In my early twenties I was 30 kilos heavier, living in Newtown, and ordering UberEats for breakfast. A mate dragged me to a Saturday morning bootcamp at Camperdown Park. I hated every second. I went back the next week anyway. Then the week after. Something about the routine — just showing up, failing, adjusting — rewired the way I thought about myself.
I got certified because I wanted to understand the mechanics, not just repeat exercises. Cert IV, sports nutrition, biomechanics. I worked the floor at Fitness First Martin Place. Did sunrise sessions at Bondi. Ran group circuits at Sydney Park. Every client taught me something a textbook never could: the best program on paper is worthless if it doesn’t fit the way someone actually lives.
So that became my entire approach. I don’t hand you a twelve-week template and wish you luck. I learn your schedule, your stress, your old injuries, the gym you’ll actually go to. Then I write something you can stick with — and I adjust it every week based on what’s real, not what’s ideal.
Eight years and 200-odd clients later, the thing I care about most isn’t a before-and-after grid. It’s the people who’ve been training with me for three, four years. They don’t need me anymore. They stay because the work itself became something they value. That’s the only metric that matters to me.