Hunger. Pain. Success. — Building Strength with Purpose

At 33 years old, I train harder than I ever have in my life—not to break records, not for vanity, but because life demands it. I train for endurance, for physical resilience, for the ability to support others and hold my own when things get hard, whether that’s on a 14-hour motorcycle ride through high winds and rain—or helping a client in crisis hold steady until they find calm.

This blog isn’t about perfection. It’s about process. About showing up. About hunger, pain, and success.

Hunger.

Hunger is the vision. It’s what drives me into the gym when I could skip it. It’s the desire to be ready—physically and mentally—for whatever the day demands. It’s the part of me that wants to know I’m strong, capable, and dependable.

Two months before my cross-country motorcycle ride, I committed to leveling up. I knew I needed to prepare for long hours on the road: battling posture fatigue, holding strong in the wind, keeping focus during storms. My routine had to match the ride—and the life I live.

I also work daily with children and adults with special needs, some of whom require physical support, redirection, and even crisis management. It’s a job that requires both physical stamina and emotional grace. That’s my hunger: to show up strong in service of others—and myself.

Pain.

Pain is the process. The sweat. The fatigue. The moment when your body says “stop” and your mind says “one more.” It’s not injury—it’s growth.

My workout routine pushes my limits:

• 30-minute treadmill runs (around 3 miles at 6.5-7.2 mph)

• Hex bar farmer’s walks for grip and posture endurance

• Dumbbell squats, shoulder presses, 150 push-ups, and 125 curls

• Giant supersets of curls, skull crushers, and walk-loaded carries

• Heavy chest work on turf (not bench), plate pulls, and core flexion holds

• Pull-ups, squat machine holds, inner thigh work, and 400 weighted crunches

Some days my knees hurt. I adjust. Some days I’m tired. I push gently. Pain reminds me I’m alive and in motion. It also teaches me: there’s no shortcut to real strength.

Success.

Success isn’t medals. It’s not a number on the scale or the size of my arms.

It’s the feeling I get after a session, when my heart is pumping, my shirt is soaked, and I look in the mirror—tired, but proud. I see definition, power, and control. I feel capable.

It’s when I hold a client safely for 45 minutes while they process rage or trauma—and I don’t break. It’s when I ride 500 miles through a storm and wake up ready to ride again. It’s when my body backs up my purpose.

That’s my success.

Am I Doing Enough?

I used to wonder if I was training right, if it was enough, if it was “optimal” for my age. But I’ve learned this:

If I’m training with intention…

If I’m recovering smart…

If I’m showing up with consistency…

Then I am enough.

This routine may not be what every coach would prescribe. But it is mine. Built from experience, tuned to my life, forged in real-world performance. I am an occupational athlete. My life is my arena.

Final Reflection

If you’re reading this wondering whether your routine is “good enough,” ask yourself:

• Does it align with your life?

• Does it make you stronger in the ways that matter?

• Does it challenge and reward you?

Then don’t let doubt drown out your discipline.

Train. Adjust. Reflect. Stay hungry.

Hunger. Pain. Success.