Because I Watched My Mother Die
That's the honest answer.
My mother spent her last 18 months completely housebound. She couldn't walk from her chair to the car parked right outside the door. She couldn't make it to the bathroom. She sat in a lift chair because she couldn't stand up on her own.
She suffered from years of obesity and zero muscle tone. She dislocated her shoulder trying to clean herself after using the bathroom.
She lived on handfuls of pills every day. Insulin multiple times daily. Her blood sugar would drop so low I couldn't wake her. Other times she'd be so out of it from all the medications that she was basically drugged.
She was a prisoner in her own body. And it didn't have to be that way.
The Family Pattern
Both sides of my family are the same story.
Diabetes diagnosed in the 30s and 40s. High blood pressure first, then diabetes. Pills to manage it. Then the pills stop working. Then insulin. Then more insulin. Then complications.
My father's mother lost half a leg to diabetes before cancer finally killed her. My father died at 69, diabetic his entire adult life.
All of my mother's cousins. All diabetic. All overweight. All dying younger than they should have.
I watched them at family reunions, piling plates as high as possible like it was a competition. Going back for more and more. Eating until they looked drugged.
I was part of it too. At 23, in photos from those reunions, I looked like I was drugged or in a food coma. Because I was.
The Turning Point
At 35, I was still at a desk job. I felt horrible. I was gaining weight every year. I could see exactly where I was headed.
I looked at my family and thought: I'm an only child with no children by choice. There's no one to take care of me if I end up like them.
I had to do something before it was too late.
A coworker talked me into joining a gym on March 31, 2011. She quit after four weeks.
I kept going.
Why I Keep Going
Because dying doesn't scare me. Living like my mother did? That terrifies me.
Being unable to get up from a chair. Being unable to walk to your car. Having your entire life revolve around medications. Feeling like garbage all the time. Having no energy. Being trapped in your own home, in your own body.
That's what scares me.
Why I Teach
I started teaching because the instructors who pushed me hard were leaving. I didn't want to settle for less.
But I keep teaching because I see people changing their lives. I watch people get off medications. I see 87-year-olds doing Tabata. I see people in their 70s still doing their own yard work and living independently.
I keep teaching because someone comes to class after a 12-hour shift because they know they'll feel better when they leave than when they walked in.
I keep teaching because I remember what it felt like to be tired from doing nothing. To be headed down the same path as everyone in my family. To feel trapped.
What I Want You to Know
Your genetics don't determine your future. Your choices do.
Every year you don't address your health is another year closer to the life my mother lived. Another year of damage that's harder to undo.
But every day you show up and move is a day you're choosing a different path.
The Real Reason
I do this because I refuse to be my mother.
I do this because I've seen what happens when you don't.
I do this because your 70-year-old self is depending on the choices your current self makes today.
I do this because someone needs to tell you the truth: you can change this. You can be in better shape at 50 than you were at 25. You can get off medications. You can avoid the health problems you see in your family.
But only if you're willing to do the work.
My Promise
I'll show up every single day. I won't cancel. I won't call subs. I'll push you harder than you think you can go.
Because I know what you're capable of. I know you can do more than you think you can.
And I know what happens if you don't.
That's why I do what I do.