CMT Unbroken, Tucson, AZ (2026)

04/14/2026

THE POWER TO DISCLOSE

Having CMT is challenging—mentally, physically, and emotionally.

And one of the hardest parts?

We often suffer in silence.

We suffer alone.

Because the truth is, most of us don’t know many people in our daily lives who have it. We don’t see it around us. We don’t always have someone close who truly understands what we’re going through.

Other struggles in life are often shared. People can find communities, support systems, others who have walked a similar path.

But with CMT… we are few and far between.

In real life, and sometimes even online, it can feel like you’re the only one.

And that’s why one of the greatest strengths you carry…

Is the power to disclose.

Because it takes courage to speak up.

It takes vulnerability to talk about the hard things—
the symptoms,
the setbacks,
the failures,
the emotional weight that comes with it.

It takes strength to put those parts of your life out into the world, knowing you might be judged for what feels like your weakest moments.

But those moments?

They’re not weakness.

They’re connection.

Because disclosing the struggle is what helps us find our way out of it.

It stops the downward spiral.
It normalizes the experience.
It creates space for others to say, “I thought I was the only one.”

And in a world that can feel incredibly dark…
sometimes that is all the light we need.

Because the moment we speak…

We remind each other of something powerful:

We are not alone.

And that’s what this space is meant to be.

A place where the hard parts are acknowledged.
A place where the victories are celebrated.
A place where you don’t have to hide.

You don’t have to carry this alone anymore.

Strength. Identity. The courage to adapt.

04/13/2026

Good morning my fellow CMT Warriors! I hope you all find joy and happiness somewhere in the struggle this week.

You deserve so much more than what this life has given you, but none of you are victims of circumstance. You rise. You fight. And you continue to move forward.

04/13/2026

Some people will watch this and see simple leg movements.
Just lifting, lowering, stepping.

But for me… this is a fight.

Every time I pick my leg up, it feels like I’m trying to move something that doesn’t want to move.
Like gravity got heavier just for me.
Like my body is questioning every command I give it.

Lifting it… holding it… controlling it…
That’s not simple.
That’s next to impossible some days.

But I do it anyway.

Because this is how we fight back.
Not with perfection. Not with ease.
But with repetition… with grit… with refusal.

I refuse to surrender to CMT.
I refuse to accept that this is as far as I go.

So I train.
I show up.
I lift the leg again… and again… and again.

Because we’re not here just to survive this life—
we’re here to conquer it.

04/12/2026

TO THE CMT WARRIORS RAISING CHILDREN

Exhausting. Overwhelming. Painful. Just a few words to describe being a parent with CMT.

Because parenting already takes everything you have. And with CMT… it takes even more.

It’s waking up already tired and choosing to show up anyway. It’s pushing through pain so your kids don’t feel the weight of it. It’s sacrificing what little energy you have to make sure they never go without love, guidance, and support.

It’s the quiet moments no one sees. The extra effort behind every step. The mental battles fought in silence. The constant calculation of energy, pain, and endurance—all while still being there for your kids.

And most people will never understand what that takes.

But I do.

And it’s nothing short of incredible.

Because what you’re building isn’t just a family. You’re raising children who will understand resilience. Who will see strength not as perfection, but as perseverance. Who will learn what love looks like through sacrifice.

You are showing them what it means to keep going when it’s hard. What it means to give when you feel like you have nothing left. What it means to fight for the people you love.

That kind of strength can’t be taught. It can only be lived.

So on the days where you feel like you’re running on empty, when the exhaustion hits deeper, when the pain feels louder—remember this:

You are doing more than enough.

You are stronger than you think.

And the way you show up for your children despite everything is one of the most inspiring things there is.

You’re not just raising kids. You’re raising them through strength most people will never understand.

Strength. Identity. The courage to adapt.

04/12/2026

Getting a few extra miles in to make up for yesterday’s event.

04/12/2026

Thank you for the kind words!

04/12/2026

I didn’t grow up learning how to be strong.

I grew up learning how to hide.

I remember being a kid… falling, struggling, not being able to keep up…
and instead of being helped, I was met with anger.
Yelled at. Threatened. Made to feel like weakness wasn’t allowed.

So I adapted the only way I knew how.

I hid the shaking.
I hid the weakness.
I hid the pain.

And over time… I wasn’t just hiding symptoms.

I was hiding my identity.

What I didn’t realize back then is that CMT wasn’t just taking from me…

It was training me.

Training me to be aware of every step.
Training me to push through fatigue.
Training me to solve problems differently.
Training me to build discipline, resilience, and endurance most people never have to develop.

That’s the Adaptive Strength Model.

CMT doesn’t just break the body.
It builds something else in its place.

And for me… this journey became about finding that.

Finding my strength.
Finding who I really am underneath everything I was taught to hide.

That’s what CMT Unbroken is about.

If you’ve ever felt like you had to hide parts of yourself…
or that life took something from you…

There’s a chance it also built something inside you.

📘 https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0GL85S9S9

Not broken. Not finished.

04/11/2026

I showed up to El Tour de Zona (El Tour de Tucson) already dealing with tremors. Before the race even started, I was having a hard time standing and ended up sitting while everyone else was up moving around. I felt out of place and a little anxious about how the day was going to go.

Once we got going, things settled in. For the first 10 miles, I was riding well and even found myself near the front of the pack. On a short downhill section, I actually ended up out in front for a moment. When the climb came, I took it steady and made it to the top in a solid position—not leading, but definitely not near the back either.

I felt really good at that point knowing the next 30 miles were supposed to be easier. But the descent was a lot more technical than I expected—steeper and with sharper turns than I’m used to here in Arizona. It honestly reminded me of riding in Pittsburgh.

On one turn, I came in too fast and my brakes didn’t respond the way I needed them to. I ended up crossing the road and hitting the side of the mountain. I thought I was going to get thrown off the bike, but luckily the bike took the impact.

The damage ended my day. The rim was bent and the tire blew out. I tried to fix it, but sealant was pouring out and there was no way to keep riding.

So I had to call it after 25 miles and about 2,200 feet of climbing. First event of the year, and it ended in a DNF.

It’s going to be an expensive repair, and I won’t be able to ride for a bit, which is frustrating.

But being stuck in Bisbee gave me a chance to catch up with an old friend, and honestly, that meant more than finishing the ride.

Not the result I wanted, but still something to take from the day.

04/11/2026

Every night I lay in bed—fingers curled, feet hanging off the edge so they don’t get trapped and broken in the sheets. Muscles cramping. Pain radiating. Ears ringing so loud it drowns out everything else unless I fight to focus.

And in that fight… I see it.

I see the next day.
I see movement.
I see the bike.
I see a version of me that refuses to stay still.

I don’t imagine a life without limitations.
I imagine a life where those limitations don’t get the final say.
Where CMT is just a diagnosis—not a sentence.

Last night, I laid there knowing what I signed up for today.

63 miles.
A 15-mile climb.
6,000 feet of elevation.

A course that, on paper, has no business being mine.

And still—I dreamed it.

I dreamed of climbing.
I dreamed my legs would hold.
I dared to believe I wouldn’t tear my muscles apart just trying.
I even dreamed of something most people never think twice about…
That when I got off the bike, my legs would still work enough to carry me to the bathroom.

Because I know

The greatest tragedy isn’t pain.
It isn’t disease.
It isn’t limitation.

It’s when we stop dreaming.

When we convince ourselves we’re no longer capable.
When we shrink our world down to what feels “realistic.”
When we stop reaching because we’re afraid to fall.

I refuse that.

No matter how painful.
No matter how many people say I can’t.
No matter how many professionals say I shouldn’t.

I will dream.
I will show up.
I will fight for every mile.

And today… I ride.

El Tour de Tucson.

04/10/2026

Disability is measured in symptoms—clinical, visible, undeniable.
But I learned early… it is also measured in contradictions.

My whole life, they pointed.
They laughed at the tremor in my hands,
the misstep, the fracture, the body that didn’t move the way theirs did.
They marked me.

And in the same breath—
they erased me.

“You don’t look disabled.”
“You’re still strong.”
“Stop making excuses.”

As if strength and struggle cannot exist in the same body.
As if war leaves no scars unless they can see them.

The truth is—
there are those who build themselves up by tearing others down.
And the disabled… we are an easy battlefield.
Call us weak.
Mock the way we move.
Point at what’s different.

Then deny it all.
Tell us it’s in our heads.
Tell us we look just fine.

That is the burden.
Not just the body—but the weight of being seen and unseen at the same time.
A weight heavy enough to drown anyone who lets it.

But you—
you are not just carrying it.

You are forging yourself under it.

You rise.
You push back.
You fight in ways they will never understand.
You stand tall in a body they tried to shame,
in a life they could not survive.

Because deep down, you know the truth—

The ones who laugh…
would never last a single day in your war.

And you?
You’ve been fighting it your entire life.

04/09/2026

Getting outside and moving your body isn’t just exercise—it’s medicine. It clears the mind, strengthens the body, and reminds us that we’re still part of this world, not separated from it. And movement doesn’t have to look a certain way. It doesn’t have to be fast, far, or perfect—it just has to be meaningful to you.

For some, movement is limited. For others, it comes and goes. But if and when you can, step outside, take a breath, and move in whatever way your body allows. This weekend at El Tour De Zona (El Tour de Tucson), that movement looks like a 63-mile ride—but it all carries the same meaning. Every step, every mile, every moment of movement is a quiet act of strength—and a reminder that you’re still in this fight.

CMT Unbroken

04/14/2026

04/13/2026

04/13/2026

04/12/2026

04/12/2026

04/12/2026

04/12/2026

04/11/2026

04/11/2026

04/10/2026

04/09/2026

Address

Website

Alerts

Contact The Practice

Shortcuts

Share

Category