This one’s personal.

Last fall, I was formally diagnosed with an autoimmune issue called serositis. In some ways, getting a name for it was a relief—finally understanding what was going on. But a diagnosis doesn’t come with a fix. Over the last year and a half, my world has changed in ways I never expected.

I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve said, “It could be worse.” And yeah, that’s true. But that truth doesn’t erase the reality that this has reshaped so much of my daily life.

The Toughest Part: Losing Consistency in Movement

One of the hardest adjustments has been scaling back on physical activity. Working out, running, cycling—these have always been my outlets, my way to clear my head and feel good in my body. For years, movement was my go-to for stress relief, clarity, and overall well-being. It was the thing that kept me balanced, focused, and energized.

But now, my ability to exercise comes and goes. Some weeks, I can hit the gym regularly, lift weights, get outside for a run, and feel strong. And then, out of nowhere, my body shuts down. I’ll go a week or two where I can’t work out at all—where just getting through the day is enough of a challenge. The muscle aches, the fatigue, the unpredictable flare-ups—they dictate what I can do, not the other way around.

And then, just as suddenly as it left, my energy will return. I’ll get a stretch of days, even a couple of weeks in a row, where I feel good. Where I can push myself, sweat, move my body, and feel that sense of relief and clarity I’ve always relied on. It’s in those moments that I’m reminded of just how much I love movement, how much I’ve missed it, and how important it is for my mental well-being.

The hardest part isn’t just the physical toll—it’s the inconsistency. Never knowing when I’ll be able to train or when I’ll be forced to stop. That unpredictability messes with me more than anything. It’s forced me to let go of expectations, to take what I can get, and to stop beating myself up when my body just isn’t cooperating.

100+ Days of Feeling Like Shit

And then there was last year.

I was sick for over 100 days—not in the way that knocked me out completely, but in the way where I just felt like shit. Body aches, muscle pain, fatigue, and chills—the kind of symptoms that don’t stop you from functioning but make everything feel harder, slower, heavier.

Most days, I could still push through, still get my work done, still show up for what needed to be done. But it took more effort, more energy, more internal pep talks to keep going. And then there were the days where my body made the call for me—where I just had to admit defeat and slow down.

For someone who thrives on taking action, on pushing through, on doing—this was humbling.

But when you’re forced to slow down, you start noticing things you wouldn’t otherwise. The way people show up for you. The way small wins start to matter more. The way you start to appreciate just feeling okay.

Ditching Booze & Breaking the Mental Loops

In the midst of all this, I made another major shift. As of January 1st, I committed to removing alcohol from my life for a full year.

The main reason? Alcohol is an inflammatory substance. And when you’re already dealing with an autoimmune issue, the last thing you want to do is add more fuel to the fire. My body is already in a constant state of trying to fight something off—I don’t need to be pouring gasoline on it.

For a long time, alcohol was a constant in my life. A nice glass of red with a steak, a cold beer on a Friday night, and my personal favourite—a well-made Negroni. These weren’t just drinks; they were rituals. Comforts. Little anchors in the day or week that made things feel normal.

I won’t lie—I miss them. I’ve yet to find anything that comes remotely close to replacing a good glass of red wine. But the dealcoholized beer game? It’s pretty damn good. Heineken 00, Corona Sunbrew, and my new favourite, Guinness 0—holy shit, it’s so good.

But here’s the thing—this decision wasn’t just about the drinks themselves. It was about the constant mental negotiation that started to take up too much space in my head.

“Maybe I’ll take Monday to Thursday off.”

“Maybe I’ll only have three tonight when we go out.”

“Maybe I’ll cut back for a while and see how I feel.”

It was always a fucking conversation. An ongoing, low-grade debate with myself that, frankly, got exhausting. I don’t miss that. At all.

Now? The decision is made. No more negotiations. No more back and forth. And let me tell you—there’s a peace in that.

I’ve made this change with zero judgment for those around me—who the hell am I to judge? But I have noticed that a lot of people seem to be cutting back lately. Maybe it’s the after-effect of Dry January? Maybe it’s a shift toward a healthier lifestyle? Either way, this is my commitment for the year, with zero expectations of what happens after that. I’ll decide when the time comes.

The Catch-22 of Managing Symptoms

One of the only things that helps manage the symptoms of serositis is Advil (ibuprofen)—a simple over-the-counter medication that, on bad days, becomes an absolute necessity. Some days, I’m taking upwards of 2400mg just to keep the muscle aches, chills, and fatigue at bay. And while it helps me function, it’s not exactly a long-term solution.

The thing about relying on high doses of Advil is that it comes with its own set of problems—stomach issues, gut irritation, and long-term risks to my liver and kidneys. It’s a trade-off I have to make on certain days: do I push through the pain without it, or do I take it and deal with the side effects later? Neither choice is ideal, but this is the reality of managing a condition that has no easy fix.

This is part of why I’m leaning hard into every possible way to take back control of my health—cutting alcohol, making changes to my lifestyle, and starting my journey with the Precision Longevity Clinic. Because if there’s a way to reduce my dependence on painkillers and actually address the root of what’s happening, I’m all in.

Gratitude for My Support System

If there’s one thing I’ve been reminded of through all of this, it’s that I wouldn’t be standing as strong without the incredible people in my life.

My wife.

My close friends.

My business friends, mastermind groups, and advisors.

The people who have shown up for me in ways I never expected, who have given me space to process, to be frustrated, to be exhausted, and to still be me. Their support, patience, and encouragement have been everything. I’m beyond grateful.

What This Season Has Taught Me

For now, I’m navigating it the best I can. And even in the tough moments, I still come back to gratitude—because I’m lucky. I have incredible people in my corner. I have perspective. And this has deepened my empathy for anyone else struggling with their health, whether it’s temporary or lifelong.

If you’ve been through something similar—or are in it right now—know that you’re not alone. We keep moving forward, even if it looks different than we imagined.

Thanks for being here.

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