A Personal Loss That Changed Everything
I write this with a heavy heart and an urgent message—one that first responders, military personnel, and anyone dedicated to serving others need to hear.
Since leaving the fire department in 2016, I have seen an alarming number of former colleagues and members of the Evolve To Fit community battle cancer. This isn’t just bad luck. It’s a wake-up call.
One loss hit me harder than any other.
Lieutenant Christopher Hill wasn’t just a colleague—he was a mentor and a friend. When he was diagnosed with glioblastoma, an aggressive and deadly brain cancer, I threw myself into research. Holistic health strategies, nutrition plans, alternative therapies—I scoured every resource, desperate to find something that could help him fight back.
But as his illness progressed, I felt helpless. I saw friends taking him out to bars, indulging in fried foods and drinks after chemotherapy. At the time, I couldn’t understand it. In my mind, every choice mattered—every action could tip the scales between hope and despair.
I don’t blame them now. They were just trying to lift his spirits. But coming back from my own chronic disease, I became obsessed with healing. I did everything and anything to recover, and I succeeded. And I guess I was pushing that onto him—when in reality, he was dealing with something much more severe.
Since I couldn’t get inside his head, it’s not right for me to judge him—or anyone else who was trying to help him. That’s a hard lesson I’ve had to learn.
But at the time, my frustration turned to anger. I felt like he wasn’t fighting hard enough. I pushed for lifestyle changes, urged him to take every measure possible, but my advice often fell on deaf ears. Eventually, I withdrew. Maybe out of anger, maybe out of fear—fear that I couldn’t save him.
And then he was gone.
After midnight, I got the text message that Christopher had passed. He didn’t even make it through his first weekend in hospice. I was planning on seeing him that weekend. I still hold onto that too. I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye.
I had been thinking about leaving the fire department for years, but I was too much of a coward. I was scared—scared to leave my career, scared of the unknown. For the last year or two, I was miserable. I was struggling with my own obstacles, mentally and emotionally. Forced overtime wasn’t helpful. Neither was running an almost full time personal training business. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t be there for him the way I should have been. Maybe I wasn’t fully there for Chris at all.
And I carry that guilt.
It’s something I’ll have to reconcile.
But at 1:30 AM that night, I made the call. I quit the fire department.
I couldn’t do it anymore.
And here’s the part I never really thought about until recently:
Without his passing, I wouldn’t have my studio in Arlington.
Chris is the reason I’m here, doing this, right here, right now.
Why I Push My Clients So Hard
I think I set such a high standard for my clients and members because I secretly fear a poor health outcome for them. I push them to be better, to prevent them from facing what Chris and so many others have.
Maybe sometimes I’m too hard on them.
Maybe sometimes I push too much, expect too much. Maybe I demand excellence when all they need is progress.
That’s something I’ll have to reconcile, too.
But when I see my clients—some who have been training with me for four, seven, ten, fifteen years—thriving, stronger than ever, aging without pain, defying the odds?
Then I must be doing something right.
The Reality We Can No Longer Ignore
If you think cancer can’t happen to you, think again.
Lieutenant Hill was strong. So was John B. Johnson, a 35-year-old marathon runner who was diagnosed with stage 2 colorectal cancer despite his peak physical condition. The truth is, cancer doesn’t care about your job title, your fitness level, or how tough you think you are.
What does matter? Your environment. Your habits. Your exposure to toxins and stress.
Up to 90% of cancers are linked to lifestyle factors. That means diet, physical inactivity, obesity, alcohol consumption, and toxic exposures play a massive role in determining whether you stay healthy—or face a life-altering diagnosis.
The Hidden Threat: What You’re Not Thinking About
For firefighters, police officers, paramedics, and soldiers, the risks go beyond just diet and exercise.
Environmental exposures are killing us.
• Carcinogens in our gear and equipment. Firefighters are exposed to toxic smoke, chemicals, and flame retardants daily.
• Endocrine-disrupting chemicals in everyday products. Personal care products, cleaning agents, and even the plastic containers we eat from contain phthalates, parabens, and BPA—chemicals that disrupt hormones and have been linked to cancer.
• Artificial light exposure. Most of us rarely get natural sunlight, disrupting our circadian rhythms, weakening our immune systems, and increasing our cancer risk.
• Air and water pollution. Pesticides, heavy metals, and industrial chemicals contaminate our food and water supply. If you’re not filtering your water or being mindful of food quality, you’re absorbing harmful toxins daily.
These aren’t conspiracy theories. This is science-backed reality.
What You Can Do—Right Now
Ask yourself these hard questions:
✔ Nutrition: Are you fueling your body with whole, nutrient-dense foods, or sabotaging it with processed junk?
✔ Physical Activity: Are you challenging your body to grow stronger, or are you leading a sedentary life?
✔ Product Choices: Are you mindful of the chemicals in your personal care and household products?
✔ Environmental Awareness: Are you taking steps to minimize exposure to environmental toxins?
✔ Sunlight Exposure: Are you getting enough natural light, or is artificial light your primary source?
Your honest answers could mean the difference between thriving and suffering.
Final Thoughts
Chris’s passing changed the course of my life. Without him, I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t have left the fire department that night, and I wouldn’t be doing this work today, trying to help others build the resilience to prevent their own worst-case scenario.
If this resonates with you, if you’ve lost someone too soon, or if you’ve faced your own wake-up call, I’d love to hear your story. Let’s keep this conversation going.
With respect and commitment to your well-being,
Aric