Forged in fire: Zac’s story

_“I was 15 years old when juvenile idiopathic arthritis took my whole identity from me. I was in so much pain that some days I couldn’t even get out of bed. I couldn’t help with the family bread-baking business — my hands couldn’t work the dough. I felt totally useless. I’d started high school with everything going for me. I was tall, strong, and good at sports, and had a ton of friends. But between the arthritis and the side effects of the medications, by 17, I was rotting away in my room, totally isolated, doing nothing but playing video games. I ballooned to almost 300 pounds.

It was actually video games that saved me, or rather the people I met through them. When I was at my lowest, my dad bought me a flight to California to go meet up with friends I’d made through World of Warcraft. They were such good people with good hearts, and at the end of the trip they told me they weren’t going to keep playing with me unless I started taking care of myself.

I started just with walking. I lost the first 10 pounds really fast and my confidence began to return. Then my dad was like, ‘Why don’t we try lifting some weights?’ As I got stronger, the pain got a little easier to bear. I threw myself into strength training. Soon, I was baking bread again, working full-time at the family business. And every moment I wasn’t working or sleeping, I was lifting weights. I was also listening to all these podcasts and audiobooks about biomechanics and health, building a whole library in my head.

 I got into incredible shape and people who saw how much I’d turned my life around started coming to me for help. Next thing you know, I’m helping 20 different people with their strength training. It was my dad who suggested turning it into a business. And that’s how, at 21 years old, I started Forge Fitness, which has now grown to fill an 8,000 square foot gym. I’m training pro athletes, but I’m also helping people overcome chronic pain and disability. Building strength is one of the most proactive things you can do to protect your health, no matter what circumstance you’re starting from. Movement is medicine.

I was 24 years old and my life was perfect. I’d just had the grand opening of my new gym, surrounded by friends and family and clients. Even my rheumatologist was there, and he gave a beautiful speech about how proud he was of what I’d made of myself, having known me when I was at my absolute rock bottom, weighing almost 300 pounds and totally debilitated by juvenile idiopathic arthritis. That night, in front of everyone, I hit a personal best on the bench press. Nothing could have been better.

 Four weeks later, I was in an ICU in Toronto, on the verge of death from liver and kidney failure. I was withering away — down over 70 pounds and unable to walk. I was on so much medication I was hallucinating.

No one knew what was wrong with me. The doctors didn’t think I’d make it. I wrote letters to every important person in my life, telling them how much I loved them. This was during COVID, so I couldn’t have visitors. I didn’t think I’d ever see these people again.

When they finally figured out it was macrophage activation syndrome and started treatment, they told me the only reason I’d survived long enough for them to reach the right diagnosis was because my muscle mass acted like armour. If I hadn’t been so jacked, if I hadn’t had so much muscle for the disease to eat through, I would’ve died on that hospital bed. Strength training literally saved my life.

And so, though it sucked to start that strength journey again from nothing, from being so weak I couldn’t walk, there was never any question in my mind that I was going to do it. Within a day of getting out of the hospital, I was in my mom’s basement lifting weights. When I finally returned to my gym, everyone was so happy to see me, even though I looked so frail and sick. That really encouraged me to keep training as hard as I could. It was actually exciting to feel pain from something different.

Chronic illness has taught me that pain is inevitable, but being a victim to it is optional. You can choose where you want that pain to take you. Fast forward three years and today I’m in the best shape I’ve ever been, both physically and mentally.”