This past week was one of the strangest, most emotionally whiplash-inducing weeks I’ve had in a long time. It held everything—Thanksgiving, blessings, struggle, fear, gratitude, perspective—and a few moments that stopped me in my tracks.
It began with one of the most significant highs I’ve had in a while.
Air Force Cooper
Cooper Langston and I started working together back in the summer of 2020. The gym had just reopened after the nationwide shutdown, and in walked Cooper with his mom and little sister. He had just finished 8th grade. I was called up front to meet this new “prospective member,” and naturally assumed it was the mom.
Nope.
It was Cooper.
I asked, “Buddy, why do you want to hire a trainer when you’re just about to start high school?”
He said, “Because when I finish high school, I want to go to the Air Force Academy.”
I remember thinking: Alright then… we’ve got some work to do.
And work we did, for four solid years.
He entered my life as a kid who stood at my shoulder (and I’m a towering 5’6”), and left as a young man nearly six feet tall and strong as an ox. His grades were excellent, he was always involved with serving our local community, and he played in his high school’s marching band—just a phenomenal young man.
When he didn’t get accepted to the Academy on his first try, I told him, “One year is a flash. Apply again next year.” And he did; however, in the meantime, he took action with his backup plan – Georgia Military College, which is a U.S. Military Service Academy Preparatory School.
We trained through late July this past summer after Cooper’s high school graduation. GMC readily accepted his application, and he reported for duty in early August. It was a shocking change of pace, yet he thrived in his new environment, excelling academically in his classes and crushing his daily PT.
We stayed in touch over his first few months, including him coming home for a short visit, during which he retook his PT test as part of his 2nd attempt at the Air Force Academy. So when he came home again for Thanksgiving and asked if we could get a workout in, of course, I said yes.
Right after my 8 a.m. session, I found him waiting for me. I was dressed in warm layers, he in shorts and a T-shirt. It was cold outside; however, Cooper always seemed somewhat impervious to cooler temperatures. I busted his chops about how some things never changed, and he just smiled. Then he said, “I have something to show you”, and he handed me his phone.
When I looked, I saw the message from just the night before. It was an LOA or Letter of Acceptance with the United States Air Force Academy. I looked up and asked, “Does this mean what I think it means?”, and he said, “Yes!”
For the record, on average, more than 8,000 people apply to Colorado Springs each year, and only a fraction are considered fully qualified. The acceptance rate is highly competitive, and candidates are typically notified in the spring. LOAs are rare, and they only send about 100 a year. It’s their way of saying, “You’re one of the ones we want.”
Cooper received his months before the general acceptance notifications would go out, and I can’t describe how proud I was. Proud of his commitment, his character, his perseverance. He is now officially “Air Force Cooper,” and I’ll be visiting him in Colorado Springs as soon as they allow guests.
It was the best possible start to the day.
And I had no idea the storm that was headed straight for me.
The First Hint Something Was Wrong
After Cooper left, I ran home, ate breakfast, went to church, called my dad (as is routine), and went grocery shopping while we “solved all the world’s problems.” Everything felt normal.
But sometime between noon and 1:00 p.m., I felt… off.
A whisper of a headache.
A touch of nausea.
A feeling like my equilibrium was just a little sideways.
I noticed it, but I didn’t take it seriously.
I ate lunch, drove to meet my client, Randy, at 2, and during the workout, he asked me if I was okay. I said, “Not really. I’m not sure what’s going on.”
We finished at 3, and I drove home. The weather was beautiful, and I tried to take a short walk outside. I got in maybe five minutes before I turned back. That never happens.
I sat down in my lounge chair, reclined, closed my eyes—
And the room started spinning.
Instantly, I recognized it:
Vertigo.
The last time I experienced vertigo was 2017–2018. It was caused by a viral ear infection that permanently damaged the hearing in my right ear. I lost 60% of it.
And now it was back.
I found old medication—expired.
Drove quickly to Tom Thumb for Dramamine.
Took it.
Waited.
It didn’t help. In fact, it was so bad that when I woke up the next morning, I found my dinner still in the microwave from the night before. I had turned it on, and never went back because I felt so bad and completely dismissed it.
Throughout Sunday night, my usual two trips to the restroom required me to grip furniture and walls just to stay upright. And by 3:30 a.m. Monday morning, I woke up feeling like my whole world was tilted sideways.
I didn’t even want coffee.
That alone meant trouble.
Wendi, My Saving Grace
Before I tell the ER story, I need to tell you about Wendi.
Wendi and I are coming up on four years of knowing each other. It started as client and coach—but over time, she became one of my closest friends, and now she is my best friend.
This past year alone, she has been there for me through:
- Knee surgery
- Two colonoscopies
- Hernia surgery
- Countless stressful moments
- And now, a sudden and frightening bout of vertigo
Every time, without hesitation, she puts her life on pause and steps in.
She is selfless.
Steady.
Faithful.
One of the most caring people I’ve ever known.
And last Monday morning was no exception.
The Emergency Room
At 4:45 a.m. Monday, I called Wendi because I knew she’d be awake, getting ready for the gym. She was surprised to hear from me—and when I told her what was happening, she didn’t hesitate.
She came immediately.
She had to walk me arm-in-arm from my apartment to her car because my equilibrium was so off I felt like the world was tilted at 25 degrees.
We arrived at the 24/7 ER near my apartment.
They took me straight back.
Janice was the first nurse to arrive, and it took her three attempts to start an IV. I was less than thrilled about the whole process.
They ran labs.
Chest x-ray.
CAT scan.
The worst part?
Lying flat for the scan.
Vertigo plus lying flat is torture.
After an hour, Dr. M came in: everything was normal—no apparent cause.
They suspected the crystals in my ear were off again.
Edith was my day nurse, and she gave me medication for nausea and a small dose of Valium for discomfort. She also pumped two bags of fluids into my system to help offset any potential dehydration.
Wendi never left my side.
The day shift doctor, Dr. Kara, insisted I stay in the ER until the afternoon. I couldn’t walk unassisted anyway. Wendi set up in the room with her laptop and worked while keeping an eye on me.
By late morning, I was hungry—a good sign.
Two chicken breasts, egg whites with/ cheese on English Muffin breakfast sandwiches from Chick-fil-A never tasted so good.
Mid-afternoon, Dr. Kara said I could leave soon enough if I continued to improve. She asked about my work, and when I explained that I was a fitness professional and had nine client sessions over a ten-and-a-half-hour shift the next day, she said, “Absolutely not!” She said, “You have to rest at least one day before returning to work.”
I reluctantly agreed and then texted all my clients to explain my situation. They were 100% supportive and wished me only the best. By 4 PM, Wendi had me home safe and sound. I was hungry after having only two breakfast sandwiches hours earlier, and made my usual afternoon protein shake.
I then rested in my lounge chair, dozing off occasionally while watching the final season of Daredevil on my Disney Channel. I had a light dinner and went to bed by eight, sleeping almost nine hours. It was glorious and much needed after an exhausting, rough day.
Tuesday: A Strange Calm
The next morning—Tuesday—I wanted coffee.
That alone told me things were improving.
I meal-prepped, went for two short walks, and let my body recover. Wendi checked in constantly.
And by Wednesday morning?
I felt great.
I didn’t walk on the treadmill as I had promised Wendi the day before.
I lifted weights—deloaded, but still, and it felt good.
You can imagine the expression on her face when she found me in the free weight area. I promised I was taking it easy – she didn’t believe me.
Thanksgiving Was Quiet and Needed
Thursday was Thanksgiving.
I started my day with my personal leg workout.
Followed by only three clients.
The club closed at noon for the holiday.
And then stillness.
Given the chaos of the previous days, the quiet was a gift.
Friday morning started with cardio, followed by a solid day with clients.
Saturday morning cardio felt great. After a quick shower and breakfast, I used the NormaTec sleeves in our Recovery Center to treat my knees, listened to a podcast, and trained three of my favorite clients before heading out of town to see my mom.
It was on that three-hour drive that everything I had lived through began to crystallize.
My Mom, Perspective, and a Shot of Reality
My mom is 80.
She lost her mother (my nanny) last year, just shy of 99.
And on the very same day, unexpectedly, she lost her husband.
Combine that with:
- Twelve back surgeries since 2014
- A shoulder that needs replacement, but can’t be
- Years of chronic pain
- And now limited mobility
… and my mom has been through a physical and emotional wringer.
For nearly a year, she couldn’t sit up on her own.
Today, she can stand and walk 30–50 feet with a walker—miraculous progress, but still deeply limited.
And I thought back to Monday in the ER:
I was there for a handful of hours.
She lives in that level of limitation every day.
The storm I faced was temporary.
Hers is chronic.
And perspective hit me like a freight train.
Napoleon Hill, Andy Andrews, and the Seed in Every Storm
I’ve been a student of Napoleon Hill since the ’90s. His teaching that
“In every adversity lies the seed of an equivalent benefit” has been permanently burned into my mind.
Andy Andrews—another giant in my life—says the same thing differently:
Perspective is the ingredient that can turn a seemingly horrific situation completely around.
Monday was awful.
But it forced me to see again how unbelievably blessed I actually am.
That’s the silver lining.
Mark’s Message: Filling Up or Pouring Out
Sunday morning, my mom and her full-time caregiver, Becky, and I watched my church service online—Pastor David’s second sermon at Prestonwood.
David Marvin recently joined our church’s staff as a teaching pastor, and he crushed his first sermon. In fact, our senior Pastor, Dr. Jack Graham, came onstage after David’s message and said, “I was supposed to preach during the 11 AM service, but I’m not following that. Wow! David, get ready, because you’re preaching at 11.”
If I thought his first message was powerful, this one hit me in a whole different way.
He spoke on gratitude.
On seeing blessings everywhere.
On choosing thanksgiving intentionally.
And he used an illustration I’d never seen:
Two clear pitchers—one red, one blue—each with a dispenser.
A cart.
A tub beneath one.
He said:
“Whether the glass is half empty or half full depends on whether you’re pouring out or filling up.”
If you’re filling up, gratitude flows naturally.
If you’re pouring out, everything feels empty.
Then he made a point that burned into my mind:
“When gratitude should be expressed and isn’t, it’s wasted. A blessing unacknowledged is a blessing squandered.”
And that hit me square between the eyes. I thought about how often I feel moved to say a simple word, make a phone call, or send a letter, and then fail to do so. It made me feel incredibly guilty, and I vowed to do better moving forward. After all, this thing called life is not a dress rehearsal. You only get one shot. Make it count.
Ben Franklin’s Principle
Benjamin Franklin built his life on 13 personal virtues. One of them was this:
“Appreciation and Gratitude: Notice the blessing in everything big and small.
Dwell on the beauty in all I see, hear, touch, taste, and smell.
Realize that EVERYTHING is a gift from the Lord God and is put there to enjoy and learn from.”
That principle fit the week perfectly, and to be clear, it didn’t promise a life of sunshine and roses. We grow much more from the struggles in life than when things are easy. There is wisdom in embracing struggle, because as my mentor John Maxwell teaches, “Everything worth having in life is located uphill.“
Living My Life Verse
My life verse is 2 Corinthians 1:3-4:
“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,
the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort,
who comforts us in all our troubles,
so that we can comfort those in any trouble
with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.”
Sometimes the only silver lining is this:
If I walk through something hard today, I can help someone else walk through it tomorrow.
That alone makes the suffering worth it.
So What Do I Take Away From This Week?
- I’m grateful for Air Force Cooper and his acceptance to the Academy.
- I’m grateful the vertigo storm came and went.
- I’m grateful for my clients who gracefully rescheduled.
- I’m grateful my body bounced back enough to train Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday.
- I’m grateful for the continued opportunity to learn and grow as a coach.
- I’m grateful for quiet moments with my mom.
- I’m grateful for Pastor Mark and his sermon on gratitude.
- I’m grateful for the sudden shot of perspective that reframed the whole week.
- And I am profoundly grateful for Wendi, whose loyalty, sacrifice, and friendship have carried me through every storm this year.
Monday sucked.
Let’s just call it what it was.
But in the bigger picture?
It reminded me how blessed I actually am.
It realigned my perspective.
And it anchored me back in gratitude.
For that, I’m thankful.
kellyamidonblog.com 
Leave a comment