The Truck I Almost Turned Around

Initially, structure was things I HAD to do, and things I COULD NOT do.

Some of my first anchors were parole and probation, working out, and interpersonal relationships. It's pretty unique to each person, but it's all the same — just different flavors. Early on, my only goal was to show up, prove myself, and earn the crew's trust.

I didn't have much. I remember driving with my girlfriend to my first day in April 2024. I had just been released from OCDC. I was skinny but sort of soft. I had a beard, a bad attitude, and a quiet wanting-to-be-better mixed in underneath.

I was nervous and honestly not very hopeful. I tried to pretend I was. One thing I'll say is that I constantly told myself it only had to work once for recovery to be successful. Whether that's exactly true or just something I sold myself doesn't really matter — I felt like if I could figure out life long enough not to be dependent or have immediate constraints, I could be successful.

The problem was, I hadn't felt successful in anything other than doing dope and sitting in jail for a long time. Once upon a time I was a football player, a good friend, a good partner, a good son.

The red light in Kanata

Driving out through Kanata, I remember talking at a red light about wanting to turn around. Honestly, if my girlfriend had agreed, I would have. It's not hard to quit a job you haven't been to yet, and I was banking on her being tired and not wanting to drive me — it was a great reason, or excuse depending on who you ask.

We pulled in. She dropped me off and I had the luxury of saying hi and introducing myself. It's not super enjoyable joining a new crew, or a new jail range — being the new guy sucks, especially when you don't feel good about yourself.

The day went okay. I wasn't the greatest technically, and I wasn't in the greatest shape, but I gave it everything I had.

I got lucky and we had a couple of weather days. It was early April. On the next job there was another new guy, and I had the feeling I was going to be replaced. It's never personal in those situations — it's what the guys think is best for the crew. In the end, the other gentleman came in rough shape one day, and they ended up keeping me.

That little victory made it seem like I won the Superbowl. I honestly remember having a bit of hope for the first time. I remember starting to become friends with the crew. An acceptance.

Adding the gym

I kept showing up. I didn't like being weak, so I added the gym in June of that year. I started working out on rain days and weekends. As the season progressed, I gained strength and maintained instead of deteriorating from the physical work. I wasn't doing anything exciting that set me apart. I had a good attitude, I was coachable, and I kept showing up.

I walked into the little community center gym by my apartment one weekend. I remember being surprised how expensive it was — I had never paid for a gym before. My parents had always encouraged it and I'd had access growing up. A privilege.

I paid for it. First gym membership I'd ever bought myself. It's funny — I hadn't really ever used Amazon, or booked an appointment online, or used online anything. I'd been online before, but I'd never had credit or good credit. I just had the money in my pocket.

I was weaker than I thought I would be. I'd figured I could always get back into shape — I had a base from years of strength training growing up, loving to play football. That base was important. But atrophy is real, and the body doesn't care what you believe. I was weak, it was hard, and I didn't enjoy it at first.

I had no shorts, so I cut up some track pants and jeans. I had this ugly black Hanes wife beater and long bushy hair that wasn't shaped very nicely. It was tough. I didn't want to come back. I also didn't want to not come back, because I was unhappy with how I felt about myself.

This mental fight continued for a couple of months. Until one day, some of the guys made a joke or a comment that I was looking bigger, and I was thrilled. I hadn't had a compliment in a long time — or one I remembered, that I genuinely felt I deserved.

Something to lose

The first year progressed, and I was genuinely shocked when December showed up. The seasons were changing, and I had a new fear, something I wasn't used to dealing with: I had something to lose now.

I was going to be laid off — season change. I'd completed the first year, but now I had a full winter ahead of me, some money, and a bunch of time. I remember talking with my dad about it. I was definitely a bit nervous. What if I fucked it all up? I wasn't sure. I had a really hard time thinking about having to rebuild again. I was generally starting to not hate my life.

I planned on keeping it simple. I wanted to continue doing what was working. I think it's important to take the girl that got you to the dance. I didn't need to make any massive decisions. I was going to focus on doing what I was confident in:

Being proactive. Not letting day-to-day responsibilities accumulate. Leaning into the gym, movement, and mobility work.

I didn't really have any hobbies yet, but I started to expand my thinking — into budgeting, the future, what I actually wanted for my life.

A year earlier I'd almost asked my girlfriend to turn the truck around at a red light in Kanata. Now I was scared of losing what I'd built. That's the difference. That's what structure became.