Opening Up About My Battle with Anemia

For over a decade—if not two—I’ve known I was anemic. I didn’t ignore it, but I never fully realized how much it was impacting me until I took the time to connect the dots. Years of feeling “off,” countless “bad days” during training or races, and moments of fatigue so overwhelming it felt like a wall hitting me—it all came back to a condition that had quietly been dragging me down. It took a long time to accept it, but today, I’m finally opening up about my ongoing struggle with anemia.

The Moment That Made It Clear

One moment, in particular, remains etched in my mind. It was during the 2012 season, in the middle of a race—the bike portion—when I felt something I had never experienced before. I wasn’t tired. I wasn’t bonking. Yet, I just couldn’t pedal. I was literally punching my legs, trying to wake them up, trying to force them to fire, but nothing happened. My legs felt hollow, like all the power had drained from them.

Sherwin Yao, my wife’s cousin, rode up beside me and asked, “What’s wrong with you, Pinsan?” All I could say was, “I have no power, bro.” How I finished that race, I honestly don’t remember anymore. I still clocked in an okay time—but well below what I expected of myself.

At the time, I brushed it off. Maybe I hadn’t fueled right, or maybe I was just overworked. I convinced myself it was a bad day. We all have those, right? What I didn’t realize was that my body had been trying to tell me something—and I wasn’t listening. Anemia had been silently wearing me down for years.

Everything was starting to make sense. During those all-out sessions at the track or on the bike trainer, there were times when I’d lay flat on the track just to catch my breath, or step off the bike trainer, plant myself in front of an electric fan, and try to breathe easier. I’d been doing all-out efforts, sessions where I pushed myself to my absolute limits. And being the masochist that I am, I dismissed it as just another “Wapak ako bro!” moment—a day when I had simply gone a little too hard.

I loved training. I loved those all-out sessions. It was part of who I was and what I enjoyed. And so, I didn’t think much of it—even when my body was telling me otherwise. That time, those sessions felt “cool”.

The First Confinement: 2012

This didn’t start recently. The photo below was taken on July 23, 2012, just two weeks before my A-race that year—Ironman 70.3. I had been forcing myself to train every day, convincing myself that pushing harder would get me through. Looking back, I can’t help but see how pale I was—a clear sign something was wrong. Yet, there I was, smiling and pretending to be fine.

That was the first time I was confined, the first time my body forced me to stop. But even then, I didn’t get the full picture. I still tried to push myself to train, believing I could somehow will myself back into shape. But the reality was different—I didn’t make it to the starting line that year. I DNS’d (Did Not Start).

It was a wake-up call I didn’t listen to. My body was waving a red flag, but I chose to ignore it. Looking back now, I know I still raced with anemia that year, just as I probably had for many years prior. I didn’t know what was wrong because I never had myself checked.

The following year, in 2013, I came back with something to prove. I trained again, and this time, I finished Ironman 70.3—my revenge race (and my last meaningful one).

A Decade Later: It’s Still There

By July 21, 2022, I underwent another test—this time as part of a hospital workup. I already knew I had anemia, but this test reminded me just how much it was still lingering. The numbers said it all:

• Hemoglobin: 112 g/L (well below normal which is 130.0-170.0 g/L)
• MCV: 66 fL (indicating small red blood cells minimum of which is 80.0-100.0 fi)
• MCH: 19.3 pg (low hemoglobin content per red blood cell minimum of which is 26.0-34.0 pg)

It wasn’t a surprise, but seeing the numbers in black and white still hit hard. Despite everything I’d pushed through over the years, anemia was still holding me back.

The November 2024 Results

In November 27, 2024, I had another test done, and the results showed where I stood:

• Hemoglobin: 109 g/L (normal should be within 130 – 180 g/L)
• Hematocrit: 0.39 (normal should be 0.42-0.52)

It was clear that things hadn’t changed much. I was still fighting the same battle. But I hadn’t lost hope. I believed progress could come—even if it was slow.

A Small but Crucial Improvement

Just weeks later, on December 16, 2024, I had a follow-up test done, and there was a slight improvement:

• Hemoglobin: 116 g/L (normal should be within 130 – 180 g/L)
• Hematocrit: 0.39 (normal should be 0.42-0.52)

It wasn’t a huge leap, but it mattered. The slight increase reflected the effects of iron supplements and the effort I’d put into monitoring my health. Progress might feel small at times, but even small wins are worth celebrating. After all, it’s a step forward.

How Anemia Impacts Everyday Life

Anemia is more than just a health condition. It quietly infiltrates your life in ways that aren’t always obvious to others, but you feel it deeply:

• Endless Fatigue: Imagine waking up after a full night’s sleep and still feeling like you’ve been up for days. Simple tasks become monumental. Training? It feels impossible when just getting out of bed takes all your energy. It’s like trying to get through each day while your phone battery is stuck at 40% and never fully recharges.
• Shortness of Breath: Walking up a flight of stairs, carrying groceries, or even having a normal conversation leaves you feeling winded. Training sessions feel like you’re trying to breathe through a straw.
• Unexpected Weakness: There’s nothing more frustrating than feeling ready to work out, only to have your body give out halfway through. The strength you need just isn’t there—because the oxygen your muscles require isn’t there.
• Getting Fit and the Vicious Cycle: You know you need to train to feel better, but your body doesn’t have the energy. The less you move, the more weight you gain—and that makes it even harder to start again. It’s a cycle I’ve fallen into more times than I care to admit.
• The Mental Battle: Perhaps the hardest part is what people don’t see. As a man, you’re expected to look strong, act tough, and keep going. I’d catch my breath when no one was looking, pretending I was fine. I’d push through workouts, races, and life itself while hiding how much I was struggling. It’s exhausting—physically and mentally—to put on that front.

How I managed to keep going all these years is still a mystery to me. I still engage in sports up to now and even still do no-sleep days during events. Maybe I just got used to functioning at half capacity. But now, I’m wondering what could have been if I’m at 100%. No regrets though, it’s the dice that got rolled.

A Lesson in Priorities

For so long, I’ve adjusted to what others need or want. I pushed myself aside, convinced that I could always handle more. But this journey has taught me an important lesson: I matter, too. My health, my needs, and my well-being can’t come second anymore. Taking care of myself doesn’t mean I’m weak—it means I’m finally taking control.

It’s time to make the changes I need, and this time, the world will adjust.

Why I’m Sharing This

I’m not sharing this to make excuses. I’m sharing this because I know I’m not alone. Anemia isn’t something you often hear men talk about. When you look it up, it’s usually tied to women—whether it’s because of their period or pregnancy. The difference is, women often recover. Mine lingers. Even the iron supplements I take are marketed for women, which is kind of funny when you think about it, but it doesn’t make my reality any less true.

But part of why I’m sharing this now is because I have a daughter who’s a ball of energy and only keeps getting bigger and heavier. I carry her a lot—and I intend to keep doing so for as long as I can. Even when I’m running on 40% battery, or less. This is why I’m taking control of my story now—for her, and for myself.

For years, I carried this quietly, convincing myself it was nothing as I got so used to it. But if you feel off—if you’re always tired, weak, or short of breath—get checked. Listen to your body.

Anemia is something I’ll keep managing, but it doesn’t define me. And it doesn’t have to define you, either.

It’s not weakness to admit you’re struggling. It’s the first step toward getting better.

– CDG