Why Staying Strong Is Non-Negotiable

A few weeks ago, I had a lumbar fusion at L4–L5 and L5–S1.

Recovery has been challenging, humbling, and, in a strange way, clarifying. More than anything, the experience has reinforced what I’ve believed (and preached) for nearly three decades: strength matters most when life gets hardest. In fact, that’s really the whole point of this story.

When I told clients I was having surgery, I kept hearing two questions:
“Is this because of the workout?” and
“How is this happening to you? You’re in great shape and apparently know what you’re doing.”

Fair questions. I expected them.

But my spine story didn’t start now. It started when I was twelve.

After a Little League basketball game, I began having severe pain shooting down my right leg and couldn’t sit comfortably for more than a few minutes. In the late 1970s, there were no MRIs, and my parents and doctors feared the worst: tumor, meningitis, who knew. I endured a long string of unpleasant tests before finally undergoing a myelogram, an old diagnostic procedure where dye is injected into the spinal canal and X-rays detect compression or damage.

That’s when they found it: a severely herniated disc at L5–S1. Oddly enough, it was a relief. Not exactly what you expect to hear about a 12-year-old, but far better than the alternatives.

Soon after, a neurosurgeon at NYU performed a lumbar laminectomy, removing part of the vertebral bone to relieve pressure on the nerves. My symptoms disappeared almost immediately, and I went on to live what looked like a normal, active childhood. But I was warned that I had congenital spinal stenosis, a naturally narrower spinal canal that made me more vulnerable to injury and nerve compression. The laminectomy solved the immediate problem but created some instability in an already vulnerable spine, which helps explain the next forty-plus years.

I was told to avoid contact sports, so my father didn’t let me play football. No problem. I spent years jumping bikes, catching in competitive baseball, skiing, and playing nonstop pickup basketball. In hindsight, I clearly didn’t grasp the definition of “contact sports.”

Throughout my life, I’ve dealt periodically with ruptured discs, back spasms, neck pain, chronic low-grade discomfort, and eventually a cervical fusion two years ago. If you’ve known me long enough, you’ve probably asked me, “How’s your back?” more times than I can count.

But here’s the important part: I never thought of myself as someone “with back problems.” Long before I had language for it, my instinct was to stay active, stay strong, and keep living normally. I learned how to manage it with improved posture, movement, and mechanics. Over time, I began training smarter. That process, in many ways, is what led me to found InForm Fitness.

Years ago, I interviewed Cathryn Jakobson Ramin for my podcast. She is the author of Crooked, a deeply researched examination of the back pain industry: the good, the bad, and the often unnecessary. One line she wrote stuck with me: “Don’t be a victim to your back problems.” It simply validated what had already been my attitude for decades.

I believe staying active and strong delayed this most recent surgery for years. Not to say I didn’t make bad decisions along the way. Seven years ago, I took up the most dangerous sport known to man: platform tennis. Look it up.

Over time, degeneration caught up with me. The narrowing, instability, and accumulated wear eventually compressed nerves beyond what conservative care could manage. The final turning point was developing a partial foot drop. That made the decision clear. Surgery was no longer optional.

A spinal discectomy and fusion is a significant procedure. My lower back muscles were opened to access the spine, pressure was relieved from irritated nerves, and spacers and hardware were placed to stabilize the vertebrae.

My recovery has been no joke. The first two weeks took everything I had, physically and mentally, and more than I expected from the people around me, especially my incredible wife, Tara, who somehow managed to be my nurse, coach, bodyguard, and emotional shock absorber all at once. Even now, five weeks post-op, I deal with lingering nerve irritation: dull aching, burning, or sharp stinging sensations in my hips and legs. At times, it feels like my nerves are throwing a celebration after being compressed for so long, and unfortunately, I wasn’t invited to the party.

Here’s my key point: my overall strength and health are what got me through the hardest part. I honestly don’t know how someone who is weak, sedentary, overweight, or medically compromised manages a surgery like this. The research is clear. Outcomes are worse for smokers, the deconditioned, and those with poor baseline strength.

Which brings me to the lesson I want every InForm client to take seriously: stay strong. Seriously strong.

Just as important, get strong in a way that doesn’t create new problems along the way. I know our workouts aren’t flashy. They’re repetitive, predictable, and controlled. You won’t find loud music, circus tricks, or endless “muscle confusion.” That’s intentional.

We’re not exercising for entertainment. We’re training for resilience.

One day, whether it’s surgery, illness, injury, or just the realities of aging, something will test you. When that happens, strength is what carries you through. I believe the method we use at InForm prepared me for this moment better than anything else I’ve ever done.

My prognosis is excellent, and I feel a little better every day. Part of the procedure involved a bone graft that needs time to fully take, which means I’m sidelined from instructing for now. It’s frustrating, but I understand how important it is to be patient and let the process run its course.

I’m optimistic and deeply grateful, especially for my friends, my wife, and my team at InForm. I’m also more convinced than ever that what we do matters. Not because it’s trendy or exciting, but because it works when it matters most.

If this story resonates with you, I’d ask one small favor. Share it with someone you care about, a friend, colleague, or family member you worry isn’t strong enough for what life might throw at them. Maybe this is the nudge they need to finally get started.

Thank you for all the support you’ve shown me. I’m looking forward to continuing the journey with all of you, stronger and smarter than ever.

— Adam