How We Got Here!

The full story, for anyone who wants to understand what Serious Dad Bod actually is.

I was not an athlete growing up. If anything I was a competitive eater. I carried extra weight through most of my early years — basically until my mid-30s, when I was an anesthesia resident at NY Presbyterian on the Upper East Side of Manhattan.

Every November the NYC Marathon ran past our street. My wife Kristin and I would run down to watch the elites go by. Somewhere in there I decided I should do that.

I'd never run a 5K.

A friend gave me a treadmill. I started at just over 4 MPH. We were leaving the city for New Mexico, so I registered and planned to come back the following year. In 2004 I did. I finished the NYC Marathon.

Then I decided the best training strategy was to run a marathon every month and just taper continuously. That plan collapsed in April. I decided I never wanted to run again.

Enter the bicycle. Colnago to BMC to Parlee to Guru. My year revolved around the Iron Horse Bicycle Classic — 47 miles over two 10,000-foot passes from Durango to Silverton. "It will be fun," they said. I kept coming back, so maybe they were right.

As my 40th birthday approached, an Ironman seemed like a natural next step. I wasn't much of a swimmer, but I knew how not to drown. I reached out to Gordo Byrn for coaching. He connected me to Alan Couzens. I signed up for Ironman Arizona 2008 and gave myself a year to prepare.

I finished. Didn't really know how to swim. A repeating theme.

I trained seriously through 2012. Then life took over in the way life does. I became president of my medical group, then CEO, while still working full time as an anesthesiologist. We moved to Washington in 2014. The training became something, then not much, then something small again.

In 2022 I went back and finished Ironman Canada.

That same October, COVID hit. I recovered from the illness. My heart didn't recover as quickly. My resting heart rate — usually in the 50s — surged into the high 80s and low 90s. My HRV tanked. For over a year I couldn't train the way I wanted to without blowing past every heart rate ceiling.

After what I call the million-dollar workup, the diagnosis was atrial tachycardia. In January 2024 I went to the EP lab for a cardiac ablation. Recovery was slower than expected. My heart rate stayed elevated for months. I swapped Ironman Canada for Washington 70.3. Then I got COVID again — six days before race day. I went to the course anyway. Rang a cowbell for hours. Cheered on a friend by name as he ran past. It was bittersweet and, genuinely, kind of great.

In February 2025 I got hit with flu and pneumonia simultaneously. Oxygen sat in the 80s. Scared for the first time in a while. Recovered. Started over. Again.

Here's what I've learned from all of it.

Fitness is fragile and forgiving in equal measure. You can lose years of conditioning to a single illness. You can also rebuild faster than you think if you're patient and honest about where you actually are, not where you wish you were.

I don't train to race anymore. I race because I train. Training is the point — for my future self, for the example it sets for my kids, for the life it makes possible. My daughter ran a half marathon with me. My son now says he wants to do an Ironman together. Neither of them were particularly athletic growing up. I don't think that happened by accident.

In September 2025 I finished Ironman 70.3 Tri-Cities. 5:58:02. Wetsuit took eight minutes to get off. GI issues made the run a negotiation. Winds were 16 mph with gusts to 25. I was proud of that finish.

In December 2025 I DNF'd La Quinta 70.3. 58-degree water. Both legs locked into full cramps within minutes. I sat in T1 for 22 minutes trying to will my nervous system back online. Then I made the honest call, got out my cowbell, and cheered for everyone who kept going. First DNF in twenty years of endurance sport. I'm not treating it as a failure. It's a data point.

The brand started as a joke. When COVID hit in 2020 and the ORs went quiet, I figured I'd start an online presence. I wasn't in shape. Dad bod was accurate. Serious Dad Bod felt both true and a little defiant — because I was serious about not staying there.

That's still what this is. Not a transformation story with a clean ending. Not a fitness influencer with a protocol to sell. Just someone who decided the default wasn't enough, doing the work in public, and being honest about how hard and uncertain and worthwhile it actually is.

The default is the dad bod. It's widely accepted. Nobody's wrong for choosing it.

I just didn't want to accept that this is all there is.

So here we are. CTL climbing. 1030 days to the next age group. Still figuring it out. Still doing it anyway.

Want to follow along? Start with the blog or find me on Instagram.