CMT Unbroken

CMT Unbroken CMT Unbroken — adaptive health coaching, honest conversation, and strength built forward in bodies that refuse to quit.

06/05/2026

Almost 10 pounds down.

Today’s ride was only 11 miles, but it was fast. 22 mph average speed, 244 watts average power, my fastest pace in three weeks, and enough effort to earn some of my best power numbers of the year.

What excites me most isn’t the weight loss. It’s what the weight loss represents.

Consistency.

Showing up when I’m tired.
Making better nutrition choices.
Getting on the bike when it would be easier not to.
Doing the little things over and over again.

Living with CMT means fitness, nutrition, and recovery often require more planning, more energy, and more effort. But progress is still possible.

You don’t have to be perfect.
You don’t have to change everything overnight.

Just keep taking the next step.

One meal.
One workout.
One ride.
One day at a time.

The results eventually follow.

El Tour de Tucson

Day 11: I feel like Tom Hanks in Castaway, only more hungry. I’m 10 pounds down and I’m not seeing any significant decli...
06/04/2026

Day 11: I feel like Tom Hanks in Castaway, only more hungry. I’m 10 pounds down and I’m not seeing any significant decline in my power output.

Juggling weight loss, while improving cycling speed and endurance is one of the hardest balances I’ve tried to find.

06/04/2026

After the bike ride today, it was time for shoulders.

If you watch the video closely, you’ll see the shaking. My whole body is unstable. That’s life with CMT. Putting weight overhead isn’t easy, and honestly, it comes with risk.

But so does doing nothing.

Every rep is a choice. A choice to keep moving. A choice to keep fighting. A choice to keep going forward, even when my body would rather go backward.

I don’t train because it’s easy. I train because my future depends on it.

Some days the weight feels heavy. Some days my balance is off. Some days the tremors win a few battles.

But today wasn’t about being perfect.

It was about showing up.

One more workout.
One more step forward.
One more reminder that I am still in this fight.

06/04/2026

Working on the impossible.

When walking is one of the hardest things you do every day, you have to challenge yourself every chance you get.

Most people see a resistance band around my legs and think it’s an exercise. For me, it’s practice. Practice for the moments that matter. Walking across a parking lot. Climbing a flight of stairs. Keeping up with my family. Staying independent.

Forward. Backward. Side to side.

Every step is teaching my body not to quit.

CMT has taken a lot from me, but I’m still fighting for ground.

Four years ago today, my wife shared with the world that she had breast cancer.What followed was a battle measured not i...
06/04/2026

Four years ago today, my wife shared with the world that she had breast cancer.

What followed was a battle measured not in days or weeks, but in surgeries, chemotherapy, radiation, reconstruction, recovery, fear, uncertainty, and an incredible amount of courage.

There were days when treatment took everything she had.

Days when the physical battle was overwhelming.

Days when the mental battle was just as hard.

And yet through all of it, she was still Mom.

She still packed lunches.

Still showed up for birthdays.

Still comforted scared children.

Still laughed with our family.

Still loved fiercely.

Still fought for the life she wanted.

Cancer demanded everything it could take from her, and somehow she continued to give everything she had to the people she loved.

Even today, the fight isn’t completely over. Monthly treatments remain part of life. The reminders are still there. The scars are still there.

But so is she.

Four years later, she’s still here.

Still fighting.

Still loving.

Still showing our children what courage looks like.

People often think courage is found in dramatic moments.

I’ve learned that real courage looks a lot like a mother sitting through chemotherapy, enduring radiation, facing surgery after surgery, and then coming home to help with homework, make dinner, comfort her children, and keep moving forward.

I couldn’t be more proud of her.

Four years later, she is still standing.

And that’s something worth celebrating.

❤️

06/03/2026

One of the best exercises I’ve found for training with CMT is the box squat.

Not because it’s easier.

Because it lets me train what matters.

With CMT, balance, proprioception, coordination, and stability are constantly challenged. A box squat gives me a consistent target, helps me control the movement, and allows me to generate power without relying on momentum or risking a fall.

It teaches me to stay tight, stay controlled, and drive with intention.

For those of us living with CMT, adaptation isn’t weakness. Adaptation is how we keep moving forward.

You don’t have to train exactly like everyone else. You just have to find a way to train that works for you.

Strength isn’t about doing it their way.

Strength is finding a way when the road gets harder.

Day 192 – El Tour de Tucson TrainingToday was one of those rides that reminded me why I keep showing up.On paper, it was...
06/03/2026

Day 192 – El Tour de Tucson Training

Today was one of those rides that reminded me why I keep showing up.

On paper, it was only 15.4 miles. But numbers never tell the whole story.

675 watts peak power.
21 mph average.
Three segment PRs.
And a neuromuscular system that decided to cooperate for a little while.

For those of us living with CMT, power is a strange thing. Some days the signal gets through. Some days it doesn’t. Some days your feet work, your legs respond, and your body gives you a glimpse of what it’s capable of. Other days, you’re fighting just to keep the pedals turning.

Today was one of the good days.

The biggest victory wasn’t the speed or the PRs. It was seeing that there is still power left in this body. There is still strength to build. There is still another level to chase.

Every workout, every mile, every rep is a vote for the future version of myself that will line up at the start of the 100-mile El Tour de Tucson.

CMT may change how I ride.

It may change how I generate power.

It may change how long I can stand on the pedals or how quickly my legs respond.

But it doesn’t get to decide whether I keep moving forward.

Today was proof of that.

For more than 30 years, my deficiencies were pointed out.People mocked my body.They laughed at my skinny ankles, my smal...
06/03/2026

For more than 30 years, my deficiencies were pointed out.

People mocked my body.

They laughed at my skinny ankles, my smaller arms, my awkward gait, my falls, my limitations, and all the things I couldn’t do.

And after hearing it long enough, I started looking at myself through the same lens.

My whole life became a search for weaknesses.

Everything that was wrong.
Everything that was broken.
Everything that didn’t measure up.

But my weaknesses are not what defines me.

My strengths are.

My determination.

My courage.

My resilience.

My ability to adapt.

My willingness to keep moving forward when it would have been easier to quit.

Most of us have spent years studying our limitations and almost no time studying our strengths.

We know every flaw.

Every symptom.

Every insecurity.

But can you name your five greatest strengths?

Because that’s where growth begins.

Not by ignoring reality.

But by recognizing that you are more than your struggles.

So if the first half of my life was spent focusing on my weaknesses, then the second half will be spent talking about my strengths.

And I think it’s time more people with CMT did the same.

Today, I challenge you to name one strength that this disease could never take from you.

Strength. Identity. The courage to adapt.

I used to be different.My voice didn’t always shake.My feet stood firmly on the ground.I leaped without looking. Crossed...
06/03/2026

I used to be different.

My voice didn’t always shake.

My feet stood firmly on the ground.

I leaped without looking. Crossed canyons. Climbed mountains. Swam rivers.

I was unstoppable, convinced I could conquer the world.

And what a foolish understanding of strength that was.

Back then, I was unburdened.

Unburdened by pain.
Unburdened by limitations.
Unburdened by muscles that no longer work.
Unburdened by feet that barely move.
Unburdened by hips that struggle to carry my weight.
Unburdened by tendons torn from bone and a body that constantly demands adaptation.

I thought strength was found in what I could do. What I could physically accomplish.

I was wrong.

It was the burden that showed me who I really am.

The pressure.
The pain.
The setbacks.
The losses….so many loses.

Those things stripped away every illusion of my life and left me standing face to face with my character.

It was there, in the struggle, I discovered something far more powerful than physical ability.

I discovered resilience.

I discovered purpose.

I discovered that strength is not found in the absence of hardship.

Strength is revealed by it.

And above all else, this journey has taught me something I wish I had known years ago:

The human spirit is far more powerful than the body that carries it.

We are far more capable than we believe.

And despite everything this disease has taken, I still believe this:

We are unstoppable.

Strength. Identity. The courage to adapt.

LIVING BETWEEN WHAT WAS LOST AND WHAT REMAINSOne thing about CMT that doesn’t get talked about enough is the grief of wa...
06/02/2026

LIVING BETWEEN WHAT WAS LOST AND WHAT REMAINS

One thing about CMT that doesn’t get talked about enough is the grief of watching other people move.

Not envy.

Not bitterness.

Just grief.

Watching someone run, dance, jump, pivot, or walk without ever having to think about it.

Watching people move through the world with a freedom you can barely remember or may have never known.

And for a moment, there is a loss that hits hard.

A reminder of what CMT has taken.
What it never allowed.
Or what it may still take.

The truth is, no amount of determination, discipline, or grit can completely overcome a progressive neuromuscular disease.

And know that.

But also know something else.

We learn to appreciate movement in a way most people never will.

Every mile.
Every step.
Every ride.
Every swim.
Every climb.

Nothing is guaranteed, so nothing is taken for granted.

The grief is real.

So is the gratitude.

The space between what was lost and what remains is where I find thriving.

Mourning the things CMT has taken from me while fighting desperately for every moment it hasn’t.

Strength. Identity. The courage to adapt.

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