). Rehabbing means teaching a shy muscle it's safe to work again, and often it comes back with even more awareness and coordination than before.

What I take into coaching

This wasn't a detailed master plan. It was a gut-level direction, then giving that direction enough consistency to grow. You decide moment to moment, trust yourself, misstep, learn, and get back on track.

That's the lens I bring to coaching. I know what it's like to be the person who can't finish the workout. Progress comes from clear next steps, enough volume to adapt, and a life setup that lets training stick — not from perfection on day one.