It's been four years to the day since my heart attack, and even though it doesn't seem like that much time has passed, a lot of things have happened. Things have happened that I probably never expected or even imagined. Just nine months earlier I had been at the hospital as my baby brother (who's now going on five years) was born. A few months before that I had finished my schooling at the Institute of Houston. After working my way through school full-time, I had now been at my present job for nearly one year, working long and hard at beginning a full-blown career.

It might have seemed obvious, but I was completely taken by surprise when things started to catch up with me. The three previous years with little or no exercise, bad diet habits, inconsistent and inadequate rest, full-time school and a stretch of working two jobs had taken a toll on me, and my body simply said, "¡NO MAS!" I was now a near-victim of one of the nation's top killers.

Afterwards, I would face months of depression and frustration as I dealt with the waves of helplessness and feeling less than I was before. I felt damaged. It may be clinically true, but when the doctor uttered those words, I saw so much slipping away. I found myself now under the thumb of my daily medication, resisting the tendencies to do anything stressful, and probably for the first time in my adult life, without direction. That whole heart attack episode was a magnet next to the mental compass I used for direction in life. I doubted myself, and briefly considered just quitting my job and starting from scratch. Of course, once I realized just how hard that would be, I quickly regained my senses.