Sometimes I thank God I became a heart patient.

 

Two and a half years ago I came home from the hospital. I awoke the next day and stared at my Cheerios in 1% milk and my tasteless coffee with fake cream and hated my life. I stared with disdain and regret. I never understood runners who spoke cheerfully while eating fresh fruit and downing a cup of almond milk for breakfast. Who broke them? Why would they torture themselves?

 

Then I had the loaded .45 placed against my head and I was forced to change, cold turkey. More correctly, the barrel of that weapon was placed against my heart, with a finger on the trigger. The choice to pull was mine. So, everything went. My diet went in the trash. Like sweeping the table clear of every edible item that was unhealthy and watching it tumble into a dumpster at the end; I watched the fatty, greasy foods tumble away and said my sad goodbyes.

 

I was broken hearted (literally), but I found love again. I fell head over heels in love with bicycling and fitness. Like a Disney prince who melts and folds upon looking into the eyes of his princess, I would find passion in cycling, ride and fix myself. I would change my diet and my mindset, all but to have her hand, to kiss her face, and touch her perfect skin. I vowed to fix me.

Goggins and Willink showed me how to focus and fuel my body for better health and performance. As my diet evolved, my vision grew better. I no longer viewed food as entertainment, but fuel; fuel for the purpose of repairing my body and firing locomotion.

 

Years ago I traveled the world. Hotels fed me grand breakfasts. I piled waffles high with butter and syrup, blueberries and strawberries, whipped cream made from heavy cream and sugar. What else can I throw on? Give me that bacon and a slice of fatty ham! Pile it on top and throw on a scoop of ice cream for good measure. Wait ’till you see the alcohol I can consume tonight. My blood will be sterile and the germs from this foreign land will be killed off, not from my immune system, but from the drink that flows in the pubs and bars after work – for the next 4 to 8 weeks!

The wheels of my 747 or 777 will touch down in America and I’ll walk proudly through customs and plan my home coming celebration. You’ve seen it in the color photos of National Geographic, but my feet have walked that land. Sometimes I would stop long enough to think that I am the first, the very first, of anyone in the long line of generations of my family, to set foot in the countries in which I have worked. I would think to myself, “I have done something pretty amazing and there is still celebration to come”.

 

‘The company is paying’ so my reward dinners would be grandiose and lavish as well. I dined on the most tender meats drenched in sauces, paired with complimentary drink, and finished with rich dessert. I was thanking and rewarding myself for a job well done. The thick smoke from a fine after dinner cigar would fill my lungs and the air around me. Like a junkie piercing needle into vein the momentary pleasure satisfied my desire, but was slowly killing me. I didn’t know.

Today my diet is so vastly different, and my air is smoke free. Looking back, I can’t recognize where I’ve come from. If you asked me to change it back then, it never would have happened, but I was lucky. I had the sense knocked into me. I was forced and I had a desire.

 

I used to joke that we are alive because someone in our family survived every war, every famine, every plague, every storm, and every challenge on the face of this earth throughout human history. I’ve worked around the globe at Intel, AMD, Samsung, Hyundai, LG, Sony, Mitsubishi, Symbios NCR, Philips, Siemens and more. I used to think it was because I was good at what I did. Partly true. Really, I was given the opportunity because I was here. I was here because two people fell in love. They were each here because two people fell in love before them. So, yes. I’m here and traveled this great earth because two people fell in love. Over and over and over again, throughout the history of mankind. Each a love story. Some tragic. Some cruel. The vast majority of which I will never know, but certainly some were more amazing than a story book and I am only here because of them.

 

This morning my breakfast is comprised of a fairly heart healthy waffle and an incredibly rare syrup made as part of batch of only six gallons a year from a local New Hampshire farm. The 50 gallons of sap is cooked down over 40 hours to make it. My nurses and dieticians allow me the sugar due to my dedication to exercise. The butter substitute is fat free and so is the silky nitrogen infused creamer for my coffee. It is my decadent Sunday breakfast, and it is glorious to tastebuds now geared to the absence of fats. That silly waffle maker means more to me than you’ll ever know. Most could never understand.

 

I stared at those Cherios two and a half years ago hating the life I saw before me. If I only knew that day – where I would find myself now. Longing to get out on the road. Longing to cycle. Like missing the sound of her voice and dying to see my princess again – I yearn to take two wheels to the road. To make my muscles burn and my body sweat. To go faster. Go farther. Push just a little more than yesterday. I had no clue as to just how amazing this volume of my story was going to be. And I’m just a dad.

 

I implore you to find yourself a passion that ignites you. Find yourself a reason to strive harder. I’m no Disney prince, but I play the fool just as well. I found a way to fight through this and a crush that pulls me back into a heart healthy life, again and again. Even when I stumble. Even when I go off course. Like the eyes of my princess. My crush reels me in and I am defenseless. I wear spandex cycling gear, eat fresh fruit, and drink almond milk. A party is maple syrup on a waffle washed down with delicious coffee.

 

Sometimes I thank God I became a heart patient.

 

Remember, 100 years ago this surgery didn’t exist. There was no heart lung machine. You’ve been given something your ancestors were not. They say, in a world of ordinary be amazing. No. In a world of ordinary you are spectacular! You need to know this and you need to embrace it on your worst days. Fight to be here. Even if you don’t write or journal, even if you don’t post often. Tell your family. Tell your friends. Your story needs to be told. You’re here because two people fell in love, then two more, then two more. It was repeated over and over and over again, since your family tree first came into being.

 

Because of that: You. The product of an amazing lineage.

 

Then you survived open heart surgery. Don’t let that go to waste.