I was hired as a group instructor at a Philadelphia health club, where I had the opportunity to fine-tune my craft as a teacher with the support of some incredible people. You could say that during this time, things began to fall into place. I decided to get certified as a personal trainer and deepen my understanding of nutrition. When I led fitness classes, I had a purpose. Modeling was all about aesthetics leading fitness classes was all about inspiring people to move their bodies to build strength and feel good. In retrospect, I see how both modeling and leading fitness classes include an element of performance, but motivating people through fitness instruction was much more fulfilling. Encouraging and inspiring people has always been a part of who I am, and after working with Tre’ to build out even more well-attended classes, I knew I wanted to pursue a career in fitness. When Tre’ had to take some time off, he let me run some of his camps, and I loved it. Early on, he saw something in me that I had yet to see in myself: the ability to be a key part of the fitness industry. Tre’ also had a way of pushing me past my limits. I was immediately hooked: They were intense, high energy, and collaborative in a way that felt empowering after years of solo workouts. I’d never done a boot-camp class before, but I figured it would be a great way to meet people who share my interests. While searching Facebook for fitness communities, I stumbled upon a guy named Tre’ who hosted boot-camp classes in the area. Two years after moving, I decided to step away from modeling and bring my focus back to fitness. In 2006, I moved to Philadelphia, and that’s when life really started for me. So, I asked myself another question: What’s next? A New Chapter I was always focused on what I could improve, and although I was feeling healthier, I began to recognize that neither weight loss nor modeling was the answer to the internal challenges I was facing (and still face today). Worse, I realized that I hadn’t come to accept my body. I still had loose skin from my weight loss, and I wasn’t ready to be part of an industry I didn’t feel would accept my body. I had to change clothes in front of other people, or do shoots where I needed to take my shirt off. Yet the deeper I delved into the industry, the more unsettled and insecure I became. There was something about modeling that losing weight and eating right hadn’t given me, and that was the ability to really own who I am and share it with others. Though I was hesitant at first, as soon as I stepped on the runway, it clicked. I was about 25 when a friend suggested I model. It seemed like a great time to take on a new adventure. I lost about 100 pounds - and most important, I felt stronger and more excited for life than I had in years. Over the next two years, my health transformed. Eventually, I was doing two-a-days, visiting the gym whenever I wasn’t working at my full-time job in data entry or my part-time job as a janitor. I committed to drinking plenty of water each day. I immediately cut out alcohol and fried foods. Having watched my father struggle with his health, I was determined to do whatever I could to avoid following a similar path. The doctor’s warning was the wake-up call I needed. My parents did the best they could when I was growing up, but fitness and healthy eating hadn’t been priorities. My own heart almost stopped at those words: I was just 21.Īt the time, I stood around 5 feet 10 inches tall and weighed about 265 pounds I didn’t really exercise, and I had never kept to a strict diet. That journey began in 1999 when my doctor warned me that I was following a path like that of my father, who had suffered from coronary heart disease and died in his late 30s from a heart attack. My body dysmorphia is rooted in my history with weight loss. It was then that I knew modeling was no longer for me. In my eyes, the fabric of my shirt was the only thing protecting me from the judgment of my peers. All the other models looked so built and perfect - I couldn’t bear to imagine what they would think of my body. I couldn’t stop thinking about the people around me who would see the loose skin on my 29-year-old body and notice that my right pec was not as defined as my left. I should have been excited, but my mind was racing. It was 2008, and I had just signed on with a New York City casting agency. My body dysmorphia had emerged in full force. My heart began beating rapidly and my palms started to sweat. Standing in a room among other models preparing for a fashion show, I was suddenly paralyzed by the prospect of taking off my shirt.
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