Nobody ever thought I would quit bodybuilding, and neither did I to be honest. When I was 16 years old, I saw some pictures of a friend who had just competed in Mr. Universe, and from that day I had a vision: I wanted to look like that—well, my own version of it, at least.
I bought a small multi-gym with some dumbbells and started cranking out reps in my mother’s house. I was hooked; I loved the pump and seeing my muscles grow, I still do. I joined a gym after two years, which is the time I took to outgrow my equipment and feel strong enough to train among the men.
I was very eager and had no ego; I was enjoying pushing myself. I remember the guys could see my enthusiasm, and since I was a young teen, they were happy to offer suggestions and guidance. But it didn’t take long before those same guys were asking me for advice. It puzzled them how a young lad could join a gym, start chest pressing the 10 kg dumbbells, and within a few short months, be shoulder pressing the 50s. It was ridiculous for sure, but I loved the challenge. I embraced the struggle, loved the experiment, and I was growing like a weed—but unlike a weed, I was happy it was happening.
I started attending a few bodybuilding shows, because two of the bodybuilders at the gym I went to, competed there. They had become my friends. Unfortunately, neither of them is here with us today; they both passed away at a young age in their early 30s.
By the time I was 21 years old, which seems old by today’s standards for people competing, I was ready to enter my first bodybuilding show. I competed for two years as a junior in the BNBF Mr. Wales, made some significant changes, and learned a lot, some of what to do and some of what not to do.
I took 2010 off because I wanted to add more muscle to step into the open category; I was 69 kg at the time. Eighteen months later, I was stepping on stage at 80 kg at the UKBBF Mr. Wales. I competed for two years in this category before deciding to take another period off to maximize my growth. I came back 12 months later and added another 10 kg of muscle, competing at 90 kg. I spent a few years like this before I realized that in order for me to place and look better, I needed to be lighter to balance my physique.
I stopped training legs for most of the off-season, as they were so big—too big—and that’s all the crowd would talk about: “Look at his legs!” But I knew that bodybuilding is an art; every piece should flow into the next until there is no piece, just a beautiful body. I even wore a waist trainer for 12-18 months to bring in my waist and improve my overall look.
In 2018, I had arrived. I actually looked exactly how I had envisioned back when I was 16 years old and inspired by Mr. Universe. It was that year when I stood on the Mr Universe stage and received a respectable 5th place in a lineup of 17 champions from many parts of the world.
It was also the year my motivation started declining for the simple fact that I had achieved the look I had been chasing for over a decade. Yes, when I was competing, I wanted to win, but I knew what a winning physique looked like, so that was my drive—to look a certain way.
I continued to compete in 2019 because it was a big part of my identity, but the end was nearing. It was odd to the people around me, the close ones, that I would discuss my feelings since they saw me looking better and knew I had more years to develop. But I did not want to change much, despite what the judges may have wanted; I was content.
I put my life into it, as I did for every show anyway. I was bigger and harder than ever, and I won the qualifier with ease, which was the Mr. London show. A week later, I was on stage at Mr. Britain. I was also prepping a client for the show, so we booked a two-bedroom apartment for a few days close to the venue.
I looked my best, and felt confident, but placed 2nd with just a point difference from 1st place. I cried afterwards, as I had done many times before, and was disappointed with the outcome. After some time, I came back to level ground, thanked those around me, and took my World Championship invite to ponder if I would compete. The British was meant to be my last contest, but with the invite, the fact I was looking my best, and that I almost won, I was toying with the idea.
I started prepping for it as if it were another contest. Although I had competed in the Worlds before, this time I felt a lot more confident, but I didn’t really want to do it. I was defying my plans to step away.
Then Covid hit. The country shut down, and lots of bodybuilders started losing their lives—heart attacks and other issues. It was as if the virus was too much for them and they were not internally strong enough despite their outside appearance. I took it all as a sign and literally hung my posing trunks in a frame on the wall in my house.
I kept training, as I always loved it; it was my passion, and muscle became a big part of my identity. But I did not want to train as heavy; I was smart enough to know the risk vs. the reward was too high. I still held a lot of muscle; in fact, I looked as big, but because I wasn’t pushing myself to my limits since I was not in competition, I felt low. I wasn’t getting that dopamine kick.
I put my focus into my business, and it grew. I opened a private gym, brought on my staff and trainers, and built a vision. But it wasn’t enough. I needed that physical stimulation, and training 5-6 days a week at 70% was not giving me that. Don’t get me wrong, my 70% was more than most; I was still throwing around the 60 kg dumbbells, but it was not my max, nor did I ever want to lift those weights I had previously—700 kg leg press. No thanks. My knees and back can only take so much.
So I started looking for something else, another sport—one I could start all over again in, something that would give me that kick, that fix, and put my passion into. I then realized it was never bodybuilding; it was never the result of what training led to. It was training itself, pushing myself to my limit and exploring deeper levels of myself—almost like a spiritual journey. Those serious athletes who read this will know what I mean, and if you do, kudos to you, my iron brother.
I must say, before I found it, I was lost. I was so used to pushing myself toward a goal and having a purpose to train, the drive to achieve my best, that without it, I fell into a state of depression. I also had some health issues, which affected my pituitary gland and all my associated hormones, impacting my physical look, mental health, and emotional state.
Since my son was born, that is the gift he gave me. He allowed me to reminisce about my life and what was important to me and helped me realize that it was always the now that kept me going, not what it led to. If you have been blessed with children, you will understand; and if you don’t, maybe you can relate: it doesn’t matter how bad your circumstances are, those little smiles and cuddles take it all away.
I get that same level of gratitude from my training sessions; it somehow connects me with the divine, and I feel like the best I can be—and that is all. We need these moments; we really do. Without them, we are living somewhere else, in the future or the past, and neither beats the present.
I was offered to go on a 50 km cycle with a friend and a few of his friends in August of 2021, just over three years ago. I agreed to do so, even though it was to be my first time on a road bike and the first time pedalling anywhere near that distance. I was still over 100 kg at the time.
I had an event the night before and didn’t get home until later than planned—close to 1:30 am, actually—and we were meeting at 5 am at the bike rental shop at Al Quadra cycling track. I am a man of my word, and as much as I needed more sleep, I turned up and began with them. They were going at a steady pace, except for one of the more experienced riders, who was eager to sprint away. It wasn’t long before I lost sight of them.
They were enjoying the ride, and I realized I wasn’t having fun at all. In fact, I was miserable, unfit, and blowing out my backside. But I could see the guy ahead, so I pushed myself to keep up and chased him until I could no longer see him. I wasn’t a quitter, so I kept going.
I ended up riding for over three hours, and by the end, I was completely spent. I got home that day, put my bike away, and said to my wife, “I think I just found my new passion.”
The adrenaline of chasing that guy and having something to aim for changed everything. I began cycling every day, and it felt like I was running a race without even being registered. I knew how to push myself and the same excitement returned, but this time it was different. This time, I was free.
I love the thrill of chasing the guy in front of me; I love being in the present moment and living for those fleeting seconds that bring me back to the now. Every time I feel the wind in my face, I remember the journey that took me here.
For the next few Saturdays, I was at the track, hiring a bike and beating my time around it. I started going with a client who was a triathlete preparing for an Ironman. He lent me his partner’s bike until I was finally ready to buy my own.
I invested in a good one—one I still have today, although I’ve upgraded since then. I was hooked and found myself going out a few times during the week and on both days of the weekend.
I reignited my passion for training hard, pushing my limits, and seeing the results of all the hard work. In some sadistic way, I also got a kick out of the pain and suffering that those moments brought.
In the past two years, I’ve raced too many events to count. I even travelled to Chiang Mai in Thailand to compete in a four-stage race, then flew to Phuket and toured the island—yes, on my bike! I’ve entered many sports in the UAE and back in my hometown of Wales, which was actually one of the best events I participated in. I also went on a cycling camp to France, where I got to train on many of the Tour de France routes—an incredible experience. I even qualified for the UCI World Championships in Denmark, which was a humbling experience, to say the least, but an incredible opportunity.
I’m part of a cycling team I’ve looked up to since attending my first race, and we are sponsored by many recognized brands. Like bodybuilding, I’ve met so many like-minded people and made friends for life. In fact, due to my regimented lifestyle and intense personality, I don’t have much time for a social life, but I get that connection with the people I train and compete with.
It was never bodybuilding that fed me with joy—although it brought a lot. It was the act of aiming to be better and going into a state of flow, finding peace amidst the chaos that intrigued me. And although I am 25-30 kg lighter than when I was at my heaviest during my bodybuilding years and follow a completely different nutritional regime, my gym sessions are reduced to a maximum of two hours a week of strength and conditioning compared to eight heavy hypertrophy hours. My cardio is now between 10-15 hours a week, all on the bike. Although I am an athlete competing in a different sport, the same guy beneath the surface still finds pleasure in the pain and smiles after the most gruelling sessions.
If I look back on all the sports I’ve ever done, from different martial arts, football, rugby, and even rock climbing, I always loved applying myself.
When I was in the gym, it was my temple where I found the most peace. But from the outside looking in, you would never think so from my aggressive tone as I ground out the reps, with bloodshot eyes and sweat dripping down my face. Not to mention the obscene amount of weight on the bar that would make most people stop and stare.
But regardless of how it looked externally, I was having a revelation internally. Time would stop. I’d be so in the moment, from the grip of the bar, the texture of the metal, the position of my feet, the way I pulled my abdomen into my rib cage, and how I channelled all my energy into a few short-lived repetitions. The sensations that flowed through my body weren’t just from the chemicals released to push me through the pain—they didn’t numb the pain, but highlighted it: the lactic acid, the burn, and the feeling of breaking tissue down was a blessing.
What I realized a long time ago is that pain can lead to pleasure, but it can also be pleasurable if we choose to lean into it and deepen our experience, instead of feeling like a victim in a pool of acidity, which only leads to misery.
This quest to be the best, and to seek every opportunity to find that feeling of joy—as strange as that may seem—lives in me. It’s part of me. It’s what makes me who I am.
Throughout my journey in cycling, which has only just begun, I’ve endured a lot of pain. I’ve sacrificed a lot, but I haven’t suffered. I’ve enjoyed it.
I’ve also had my fair share of falls too, but always got back up with a smile—one that left me bedridden for six days, with tubes coming out of my ribs to drain the fluid between my ribs and my lung, which had collapsed. I was recovering from clavicle surgery, with other bruises and scrapes to tell the story.
But that’s not the kind of pain I’m talking about. Yes, that was painful, and the recovery from fractured ribs took months, but even then, I didn’t suffer. I looked at it as an opportunity to reflect and understand why it happened to me and how I could profit from it. In fact, it turned out to be one of the best things that happened to me, as it made me realize that crashing at 50+km/h is no joke. Let me tell you—it’s not pretty.
There’s a certain meditative state when you’re pushing and pulling the pedals in a circular motion, reaching top speeds with your physical, biological engine. It just feels right. Yes, the muscles ache afterwards, and during the ride, the lactic acid builds up almost unbearably—especially for someone like me with big quads. There’s a lot of muscle to feed and a lot of muscle producing that lactic acid. Your heart feels like it’s going to explode out of your chest at 190 bpm, your stomach feels like it’s being squeezed dry like wringing out a soaked towel, and you feel sick. Your neck hurts, your lower back hurts, your palms hurt, the bottoms of your feet hurt, even your eyes hurt from the heat, dust, rain, or whatever the conditions are—everything hurts.
And yet, it just feels good. If you can find peace in those moments of absolute destruction, you can find peace anywhere. I lean into it. Yes, I have my external motivations, don’t get me wrong—I want to win races just like I wanted to win bodybuilding competitions. One of my biggest motivations is to lead by example for my son: to show him what it means to never give up, and to keep smiling even when beneath the surface you’re going through hell. Whether that’s in the gym, on the bike, or facing life’s uncertainties, tragedies, or blessings in disguise, it’s about being in the moment and appreciating it.
Some might call me crazy—crazy in love. And yes, I do believe that everyone is different. Not everyone can enjoy these experiences like I do. To some, it might feel like torture. But as Tony Robbins once said, “Where focus goes, energy flows.” When people focus on the pain and the desire to escape it, they can feel imprisoned and trapped in a state of devastation. But if they change their mindset and focus on the pleasure—the result the pain will lead to—it can open new experiences.
Working out and pushing my body has been transformational and continues to be throughout my life. For those who don’t understand, they might only see someone who loves to train—and yes, they’d be right. But that love for training is deeper, much like a parent’s love for their child—it’s something you can’t fully explain until you’ve experienced it yourself. Once you know, you know. And if you know what I’m expressing here, you’re probably smiling and thinking, “Me too.” If not, you might think I’m a lunatic or, to put it politely, a little bit different.
If you haven’t experienced the love that lies beneath the pain—the state of wellness where everything stops, and you’re immersed in a blissful state of flow—then I encourage you to go find it. Head to the gym, the weight room, the treadmill, the swimming pool, the running track, the cycling track—it doesn’t matter. Push yourself to your absolute limit.
Run as far as you can. Lift as much as you can for as many reps as you can. Cycle as far as you can, and then go a little further. Right when you think you’ve got nothing left to give, find a way to give a little more, and I promise you, your world will stop, and a new world will emerge. You’ll learn more truths about yourself than you ever thought possible.
Many people look to the stars and the universe seeking knowledge of our origins and who we truly are. But there’s a universe of information within us, too—we just need to unlock it. For me, the path to self-discovery has always been through my training. It’s always been about self-development, gaining knowledge, unlocking doors, and walking through them with a smile on my face, a story to tell, and a passion to expand this awareness—not just within myself, but within the many people I meet, whether through blog posts, videos, or conversations.
In fact, I believe, that even if nobody else sees it, I’m consciously aware that what I’m doing—pushing myself to my limits, whether in the weight room or on the bike—is contributing to the expansion of awareness in us all. But let’s save that topic for another day—it might take a bottle of wine, some whiskey, and a few logs on the fire to get through!
At the end of the day, life is wonderful and full of misunderstood experiences, but all of them are ones we can be grateful for.
So, if you see me chasing the man in front, know that I’m actually chasing the man ahead of me that you don’t see—the person I know all this effort will allow me to become. Experience has taught me that seeking new levels within myself will break me down but also build me up, and I will always emerge a better version of myself. And I will always seek opportunities to be better.
So, I encourage you to chase the man in front—the man you could become—and lead the way. Because when your goals are bigger than yourself, everything clicks into place.
I felt compelled to share this message because I work with so many clients who focus solely on the end goal. I know we sometimes must focus on that to motivate ourselves to get up at 4 a.m. or eat chicken and rice for lunch every day, but the result is really in the journey. There are so many positives to taking the difficult path—one that requires tremendous discipline, focus, resilience, and many other attributes that define a well-developed individual.
When you focus on the end goal and forget to enjoy the moments or “smell the roses as you walk through the garden,” as one wise man once told me, you not only miss out on opportunities to progress in ways you never thought possible, but you will also never be satisfied.
What it takes to get there is not what it will take to stay there. As good as that sounds, trust me: when you achieve what you set out to do, you can often lose the purpose for what you love to do. You may think you were chasing the carrot dangled on the end of the stick, but what you didn’t know was that it was the chase you loved.
The thrill of chasing the guy in front can be immensely rewarding. Never stop chasing, and never stop enjoying the chase.
Rest when you’re done, not while you’re doing it. As long as there is work to be done, keep doing it!
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