I was diagnosed with Early Onset Lewy Body Dementia. I’m over 1000 days sober. I’ve ran a 100 miles, survived war zones, and outrun more than a few of my own demons. But nothing—nothing—tests me quite like waking up with a mind that won’t boot properly.
Some mornings it takes me thirty minutes to get ready, always forgetting something, standing in a room trying to remember what I needed. Others, I head out on the trail and forget how I got there. But I run anyway.
Running is how I stay in the fight.
I started writing Tumblin Dice back in 2002, in Afghanistan, scrawling lines in an old notebook and typing fever dreams in plywood rooms, sometimes under mortar fire. It’s a book stitched together with trauma and grit, madness and mercy. Now, decades later, I’m finishing it with a damaged brain. But my heart couldn’t be fuller.
Every mile clears a little static. Every race reminds me I’m not done yet.
My body aches. My thoughts scatter. But my feet move.
And the story keeps coming.
Tumblin Dice drops 11.11.25
Until then, I’ll keep running. Keep writing. And keep showing up, even when the trail goes dark.
If you’re out there fighting your own war—on the trails, on the page, or in your mind—you’re not alone.
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