I’d be dead without exercise. Let me repeat that: I’d be dead without exercise.

As a teenager I participated in martial arts. Specifically, Muay Thai kickboxing and Gracie Jiu-Jitsu. These were my passions from fourteen to nineteen, and without them I likely would have found a way to end my life before turning twenty.

I didn’t know that I had depression; I knew something was wrong with me, but I didn’t know how to explain my defect. All I knew was that I didn’t feel that way at the gym. Tiger Academy of Martial Arts was the safest place in the world to me. It was where I poured myself into training and built relationships that buffered the worst impulses that depression conjured.

I’d wake up, drive to school, suffer in silence, drive to the gym, and train. Two hours of kickboxing followed by three hours of jiu-jitsu at the height of my training. Six days a week. I would have trained on Sundays, but the gym was closed then. I was so intense that, for a while, I would drive home, pack my gear, and run the two miles to the gym, train, then run back home in the dark.

My parents thought I was passionate - I was.

My training partners thought I was a serious but likable kid - I was.

I thought I loved training just for the sake of training - I didn’t.

Anything can become an addiction, and I got addicted to training. That’s considered a healthy addiction, but I’ve learned to be cautious of extremes. I neglected my schoolwork in favor of another hour of jiu-jitsu. I zoned out in class wondering if I could pull off a difficult submission later that evening. I didn’t speak with my parents much because I was so eager to get out of the house to go train.

I lost myself in training martial arts because the gym was the one place where I didn’t have thoughts to end my life. Where I knew I had worth despite my brain’s constant reminders of my worthlessness. What I didn’t know was that all my experiences in the gym provided a bulwark against my depression. I’d have a terrible day, but a few minutes after the warm-up I felt okay, and by the end of the session I’d feel exhausted but mentally clear.

I don’t believe I live to see my first day in college if I didn’t have the regular exercise I got with martial arts at the end of each day.

Now, I know that exercise is a massive factor in my mental health. Just now, I banged out a set of ten burpees because I was dragging mentally. As I learned from one of my favorite online mentors, Jocko Willink: “It is impossible to feel tired after ten burpees; you feel energized.” That little bit of physical exertion wiped the fatigue from my mind, and I’m finding it much easier to write.

What I must do as a part of my permanent recovery is engage in some form of physical exercise each day. What I cannot do is work myself to exhaustion thinking I’m still sixteen. My body, at thirty-two, doesn’t recover quite the same way as it did when I was a teenager. I’m carrying about twenty-five extra pounds thanks to the medication regimen I’ve been on for the past four years, and despite officiating lacrosse for a few weeks this season, my cardiovascular system is weak.

So I’m doing less, and being smart about how I work out. I’m not destroying my body to hide from my mind. I’m working on cultivating a mindset where I’m grateful for the body I have, it’s ability to perform work, and challenging it responsibly.