ABOUT ME
🤝 ABOUT ME
I'm a triplet—born with two amazing fraternal sisters—and we grew up side by side, swimming, tumbling, playing baseball, basketball, and soccer. Turns out, I had a natural knack for most of them. My mom was a synchronized swimmer, and my dad played football, including as a fullback for the Marines. We grew up in a cul-de-sac in Orland Park, IL, with a pool and a collie named Snickers.
After my dad passed away suddenly of a heart attack when we were 22, I felt a responsibility to be the man of the house and support my family, or at the very least, work hard to be financially independent.
Through all the challenges we faced, I believe my greatest accomplishment isn't athletic or professional—it's living a fun, whole life while seeing my mom and sisters thrive over the last 20 years, something I never thought was possible without my dad.
Life was hard working in TV news right out of college, especially after I lost my job. At some point, we all face financial hardship. But with determination, patience, and perhaps a little luck, we made it and have lived well in Chicago, creating memories that most people dream of—like family trips to Hawaii and Disney World. Watching my mom thrive as a grandma to two wonderful grandchildren, after everything we went through, inspires me every single day.
Our family's commitment to a healthier lifestyle was sparked when Mom gave us all Fitbits in 2008. That small moment motivated us to take better care of ourselves, especially given our family's history of heart issues.
Funny enough, I used to be embarrassed by headbands. I didn't want anyone associating me with "sweatin' to the oldies" or comparing me to Richard Simmons. But now? I wear them proudly—not just for the sweat, but as a signal that I showed up for myself. They're a badge of effort.
I wore many different headbands before I grew into Headband Bill.
The road to wellness and self-confidence hasn't exactly been a straight line—more like a series of setbacks, pivots, and unexpected wins. I spent 10 years chasing my dream of becoming a Chicago sports anchor—working at two television stations while trying to get back into my all-state water polo shape from my days as a teenager. I was grinding—working out to look better, feel better, and build the self-esteem I needed to feel confident in my own skin and relationships.
Growing up, I struggled with undiagnosed ADHD, self-esteem issues, and was often bullied for being chubby. Depression hit hard. But sports became a lifeline—soccer, basketball, and baseball gave me a sense of purpose and belonging, as well as positive reinforcement for my efforts and skills.
Everything changed in high school. While I had swum growing up, it was never something I loved. Then I won a conference title in the 500-yard freestyle. That win gave me confidence that I could accomplish difficult things and succeed. I leaned into training, became an all-state water polo player, and discovered real confidence and the full extent of my potential.
Like so many '90s kids in Chicago, I grew up idolizing Michael Jordan. Watching the Bulls win six championships didn’t just inspire me to be competitive—it made me want to be part of that world. I didn’t just want to play sports—I wanted to tell the stories behind them. Jordan made me believe that if I could excel as an athlete and cover athletes like him or the Chicago teams I loved, it wouldn’t even feel like work. That dream led me to pursue a career in sports journalism.
I chose the University of Iowa because it had two things I needed: a strong journalism program and a competitive water polo team. I was part of the inaugural broadcast journalism class taught at the new Adler Journalism Building, where I refined my skills in reporting, writing, and production. I helped build a scrappy, wide-ranging water polo team into a Big Ten competitor and served as captain for two years. I finally felt like I was finding my rhythm.
Then my senior year hit like a tidal wave. I got a call during a water polo house party I was hosting—my dad had died of a heart attack. It shattered me. I graduated on schedule and started working as a TV news producer, but the grief and stress of a toxic work environment took a toll. I was laid off six months in, rehired for under $20K, and faced sexual harassment from my boss. I spiraled into a negative mindset, feeling stuck and disillusioned.
Still, I kept with it. I interned for free after being laid off to build my resume tape and landed my first on-air opportunity—and that spark changed everything. I eventually took on leadership roles, ran stations, and leaned into my strengths. That breakthrough led to a management role at a Chicago TV station—the city I’d always dreamed of working in. It marked my transition from storytelling to strategy, and now I lead data operations at Blue Cross Blue Shield of Illinois, where every data point tells a story. I ensure it's accurate, timely, and impactful.
On my 35th birthday, I took the Fiero my dad gave me for becoming an Eagle Scout on a solo road trip. Only about 6% of Boy Scouts achieve that rank, and the most challenging part is often the service project. For mine, I organized two book drives in Orland Park that brought thousands of books to my mom’s K–8 school—a meaningful way to give back to the place that shaped us.
I'd just been laid off—after being voted Best Consultant at my company—and used the setback as a launchpad. For 35 straight days, I drove through seven states, hiked the Appalachian Trail, camped every night, and had a hot shower, fresh coffee, and never went a day without clean underwear. That Fiero, like the mountain bike I used to ride, made me feel like he was with me, cheering me on. That trip reminded me: even in moments of uncertainty, I could figure it out. It also made me feel so grateful for my wonderful mother and how strong, innovative, and supportive she was as a single parent.
📰 STORYTELLING & GRIEF
Losing my dad broke me.
For years, I worked in journalism, chasing good stories—stories that made sense, were well-told, and felt worth sharing. I wanted life to feel like that: if I worked hard enough, maybe the story would turn out the way I hoped.
But losing him was the kind of story I never wanted to write.
I didn’t want to accept the news. I didn’t want the chapter to end that way. For a long time, I couldn’t. There was a time I couldn’t even look at old family photos—it was too painful.
Each birthday or major accomplishment felt like something he was missing. And it hurt.
Perhaps that’s why I continued to chase moments of purpose and clarity through sports, media, fitness, and community. Because if I couldn’t change the story, I could at least keep living one worth telling.
Since I was 22, I’ve had to become my own grief counselor and confidence coach. Over time, I became that for others, too.
Because here’s the truth: someone else out there is going through it too. And knowing someone is cheering you on—really cheering for you—can change everything.
That’s why I show up. That’s what this headband represents. Not just effort. Not just movement. But encouragement, resilience, and a quiet reminder that you’re not alone.
The headband may have originated as a way to manage sweat, but it has become something more—a legacy of movement, belief, and care.
Just like the lessons my dad left behind.