Gasping for air on a mountain trail high above timberline, I stopped and looked up at the hikers disappearing into the rocks above me and wondered what I had gotten myself into this time.
In July 2017, I closed one chapter of my life and began another. Since first visiting the Rocky Mountains as a teenager, I had dreamed of someday returning to Colorado to live out my retired years hiking and backpacking. Now, with my children living their own lives, I packed up my belongings and — newly separated from my wife of fourteen years — moved to Denver and joined a hiking group.
At 57 years old, on my first hike with the group, I weighed 260 pounds (118 kg) and stood 69 inches (175 cm) tall. Less than halfway into a moderately hard day hike, I found myself out of breath and questioning everything that had led up to that moment.
Self-delusion is a poison we drink each day. For me, it was embodied in the decades I’d spent in wilderness environments around the world. I served in the U.S. Army for twenty-four years on active duty and in the reserves as a Special Forces Medic, earning a commission and eventually spending ten years as the team leader of a Military Free-Fall (HALO) Team. I knew how to hike.
In the fifteen years since retiring, I had really put on the pounds. It was very flat in South Florida, where we lived, but I’d take my son up to backpack on the Appalachian Trail once or twice a year. Those trips were challenging for both of us. I don’t remember going from a size Medium to an XXL, but my T-shirt collection tells the story — like rings on a tree.
We lived a very typical white-bread life. My diet back then consisted of many foods whose nutritional value was outweighed by the emotional reward I got from eating them. You know what I mean. Ice cream? French fries? If your pulse quickens, you probably understand — you’re hooked, just like most of us. My self-image, though, was still anchored in “former Green Beret” credibility, even though the old uniforms in my closet no longer fit.
So was it any surprise that I signed up for a hike to 13 000 feet (3 960 m) the week after moving to Colorado? I had all the right gear and the self-confidence of an experienced hiker, but the extra weight around my middle acted as a brake on my enthusiasm that day — and led me to deeper questions in the weeks that followed.
Have you had that kind of wake-up call? They come like waves sometimes, with a big one at the end. For me, that wave crashed and started me on a journey that continues today — one of self-awareness and self-acceptance. I have standards that I’ve set, and I accept that there is no other way.
If you think transformation means absolution from personal responsibility for remaining fat and out of shape, think again. For me, taking ownership of my physical condition was the first real step forward. While not easy, losing 20–30 pounds (9–14 kg) of belly fat is simple — and it doesn’t matter whether you’re wrestling with deeply entrenched demons or just got suckered into a $1 000 bet with your brother (like I did once).
Keeping it off is where success lives. My intent with Garrett Good is to show adult men that it’s possible to be fit and maintain a reasonable weight. If you’ve faced challenges losing or maintaining a healthy weight, I’d love to hear about it in the comments.
I call it The Box, and it’s like your personal performance range — a way of defining the boundaries that keep you in your sweet spot, like a barometric-pressure or temperature range for your own well-being.
So when I talk about Garrett Good and The Box, I’m really saying:
Here’s the range where I thrive. This is where I stay fit. This is where I stay healthy. It’s not about perfection; it’s about knowing the range that works for me — and staying within it.
If you’re a man between about 30 and 65 with 20–50 pounds (9–23 kg) to lose, maybe I can help. I found a way to lose 90 pounds (41 kg) of excess fat — and to keep it off for four years now. I’m sharing that story in essays as I write my book.
That day on the trail was the moment I started rebuilding the man I thought I still was.
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