Chapter 2
Bryce Daniel Armstrong
I ran a hand over my face as I headed out the door after a long day at the gym. Eventually, it would be Armstrong Health it’s taken over your life.
After about two years of that constant buzz of doubt and self-contempt eating at me—while still chasing that dopamine high—I finally had enough.
I gave my clients a month’s notice that I was leaving L.A.
I packed up about half of my clothes, sold some pieces I doubted I’d ever need to wear again, and donated the rest, sold my car and most of my furniture, sold my apartment in under a week, and rented a U-Haul.
By the end of the one month notice period, I’d packed up my entire life and hit the road toward home.
Was I really longing to return to my roots? Pining away for the Midwest like some homesick small-town boy? Did I miss a simpler life?
Yes?
No?
I really couldn’t tell you.
All I knew was I wasn’t going to break free of the drain on my mental health and the brain fog I’d acquired if I didn’t separate from all of it in one fell swoop. Like ripping off a bandage, I deleted my social media accounts, left L.A., and never looked back.
For a bit, I lived with my parents and aunt.
It wasn’t the perfect set up, but it put me close to my sister and her kids.
Hell, not only was I a proud uncle, I was even a great-uncle.
I loved my nieces and nephews, and it blew my mind my sister was a grandma, so I soaked up kid and baby time while I detoxed from social media.
My parents lived in a nice house in a tiny town best described as the suburbs of a very small city, and they let my aunt rent the in-law quarters of their home.
That left me living in their basement, but it was a nice break from the ritz, glamour, and fast pace.
I let myself wallow in self-pity and disgust for about twenty-four hours, then I pulled up my jockstrap, reminded myself it was only temporary, and set to work on a plan.
The fact I was already sleeping better, focusing better, and feeling better overall after such a short time being away from my old life was all the proof I needed I’d made the right decision.
When I saw a local news channel feature a story about the Haven Grove gym being in desperate need of a renovation, I couldn’t quite believe my ears. Haven Grove was one tiny town over from my parents. It was known for its peach orchard and general store called the Juicy Peach.
And it supposedly had a gym located in a great building at a great location. It was a fixer-upper looking for just the right person to bring it back to its old glory.
Had I really left behind my entire life in L.A. at age forty-eight only to return to the Midwest and give even a minute’s worth of thought to buying a gym in Podunk, USA?
Within a week, as I stood in front of the rundown gym with a key in hand, I realized I had my answer.
As the weeks passed, I also realized I was a physical trainer with some knowledge of marketing. I was not a general contractor, a construction worker, or a handyman.
The gym renovation was good for my body and mind, but it was going to take me five years at the rate I was going. I needed help, and I wasn’t too proud to admit it.
Haven Grove was a great little town, very similar to the one I’d grown up in.
The people were all up in your business, but they’d give you the shirt off their back if you needed something.
As much as the small-town annoyances had gotten to me way back then, the quirks of small-town living brought a comfort I hadn’t really known I needed.
I did a few stretches on the sidewalk outside the gym as I studied the giant glass windows I’d opted to have installed.
I loved how they let in so much natural light, and they looked fantastic from the outside.
Eventually, I’d have Armstrong Health I’d really enjoyed my meal that first night.
I was a good cook, and actually enjoyed healthy cooking, but sometimes it was just nice to have dinner prepared for you.
Plus, the people at the Riggs Family Roadhouse had been friendly.