I stepped into a karate class at seven and was hooked. Fast forward to national titles, MMA cages, and sparring sessions with world-class coaches, including one who trains Israeli special forces, all drilling me to stay calm when everything hurts. Along the way I mastered Muay Thai strikes, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu chokes, wrestling takedowns, and earned a Saishokido self-defense certification.
Then I hit the weight room for looks, not form. I loaded the bar with more plates than sense, followed every shiny “six-week shred,” and collected injuries like stickers. Online diet advice made it worse—one expert said “keto,” the next screamed “carbs,” and I ended up hating food and my body.