I WAS KNOWN as the "flamboyant" child—loud, energetic, passionate. My interests and energy often made people uncomfortable. I was constantly subjected to the words "man up." Despite my constant effort to fit in and please others, I was called homophobic slurs before I even knew what being gay meant. Eventually, I would come to realize that my queerness was not a burden, but a superpower.
As a preacher's kid, I experienced first-hand that a leader serves others. In fact, I knew I had a calling to lead all of my life. What I didn't know was that it would manifest through health and wellness. What I also didn't know was that a career in fitness would turn into the means of self-expression I needed. I fell in love with fitness in college while spending a summer with my Pops. He always told me "your body is your billboard," reflecting your time, effort, and discipline. I began working out with him daily, and the results got me hooked. After college, I got a job as a performer at Universal Studios in Singapore, where I used those same workouts as warm-ups for my shows. I started to find power in building my body. As I transformed, I discovered that the lessons I learned about focus, drive, consistency, and discipline in the gym translated to all aspects of my life, which could help me achieve anything.
After years of training, other young Black performers began to reach out to me and ask for fitness advice. I started doing group workouts before our shows. These sessions were like therapy. The highlight of my day. We would bond over stories about our strict church upbringing, Black mamas, southern cooking, and our love for Beyoncé—all while working up a good sweat. It was through this bonding that I realized we were fostering a place where we could unapologetically be ourselves—something a lot of us had been missing. My purpose expanded: my workouts became a ministry to inspire and uplift others.
It hasn't always been easy—especially in the fitness industry. I have worked in gym spaces where my Blackness and queerness felt like they were merely checking a box, rather than being genuinely valued for the unique perspectives they bring to my classes. Of course, open hate towards the LGBTQ+ community in general is nothing new. We have endured discrimination and unjust laws since the beginning of this country. As I grew up, I watched my best friend Miss Carrie Chanel, a Black trans woman, face hatred and ridicule everywhere she went. I witnessed the stares, judgments, and blatant hostility. But I also saw her incredible strength and courage as she walked with her head held high. Her example in self-love and authenticity has given me strength to show up for myself and others like us. If more queer people had such an example in their life, maybe they too would build the same strength within themselves. Her influence on me fueled my mission to bring more LGBTQ+ representation in fitness.
I've been fortunate enough to see incredible examples of people making fitness more inclusive. Now, as a personal trainer, I aim to be a similar example and create a fitness environment that shares the same Black Queer Joy with the world. In 2022, I started the YouTube series Silent Disco HIIT to connect with my community through workouts featuring Black queer music. The Silent Disco class creates a safe space to move freely with like-minded people while building our bodies. I want participants to forget they’re working out and lose themselves in the experience, leaving them drenched in sweat and joy. Though open to everyone, the spirit of my classes comes from the LGBTQ+ community, which has always defied societal standards and marched to its own beat. I am proud to say that over 60 percent of my clientele are Black queer men.
I’m just one of many individuals and organizations finding ways to make fitness more comfortable for the LGBTQ+ community. There's Todd Brandon Morris, owner of OUT-FIT, a gym in New York City that offers a safe space for the LGBTQ+ community to train at any stage of their fitness journey. There's Tyriek Taylor, a trainer based in Texas who's using his platform to reduce the stigma around HIV diagnosis. There's Rob Kearney, an Out Foundation athlete, who's the first and only openly-gay Strongman. There's Landyn Pan, a transgender trainer, who's forging a sense of belonging in his clients and community. There's Joey Gonzalez who lead the industry empire Barry's to become a place of LGBTQ+ advocacy. Spaces and movements like these—all of which are celebrated in these series of stories below—have shown me the hope and power of community.
In my 32 years of living I am continually learning that authenticity is key. The more I dive into myself, the more my surroundings begin to mirror my metamorphosis. Everyone has their own individual story to tell, and the right audience will always find you when you are being your authentic self. That's something I think all LGBTQ+ people should embrace. That's what I aim to bestow into POC/queer trainers, nutritionists, therapists, doctors, and spiritual leaders within our society—and share their stories to provide that so-needed example young people need. It's crucial to show the world we excel in every facet of life, and our stories deserve to be told.
