Do you want to know who I am? Well, I’m Jim Lunsford. But I’m not just a name on a website—I’m the guy who found himself face down at rock bottom and decided, at 2:33 a.m. on August 2, 2015, that I wasn’t going to die there. I was the guy who was 305 pounds, buried under addiction and bad choices, and now I’m the guy who runs daily, who weighs 170 pounds, who pushes through even when my hips scream for me to quit. If you’re looking for someone who’s had it easy, who preaches soft words of self-care, and waiting for the world to hand you a win, you should click that little “X” on the top right of your screen right now because that’s not me. I believe in raw discipline, in getting up when you’re broken, and in facing the pain until it bows down to your will.
I could tell you that I’m a Peer Recovery Coach in training, I’ve served in law enforcement and corrections, and I’m a father, a husband, and a grandfather. All true. All part of the story. But what really matters, what defines me, is that I’m a man who doesn’t back down from the struggle. I’ve stared down pain and fear, taken them by the neck, and shown them who’s in charge. Not because I’m special, not because I’m fearless, but because I’ve chosen again and again to keep going. To keep moving when it would be easier to quit. To push harder when everything screams to ease up. I don’t have time for excuses, and I don’t think you do either. Life is a fight, and I’m here to show you how to win.
My journey hasn’t been pretty. It hasn’t been Instagram-perfect, polished, or without a lot of blood and sweat. My story is one of addiction, of running with a demon that just wouldn’t let go until I broke free with nothing more than raw grit. I decided, after too many nights of numbing myself with substances, that I needed to either let it kill me or find a way to fight back. I chose the latter. Sobriety wasn’t some miraculous transformation; it was waking up every single day, fighting the same damn fight, and deciding that I was worth the struggle. And if you ask me now, at 48 years old, 6 feet 1 inch, and every bit of those 170 pounds forged through discipline, if I’d do it again? Absolutely. Because I know who I am and I know what I’m capable of. And I’m still just getting started.
Running is my meditation, my way of working through everything that life throws at me. I run not because it’s easy or because I’m naturally gifted at it—I run because it hurts. I run because it tests me, strips away all the noise, and leaves me alone with my thoughts and the pavement beneath my feet. When my body hits that perfect pace, every muscle, breath, and heartbeat is aligned; that’s when I find peace. That’s when I know I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be—in the fight, in the struggle, pushing for more. I’ve been in plenty of races, but I’m not chasing a medal. I’m chasing that moment when I feel unstoppable when nothing can stand in my way. It’s a reminder that I’m alive, in control, and not the guy I used to be.
I’ve been in law enforcement, I’ve put on the badge and faced the dark corners of the world, and I’ve worked in corrections, standing between chaos and order. It’s a job that taught me the value of discipline, integrity, and keeping a promise no matter the cost. I’ve been stabbed, chased suspects, and had nights where the weight of the world felt like it was resting right between my shoulder blades. But you know what? I wouldn’t trade those experiences. They made me who I am. They showed me just how far a man can go when he decides to be unbreakable. Pain isn’t something to avoid—it’s something to confront, walk through, and beat. And that’s something I bring into every interaction I have, whether it’s with someone battling addiction, someone needing a coach, or someone looking to find the fire within themselves again.
I’m trying to step into a new role now as a Peer Recovery Coach and maybe even a Work Coach. I’ve been where a lot of people are, and I know the path out isn’t a gentle stroll—it’s a steep, brutal climb. I’m not interested in offering empty reassurances or pretending this is some kind of smooth journey. It’s not. It takes hard work, relentless commitment, and the ability to look at yourself in the mirror and decide you’re worth fighting for. I’ve spent years pulling myself out of my own dark places, and now I’m here to help others find the strength to do the same. My approach isn’t for everyone—I’m not soft or subtle, and I won’t give you an easy out. But if you’re ready to work, ready to get uncomfortable, ready to be held accountable, then we’ll get somewhere.
People ask me why I’m so driven—why I keep pushing even when I could just coast. Here’s the answer: because I know what happens when I don’t. I know what happens when I let my guard down. I start to make excuses and allow today’s comfort to rob me of the strength I need for tomorrow. I know what it’s like to feel weak, to feel powerless, to let myself slip into the kind of life that just slowly kills you without you realizing it. I’ve been there, and I refuse to go back. Every morning, I wake up, and I have a choice. Do I take the easy road, the one that offers comfort and complacency, or do I take the hard road, the one that forces me to grow? I choose the hard road—every single time.
I’m a family man, too. I’ve got a wife, Kelly, who battles her own set of challenges every day—chronic illnesses that would have most people staying down. But not Kelly. She’s a fighter, just like me. My family—my kids and grandkids— know what I’m about. They see how I live and know that I’m not just talking when I tell them to fight, stay disciplined, and never back down from a challenge. They know that every time I lace up my running shoes, hit the weights, and push past what I think I can do, I’m living the message. They see it, and they live it too.
I’m not here to impress you. I’m here to tell you that you can be more than you are right now if you’re willing to fight for it. It’s not going to be easy, and it sure as hell isn’t going to be quick. But the rewards are real—the strength, the resilience, the feeling that you are finally in control of your own damn life. That’s what I’m about. No shortcuts, no handouts, no excuses. Just the willingness to fight, to bleed, and to rise above. You’ve got it in you. I know because I did, too, and I was a mess. If I can get up, if I can fight through it, then so can you. And if you’re willing to get uncomfortable and push beyond what you think you’re capable of, then maybe—just maybe—we can make something happen together.
This is who I am—a man defined not by what I’ve done but by what I’ve overcome. A man who knows the value of discipline, getting up when you’ve been knocked down, and pushing forward even when it hurts like hell. If you’re here because you want to feel inspired, great. But if you’re here because you want to change, because you want to fight for something better—well, that’s even better because that’s where the real work begins.
Stay disciplined. Stay resilient.
Jim Lunsford