I can’t wait until this heart is fixed…

This past weekend, I tried to go for a short bike ride with my oldest son. Just something simple and nothing crazy—just a dad and his kid riding through the campground.

At first, everything felt fine. I actually felt like myself… or at least a version of me I still recognize. For a moment, it almost felt normal. And then… it didn’t.

About fifteen minutes in, my heart rate spiked and I couldn’t catch my breath. My body shut it down—hard. Just like that. “Nope… not today.”

The Frustrating Part?

I felt totally fine when we started, and that’s the part that gets me the most these days. I almost feel normal, but not quite, and then it escalates quickly (yes, think of the Anchorman clip).

It’s like a false sense of security. You start believing maybe, just maybe, you can do what you used to. Then your body throws up a wall and reminds you: You’re not okay. Not yet.

And that’s what messes with my head. One minute I’m just a dad out for a bike ride with his kid. The next, I’m on the side of the trail, trying to catch my breath, feeling like my own body betrayed you. My son asking if I’m OK.

What Hurts the Most

It’s not the discomfort or the pain—I can handle that. What kills me is missing the little moments. Having to stop. Having to sit things out. Telling my kid, “Sorry buddy, I need a minute.” That’s the hardest part of all of this. Not being able to be the dad I want to be.

Surgery’s Coming

July 10. Open-heart surgery. It’s heavy. It’s terrifying. But it’s also what I need.

And every moment like this—where I have to pull back, slow down, or stop completely—just lights a fire in me to come back stronger. I want to be the dad who finishes the ride. Who doesn’t tap out early. Who keeps pace. Who shows up—fully. The way I want to. The way I use to.