Executive Health Coach, Southampton (2026)

27/02/2026

1 million meters.

Two weekends.

Marathon distance.

Again and again.

Until we hit one million metres.

42,195 metres at a time on the Concept2 ergs.

Row.

Ski.

Bike.

Not because it’s trendy.

Not because it’s comfortable.

But because a marathon demands something of you.

And that’s the point.

This memorial isn’t a “fitness event.”

It’s our way of remembering McCoy the only way we know how.

Through shared suffering, shared effort, and shared purpose.

There’s something about the back end of a marathon on an erg.

When your hands are torn.

Your hip flexors are screaming.

Your mind is begging you to stop.

That’s where character shows up.

That’s where we remember why we’re there.

We are raising money for Save A Warrior UK CIC

An organisation doing real, deep work with veterans, tackling trauma and actively working to prevent su***de.

That matters to us.

Deeply.

Because veterans don’t need sympathy.

They need structure.

Brotherhood.

Purpose.

And a community that doesn’t disappear when the uniform comes off.

Which brings me to Kirbs.

Iain Kirby.

Veteran.

0700 cornerstone.

The man who sets the tone before most people have even had their first coffee.

Kirbs isn’t loud about what he’s done in life.

He just shows up and trains.

Every day.

For life.

For longevity.

For mental sharpness.

For health.

And over these two weekends, he’s taking on the ultimate marathon test.

Ski marathon.

Bike marathon.

Row marathon.

Back to back.

No fuss.

Just graft.

If you want to see what resilience looks like, it’s that.

If you want to see what training for life looks like, it’s that.

One million metres isn’t just a target.

It’s a statement.

We remember our own.

We support those still fighting battles.

And we use the erg as a vehicle for something bigger than calories and splits.

For McCoy.

For veterans.

For purpose.

This is U21.

21/02/2026

I was at Mam’s today with the girls.

You know when you’re not looking for anything.

And then you find something that stops you in your tracks?

An old photo.

Taken straight after I passed my PT course in the Royal Navy.

First year based at HMS Drake.

White vest.

Big grin.

Probably weighing about 14 stone wet through.

But what that photo doesn’t show.

Is that I’d had two surgeries before the course had even properly started.

Two.

If I’m honest, I probably should’ve delayed it.

Sensible people would have.

But quitting never crossed my mind.

Not because I was some hero.

Not because I wasn’t in pain.

I just genuinely didn’t know how to give up.

I wasn’t the strongest on that course.

I wasn’t the most naturally gifted.

And I definitely passed parts of it by the skin of my teeth.

But I had something.

I had a decision already made.

I was finishing it.

Standing there today in Mam’s house.

My girls running around, I looked at that younger version of me and thought.

He had no idea what life was about to throw at him.

Business struggles.

Family health scares.

Fatherhood.

Faith.

Responsibility.

But the one thing he had right was this.

When you start something that matters.

You see it through.

The fire back then was raw.

Now it’s refined.

Back then it was about earning a vest.

Now it’s about earning trust.

From my members.

From my family.

From my friends.

Old photos don’t just remind you what you looked like.

They remind you who you decided to be.

Consistency builds momentum.

And quitting?

It was never in the vocabulary.

30/01/2026

18 years ago I passed the Royal Navy Physical Training Course.

And honestly.

It was by the skin of my teeth.

I’d already had ankle surgery and an ACL reconstruction.

So if you were looking at the odds on paper.

I probably shouldn’t have been on the course at all.

Let alone finishing it.

But somehow I scraped through and earned that white vest and jacket.

Anyone who’s been there knows exactly what that means.

What I’m most grateful for though isn’t the qualification.

It’s the lads I passed with.

To still be best mates with some of them all these years later.

And to see one of them every single day.

That’s something I’ll never take for granted.

Time moves fast.

Bodies take a beating.

But shared hardship forges bonds that don’t fade.

Grateful then.

Grateful now.

28/01/2026

“How are you still training, Dan?”

It’s a fair question.

I’ve got great friends who played elite sport.

I’ve got great friends who served in elite military teams.

None of them walked away untouched.

Every one of them carries something.

A shoulder, a knee, a back, a nervous system that’s seen too much.

So when people ask how I’m still training,
the honest answer is.

I don’t train like I used to.

And I don’t live like I used to either.

I was wired to push limits.

To see how far I could go.

To find out what was on the other side of discomfort.

Did I push too hard at times?

Yeah.

No doubt.

That’s part of why my body has forced me to adapt.

But I wouldn’t change it.

Because that same drive is how I’ve built anything worthwhile in my life.

A career.

A business.

A marriage.

A relationship with Christ.

There’s a moment in Scripture that’s always stuck with me.

“Jacob was left alone, and a man wrestled with him till daybreak.”

(Genesis 32:24)

Jacob wrestles all night.

He doesn’t win.

He doesn’t walk away untouched.

He walks away limping.

“So Jacob called the place Peniel, saying, ‘It is because I saw God face to face, and yet my life was spared.’

The sun rose above him as he passed Peniel, and he was limping because of his hip.”

(Genesis 32:30–31)

That part matters.

He gets the blessing.

But he also carries the mark of the struggle.

That’s life.

You wrestle.

Then grow.

You change.

Sometimes physically.

Sometimes mentally.

Sometimes spiritually.

And you learn that strength doesn’t always look like domination anymore.

Paul puts it better than I ever could.

“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”

(2 Corinthians 12:9)

So yeah I still train.

But now it’s smarter.

More intentional.

More grateful.

I move because I can.

I train because it keeps me grounded.

I adapt because that’s what I had to do.

I may limp in places.

But I’m still moving forward.

Still wrestling for the blessing.

19/01/2026

Changing intensity during injury has been my greatest nemesis.

Ex-military PT.

One speed.

Hard and fast.

If it wasn’t brutal, it didn’t feel like it counted.

Injury has forced me to learn something new.

Different gears.

Different paces.

Different definitions of progress.

And honestly?

I’ve been humbled every single day.

Turns out backing off isn’t weakness.

It’s skill.

It’s patience.

It’s long-term thinking.

Still learning.

Still checking my ego.

Still moving forward just not always at full throttle.

14/01/2026

I rebuilt my arm after surgery using one movement every day.

Farmer carries.

Not because they’re fancy.

Not because they’re perfect rehab.

But because they worked.

1). They rebuilt trust, not just strength.

Holding weight and walking taught my nervous system that my arm was safe again.

2). They reconnected my shoulder to my body.

Grip, trunk, posture, breathing everything had to work together.

3). They gave me daily exposure to load without flare-ups.

Low risk.

High consistency.

Massive confidence return.

Rehab isn’t about doing more.

It’s about doing what you can do often.

Strong beats fragile.

Every time.

09/01/2026

Funny how life works.

In 2012 I became an exercise rehab specialist in the Royal Navy.

Bright-eyed.

Motivated.

I studied at the legendary Headley Court.

Then spent the next decade working in rehab clinics up and down the country.

Working with the best clinicians.

Helping people rebuild, return to duty, and get their bodies back online.

Fast forward to 2023.

I finally opened my own clinic inside my gym.

Here’s the irony.

My biggest qualification isn’t just the courses, the textbooks.

It’s my injury profile.

The setbacks.

The flare-ups.

The frustration of wanting to train hard but needing to train smart.

I don’t coach rehab from theory alone.

I coach it from lived experience.

Because when you’ve had to earn your way back.

You teach differently.

08/01/2026

This time 4 years ago I walked out of hospital knowing life wasn’t about to be the same.

A plate the length of my arm.

16 screws.

And a lot of unanswered questions.

Would I get back to work?

Would my strength return?

Would my arm ever feel like my arm again?

Truth is.

I didn’t know.

Not even close.

What I did know was that the road ahead was going to be long.

Frustrating.

And extremely humbling.

Praise be to God, I did get back.

Back to work.

Back to training.

Back to serving others.

But it didn’t happen quickly.

And even now, I still have to manage expectations, listen to my body.

And respect the limits some days bring.

Recovery doesn’t end when the scars heal.

It teaches patience.

Perspective.

Gratitude.

Still walking the journey.

Still grateful.

This is the way.

07/01/2026

I know what you’re thinking, Dan’s got beautiful toes.

But nah.

This is another insight into my first surgical injury.

Spiral fracture.

Dislocated ankle.

And how did I do it?

Chasing penguins in the Antarctic.

Yes, really.

It took two weeks just to get back to the UK.

As soon as I landed, I was straight under the knife to stabilise the joint.

All in preparation for what was, at the time, a transfer to the Royal Marines.

Post-surgery?

12 weeks non-weight bearing.

No shortcuts.

No Instagram rehab reels back then.

Just grit, patience, and learning very quickly that your body can be taken away.

But your mindset is everything.

It was epic.

06/01/2026

Dinner is served

06/01/2026

You may be wondering what I’m looking at here.

It’s an MRI scan of my spine.

The surgeon wasn’t happy when he went through it with me.

He explained that what we’re seeing helps explain the drop foot I’ve been dealing with.

A significant loss of function in my right leg.

This is my latest injury.
What’s hard to sit with is the uncertainty.

There’s no clear timeline for recovery, and no guarantees that full function will return.

I’m sharing this because it’s part of the real picture.

Not the polished version of health and fitness.

But the messy, uncomfortable side that most people don’t talk about.

Right now I’m learning how to work with where I’m at, not where I want to be.

Adjusting.

Being patient.

Keeping perspective.

It’s not the chapter I’d choose.

But it’s still part of the story.

05/01/2026

2006. Ruptured ACL. Torn meniscus.

Reconstruction surgery. Months of rehab.

I was told I’d be “good as new.”

Truth is.

I never went back to who I was before.

And that’s something people don’t talk about enough.

Even now, years later, it still whispers to me.

Cold mornings.

Long days on my feet.

Deep squats.

Fatigue.

Sometimes it’s pain.

Sometimes it’s stiffness.

Sometimes it’s just that quiet reminder.

This knee has history.

But here’s the flip side.

That injury shaped how I train.

How I coach.

How seriously I take warm-ups, strength, patience, and ego control.

It taught me that fitness isn’t about being bulletproof.

It’s about being resilient, adaptable, and honest with your body.

If you’re carrying an old injury and wondering why things still feel “off”

You’re not broken.

You’re experienced.

Train smart.

Train with respect.

And stop comparing your 40s to your 20s.

Executive Health Coach

27/02/2026

21/02/2026

30/01/2026

28/01/2026

19/01/2026

14/01/2026

09/01/2026

08/01/2026

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