Every time I bend down to launch the six-kilogram wall ball, I feel my heart racing. The ball is hitting the frame and not being marked. I throw it again. Not marked. Again. The rep counter barely moves. Several minutes pass, and we cross the one-forty mark with only seventeen reps on the board.

Friday nights are gone too, in their old form. No dinners out, no late evenings. I learned that lesson from a single ruined Saturday and never needed to learn it again. When an invitation comes in on a Friday now, I decline. Not with resentment — with something closer to relief. Knowing what you’re protecting has a quietness to it.

A few weeks ago, I binged several episodes of Billions. Both rivals—Axelrod and Chuck Rhoades—live such full lives they barely sleep. They’re on the go 24/7, making moves, closing deals, destroying enemies. At the end of one episode, my heart was beating so fast I couldn’t sleep.