I wasn’t supposed to make it this far.

I was born six weeks early, to parents who weren’t ready. They fought constantly, partied hard, and eventually split up. My sister went with my dad, and I stayed with my mom — even after my dad evicted us. From that point on, it was chaos. I was the kid working at 14 and drifting through life without much guidance.

I didn’t find stability until I found the pool.

It started as a lifeguard job. But something about the water clicked with me. I started swimming — slowly at first, but then all in. I had structure. I had goals. I pulled my grades up, fought for a fifth year of high school just to stay on track, and found a way forward. I even met my future wife because of the sport. She was someone who saw me for more than the rough edges. She believed in me before I believed in myself.

I chased swimming hard. Went to college. Trained like hell. I became a sprint freestyler — my main focus was the 50- and 100-yard races. I trained to reach a 20.34-second 50-yard freestyle and a 45.05-second 100-yard freestyle. I competed at NCAAs and U.S. Winter Nationals. After college, I continued to train, and in 2016, I missed the U.S. Olympic trial cut by only 0.35 seconds. I achieved all of this even though I didn’t even start swimming until junior year of high school.

But all that time, something wasn’t right.

I was always thin. Always coughing. I cleared my throat constantly after races, during workouts, even while I was coaching. I didn’t gain muscle or weight like the other sprinters. My recovery was always a little behind. But I brushed it off. I figured that was just my body.

Then COVID-19 happened and everything got worse.

After getting COVID, my health started spiraling. I couldn’t train consistently. I kept getting sick, fatigued, and inflamed. My sinuses were a mess. I started having anxiety, or what I thought was anxiety — chest tightness, insomnia, and lightheadedness. I went from working out daily to barely doing anything. For over two years, I lived like that. Burned out, confused, and frustrated. Doctors told me it was stress and anxiety driving my sickness. They prescribed meds that didn’t help. I tried everything.

And it didn’t just affect my personal life. It nearly destroyed my career.

At the time, I was the head swim coach at a Division II school. I built a powerhouse program and had one of the most successful tenures in school history. But my body was falling apart. I couldn’t keep up. I was exhausted all the time, getting sick constantly, and still had no real explanation for any of it. I kept pushing, but my health kept declining. I was stuck.

Eventually, I got let go. The termination felt like a punch in the gut; not just because I loved that job, but because deep down, I knew I wasn’t just “struggling” or “burnt out.” Something was actually wrong. But I didn’t have proof yet.

Until I figured it out myself.

After landing my dream job coaching at a Division I school, I noticed something weird — my hands would wrinkle instantly in water. Not just prune up a little, but full-on aquagenic wrinkling within seconds. I’d never really thought about it before, but it stuck with me. This isn’t normal. I started digging. Researching. Reading medical papers. And every trail led to the same place: cystic fibrosis. I went to my doctor and said, “I want a sweat test. I think I have CF.” They looked at me like I was reaching, but I wasn’t wrong.

A few tests later, the diagnosis was official — I had cystic fibrosis. At 33 years old.

I felt a wave of emotions... relief, grief, anger, clarity. All these symptoms weren’t just in my head. It wasn’t burnout. It wasn’t anxiety. It was a disease. It had a name. And I finally uncovered it. I started Trikafta immediately, and everything changed.

Within days, I was purging mucus I didn’t even know was in me. Within weeks, I was breathing through my nose (which I’d never naturally done before). My sinuses cleared. My lungs opened up. I could move again. My sleep improved. For the first time in my life, I felt like my body was working with me instead of against me.

It’s made me reflect on everything I accomplished before this diagnosis, both as an athlete and a coach, and just how much I’d been carrying without knowing it. I wasn’t just overcoming a tough background. I was unknowingly training with a chronic genetic disease the entire time.

Since my diagnosis, I’ve become deeply committed to making sure no one else walks blindly through the same fog I did. I now serve on the advisory board for my local CF clinic, and I’m volunteering with the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation to share my story … not for sympathy, but for awareness, action, and advocacy.

I’m also proud to be receiving care through West Virginia University Medicine, where I’ve finally found a care team that listens, supports, and collaborates with me. It’s made a world of difference having experts who treat me like a partner in my own health.

This journey isn’t about what I’ve lost. It’s about what I’m building now — a path forward for others like me who were told it was “just in their head.” Because it wasn’t. And we’re not alone anymore.

Interested in sharing your story? The CF Community Blog wants to hear from you.