18 Years and Counting: The Path to Overnight Success. Part 8

A new dad. A new husband. And a struggling entrepreneur trying to rebuild a business while launching a dream. That was my life in the months after bringing Tyler home. I was learning to navigate a world defined by love and exhaustion—life without money, without time, and without access to credit.

Every day started at 5:30 a.m. and went well into the evening—usually wrapping around 9:30 p.m. Weekends weren’t for rest. I worked 6 to 8 hours every Saturday and Sunday, grinding nonstop just to keep us afloat. I had to bust my ass. There was no other option. I poured every ounce of energy into rebuilding my personal training business, clawing my way back from financial disaster. Thankfully, I wasn’t alone. My team at Striation 6—Sam Trotta and Emily Cho—were putting in serious hours. Together, we were slowly digging out from the wreckage of those brutal months.

Life was finally finding rhythm again. Colleen and I were embracing parenthood, figuring it out one sleepless night at a time. Tyler was growing stronger. The business was stabilizing. Hope was creeping back in.

And then, out of nowhere—it struck.

I was in the studio, mid-session, setting up our Atlantis Power Cage for a client’s next exercise. As I crouched down to attach resistance bands to the lower crossbar, I noticed my client in the mirror. He wasn’t stretching. He wasn’t adjusting his form. He was plucking ear hair. With surgical precision. Like it was the most important part of his workout.

It was one of those ridiculous moments that catches you off guard—the kind that makes you think, Is this actually happening? I shook my head, trying not to laugh. But that split second of distraction was all it took.

I stood up—fast. Too fast. The stainless-steel support rod of the power cage was set three-quarters of the way up—and I drove my skull straight into it. Hard. It was like being hit in the head with a steel baseball bat. Lights out.

I went down instantly, crumpling into the power cage like a sack of bricks. My body twitched, my head buzzing with pain. I don’t remember hitting the floor. When I came to, my client was standing over me, wide-eyed and pale. He had no idea what happened—he’d been too busy grooming himself in the mirror to see it. The world was spinning. My vision blurred. Thankfully, my client drove me home and tried to explain to Colleen what happened.

The next three months were a fog I can barely piece together. My twelfth known concussion—and by far, the worst. I had memory issues, extreme headaches, and an inability to focus. It was so bad that one day I welcomed a client into the studio, exchanged small talk, and then—without realizing—walked out before the session even started. Twenty minutes later, I was sitting on the patio at the Starbucks down the street when my phone rang. My client was on the line, wondering where I’d gone. I had no memory of the appointment, or even greeting her moments earlier.

That was the moment I realized just how broken I really was. My brain was unreliable. My thoughts scattered. Every sound felt like an explosion, every beam of light like a knife through my skull. I was a trainer who couldn’t train, a father who could barely function, and an entrepreneur trying to hold onto a dream while my mind refused to cooperate.

For the first time since the bathtub, I didn’t know if I could keep going.

Enjoy your Sunday,

Brad