I was born in Vermont, the second of three kids. My father coached high school athletics. My mother taught piano. I grew up believing the body and the mind are two sides of the same coin — and then spent thirty years proving I could ignore that entirely.

My career was in people and operations. I rose to Chief Human Resources Officer at a Fortune 500 company, then to COO. I was good at building organizations. I was not good at taking care of myself.

By the time I retired, in 2023 at 64, I hadn't exercised consistently in close to a decade. I noticed what most active people notice in their fifties and choose to ignore: a quieter tiredness, a slower recovery, a grip that gave out a little earlier than expected. I attributed it to long hours. I was wrong to treat it as an excuse.

The moment that changed things was simple and embarrassing: I had to set down a bag of groceries because my arms shook.

What followed wasn't a return to a commercial gym. I had tried that in my early fifties — six weeks, then stopped. The mirrors, the noise, the implicit suggestion that fitness was a performance for other people. None of it fit. Instead, I started with what was already in the house: a sturdy chair, two water bottles, a broomstick, a backpack loaded progressively with books. A year of that produced results I hadn't expected from such modest tools.

I write about what I've learned the hard way. Not as a certified trainer or a doctor — I'm neither, and I say so — but as someone who has been exactly where most of my readers are, and found a clear path forward.

I live in Vermont, with my wife Carol. I walk three to five miles every morning. I practice yoga daily. I train in my basement three mornings a week. I grow vegetables badly and play piano more carefully than I used to.

These guides are for people who are ready to do the work.