I breathe
to slow down my thoughts.
Around me,
noises rise and fall—
different levels,
different tones.
I close my eyes
to see my vision,
to remind myself
of who I am
and why I am here.
I stand in the middle
of a spinning universe—
different directions,
different rhythms,
different tones.
And still, I stand.
I breathe.
I close my eyes.
I am the universe within the universe.
I choose my pace.
I choose my path.
I choose my tone.
And I take
one deep breath.
A month ago, I sat in a cold clinic room, waiting. I had just finished an hour-long EMG test—a grueling experience that felt less like a medical exam and more like a slow form of torture.
When the specialist finally spoke, the news was heavy: Grade 3 Carpal Tunnel Syndrome in my right hand, and Grade 2 in my left.
Usually, Grade 3 is a direct ticket to the operating table. But then, the doctor paused, looking puzzled.
“In most cases, we suggest surgery for Grade 3,” he said. “But in your case, we’re opting for a steroid injection first. You still have full motor function. No muscle wasting, no loss of strength in your thumb. Honestly… we’re wondering what you’ve been doing to protect your hands. Most people at this stage have already lost their grip.”
I answered calmly: “I do strength training. I lift heavy with a coach.”
A Shield, Not a Cure
It is important to be clear: strength training didn’t “cure” my Carpal Tunnel. The sensory damage—the numbness that started last September—is real. It’s right there on the EMG. But what the iron has done is provide a biological shield.
Nineteen months ago, my coach Jonathan started me on a path of strict posture and heavy weights. Back then, it was about my knees—cartilage loss, edema, and cysts that made a simple squat feel impossible. Within a month, the pain was gone.
Now, that same commitment to strength is showing its value in my hands.
The Mystery of the Numbness
When the numbness started in my right hand last September, it didn’t fit the standard “profile” for Carpal Tunnel. My grip was strong. My hands were functional. In fact, I noticed something weird: the numbness actually felt better after I trained.
The EMG finally solved the mystery. While my sensory nerves were showing significant damage (the numbness), my motor nerves—the ones that control movement and power—were almost untouched.
The doctor’s advice was simple: “Continue what you are doing. It is slowing down the progression.”
The Critical Role of the Coach
I couldn’t have done this alone. When you are dealing with nerve damage or “nightmare” knees, you cannot afford to guess. You need a coach like Jonathan—someone who is “scary” about the details because he knows the stakes.
A great coach doesn’t just give you a workout; they provide the technical guardrails that allow you to lift heavy enough to stimulate growth without aggravating your condition. Jonathan’s insistence on perfect form is the reason I can squat with no cartilage and grip a barbell with Grade 3 Carpal Tunnel. He didn’t just teach me to lift; he taught me how to protect my longevity.
Conclusion
Strength training is a tool for preservation, but only if executed with precision. It may not always reverse the clock or erase a diagnosis, but it can significantly slow the descent. By keeping the muscles around my nerves strong and my body active, I have turned a “surgical emergency” into a “manageable situation.”
We lift not just to get better, but to stay capable. If you are facing a “downhill slope” with your health, don’t just wait for the bottom. Find a coach who demands excellence, and build the strength to slow the slide.
Disclaimer :
Not paid just a believer
http://www.eleavatecoaching.be
You must be my longest work colleague ever—we’ve worked together on and off for more than 10 years now. That alone deserves a medal.
In all these years, I’ve learned to admire you.
Pure, sheer admiration.
You’ve been strong even when the whole world around you was collapsing—and you still stood there, fighting your battles. I love how you take care of yourself, whether it’s exercise or food. You proved that a person who exercises really does have stronger bones when you had your accident. That was a big eye-opener for me—and the inspiration I needed to make myself fit. Thank you for that.
Passion at work
At 60-something (😉), your drive and passion for our work are honestly unbelievable. Magnesium intake after work or not, you move like you’re still in your 40s. And that smile of yours—it gives instant assurance.
MC, I think we really will work together until we’re properly old, just like we always say:
“Den oukes is weer aan slag.”
I admire you deeply—and you are my silent (and sometimes very obvious) inspiration.
Last night, I did my progressive test training — the test that almost every one of Jonathan’s ( you can follow him or check his ig profile jonathan_elevatecoaching) clients knows means living on the edge (and questioning life choices).
For the last 18 months, I’ve been grateful to have a coach who pushes me, lets me curse him, believes in me, and somehow still earns my trust that every week I am looking forward of our session
As I powered through those painful supersets, I looked back and realized these 18 months have been a journey of consistency, brutal core exercises, sore muscles, and new gym buddies — the kind you just exchange fist bumps with and keep moving.
Yes, I look good, feel good, and I’m grateful to have a badass coach.
Again and again, I’m a full believer in getting yourself a coach for better guidance and results — or at the very least, keep moving and lift if possible.
So, to me: happy 18 months.
And thank you, coach. 💪🔥
Disclaimer : not paid , simply a believer
Let me choose kindness
that draws boundaries, not walls.
Let me choose to be
a part of someone’s smile.
Let me choose to let go,
and let battles be
the ones not worth fighting.
Let me be the best friend
I once longed for.
Let me.
“Striving valiantly in the arena, facing challenges, and daring to try, even if one fails.” – Theodore Roosevelt
Victory is not always about triumph; sometimes, it is simply the courage to keep going, to face our own imperfections with love and acceptance. At times, life takes unexpected turns that carry us higher than we ever imagined.
Santorini. The pandemic had just begun to ease, borders carefully reopening, and after two long years of isolation, it was my first journey back into the world. The island was almost empty, its silence amplifying its beauty.
One afternoon, Jen, Ralla, and I decided to walk from Akrotiri to Emporio, a trail of about 7 kilometers. By the time we arrived, our feet were heavy, and our bodies tired. Jen sat down to rest and asked us to capture photos she could post later.
As Ralla prepared the camera, my eyes caught a beautiful church nearby. Its roof looked climbable, and I thought to myself—this could be the perfect place for a once-in-a-lifetime shot, with the caldera standing boldly behind me.
Without a second thought, I leapt, climbed, and stood tall on that rooftop. “Take the shot now!” I called out. The result was stunning: a woman standing with confidence against the wide-open sky. But what the picture didn’t show was what I felt inside—the rush of fear as the wind brushed past me, the trembling thought that I might fall. And yet, beneath that fear, a quiet voice whispered: Hold still. You got this.
And I did.
Reflection
Life often places us on rooftops we never expected to climb. From the outside, others may see only strength, beauty, and confidence. But inside, we may be battling fear, doubt, or the wind that threatens to unsteady us. Courage is not the absence of fear—it is the choice to stay, to trust, to hold still in the moment and whisper to ourselves, You got this.
In the end, the most powerful victories are not in how the world sees us, but in how we rise above our inner storms and dare to stand tall—imperfect, yet unshaken.
Silent smiles, downward winks—
a pulse,
a rush of something unnamed.
A glimpse of love,
the hush of peace,
the soft sunrise of hope.
Little triumphs shimmer
within this golden cage—
a secret handshake,
a quiet nod of assurance.
Tiny joys, quiet victories,
rippling through my chest,
nourishing the fragile thread of hope.
I gather them—
my moments,
my space,
my sacred souvenirs
from the life that almost was.
A life shaped before I knew
how to shape one for myself.
Wings to fly,
To soar up high,
To feel the joy of open sky.
Wings to see what lies unseen,
Above the clouds, beyond the green.
Wings to lift, to dream, to try—
To give us hope,
And help us fly.
I am tired.
I need to breathe.
I need to gasp for air.
I am devastated—
Shattered dreams, false hope.
I need to gasp for air.
I am trapped.
I need to break this cycle.
I take a deep breath; I will face the sunrise,
A ray of hope,
A ray of strength.
Step by step, I shall rise.
Step by step, I shall rejuvenate.
I breathe slowly…
I will learn to hope again.
