The Morning I Could Not Get Off the Floor
I was on the floor of my own garage, on my hands and knees, next to a bag of mulch.
Not injured. Nothing dramatic. I had simply bent down to pick up a forty-pound bag the way I had a thousand times before, felt something in my lower back go sideways, and ended up on all fours waiting for it to pass.
And it did pass. That is not the part that got me.
The part that got me was what I thought while I was down there. I did not think "I hurt myself." I thought: this is just what I am now.
I was fifty-eight years old. I was carrying about fifty-five pounds I had not been carrying at forty-five. I got winded on the stairs at my own house. I fell asleep in a chair most evenings by 8:40 and then lay awake at 2 a.m. I had a doctor who told me my numbers were "fine for your age," which I eventually realized is one of the most quietly devastating sentences in the English language.
Fine for your age. As in: this is the new floor, and the floor keeps dropping, and everyone has agreed not to make a scene about it.
I want to be careful here, because this is the point where most books like this one start lying to you.
I did not have a breakthrough. I did not discover a secret. I did not find one weird trick, and I am not about to tell you that a compound your doctor has never heard of gave me the body I had at thirty. None of that happened, and anyone who tells you it happened to them is selling you something I would not buy.
What happened was slower and far less exciting than that.
Over about eighteen months I changed four things. I changed them badly at first. I got two of them wrong for the first three months and had to start over. I spent money I did not need to spend. I read research papers I was not qualified to read and asked a doctor a lot of questions that, in hindsight, I should have asked in a different order.
And at the end of it I was fifty-one pounds lighter, I was sleeping through the night, I got through a whole day at the county fair with my grandkids without hunting for somewhere to sit down, and I had stopped thinking of myself as a man who used to be able to do things.
Those are my numbers, in my body, at my age, with my medical history. They are not a forecast for yours, and I would be suspicious of anybody who told you otherwise.
This book is the account of those eighteen months. It is what I did, what it cost, what I would skip if I had to do it again, and what I would tell any man my age who is standing where I was standing.
That is the whole promise. I am not going to make you a bigger one.
RESULTS DISCLAIMER: My results are my own. They are not typical, not promised, and not guaranteed. Individual results depend on age, health status, genetics, medical history, effort, consistency and factors outside anyone's control. Nothing here should be read as a promise that you will experience the same outcome.