Eric Bernard

I remember the first time I managed to run 10 kilometers without stopping. It felt surreal, as if I had rewritten a part of myself that I had once despised. Growing up in Luxembourg, I was the kid who always got picked last in sports, and at 15, I was still heavier than most of the boys my age. The teasing, the sideways glances—those things stick with you longer than they should. But instead of letting it drag me down, I channeled it into something productive. I worked hard in school, went to university, and eventually built an IT company from the ground up. Now, at 49, I employ over 300 people across multiple countries.

Despite the success, I realized I hadn’t invested in my health. At 37, I had this moment of clarity—if I could discipline myself to grow a company, why not my own body? That’s when the obsession began. The diet, the data, the constant tracking of metrics—I treated it all like another business venture. My wife, who I first met as my health coach, jokes that I can’t do anything halfway. She’s right. It’s not just about triathlons or cycling 60 kilometers a day; it’s about control, about refusing to let time and age dictate the narrative.

But as driven as I am, I can’t ignore the absurdity of it all. The gadgets, the meal plans, the sheer luxury of dedicating 15 hours a week to personal wellness. It’s a privilege, no question about it. And while I’m committed to this path—hoping it leads to a longer, healthier life—I also wonder if I’m missing something. Is living longer really just about keeping my body in top form, or is there a deeper balance I’ve yet to find?