📦 The Arrival: My Collagen Savior Descends

The parcel arrives, nestled like a love letter from my future, pain-free self. I tear it open like it contains BTS backstage passes, revealing the elegantly Japanese minimalism of True Heart Biomedical’s Collagen EX PRO box. It’s sleek, chic, and golden-accented. It whispers, “Your joints are still worth saving, sis.” This reassurance is like a warm hug, comforting me in my journey to better health.

Inside? 15 beautifully portioned powder packets, each promising mobility, strength, and the vague but hopeful idea of not turning to dust when I climb stairs. My first thought: He is cute. I’d swipe right.

🧪 The First Taste: Surprisingly Not a Punishment

I open one sachet like it’s a sacred scroll. Powder swirls into my warm water like collagen fairy dust. The taste? Light, sweet, and milky—like a subtle Yakult had a meet-cute with vanilla pudding. No funky fishy nonsense; thank the collagen gods.

As it glides down my throat, I whisper, “Fix me, EX PRO. Make me bouncy again.” It’s easy, it’s chill, and best of all — it doesn’t fight my taste buds.

💃 Week One: Is That… Movement I Feel?

I’m walking up the stairs. Nothing snaps, nothing pops. Am I imagining this? Is that… lubrication in my knees? Am I becoming the Tin Man post-oil can scene? I try a shallow squat. No drama. No tears. Just a smug little “hell yeah” to myself in the mirror.

Emotionally? I’m Beyoncé. Physically? Still an aging houseplant, but now with a real shot at revival. This product has given me a new lease on life, inspiring me to take charge of my health and well-being.

⚡️ Week Two: Grandma No More

I’m walking longer, standing longer, and even dancing in my kitchen while microwaving my dinner. (Yes, I still microwave dinner. Lack of mobility doesn’t equal starvation.)

But what hits differently? My joints don’t ache after a full workday anymore. I usually sit for hours and then hobble like a haunted marionette, but now? I stand up like someone with dignity. With grace. Like someone who didn’t literally break her toe on a coffee table corner last year.

🧘🏻‍♀️ Week Three: Flexible, Fab, and Still Flat-Broke But Moving Better

Honestly, I wasn’t expecting this much. The Japanese really did something here. This is undenatured type II collagen, meaning it’s not just your basic collagen. It’s specifically for joints, it’s gentle, it’s high-quality, and it’s got science backing it—from chicken sternal cartilage extract to shark cartilage extract (yes, queen, we’re basically drinking marine resilience). These are renowned for their benefits to the joints, and therefore they provide collagen with its unique effectiveness. Through this product, I am content and comfortable with my choice for joint health.

✨ Week Four: The Glow-Up

I’ve been using one to two sachets per day for almost a month. I’m not saying I’m ready to run a marathon—I’m still more “spicy hotpot and Netflix” than “hiking”—but the difference is real. I get up from bed with a little more ease. I squat to pick things up instead of inventing new yoga poses. I’m walking with confidence, not fear.

Did I mention the portability? It’s elite. I throw a sachet in my bag and take it to work—no mess, no shame. Also, the packaging is so stealthy and Instagrammable that it virtually invites your matcha latte to photo bomb it.

TL; DR–I’ve been using this Japanese collagen for a month or so, and Now I Move Like a Less-Broken Human™. It’s a story of hope and rebirth. Caveats: disclaimers apply, results may vary. What worked for me might not work the same way for everyone, and some individuals may not experience the same benefits. I hope my experience can inspire you to explore options for your own health and wellness journey.

I Forgot I am Disabled (Then My Crotch Reminded Me)｜Post-Stroke Sprinting on a Bike & The Sweet Taste of Adrenaline Again

There are moments in life that feel like time travel.
When I close my eyes and forget my body’s history, I am suddenly 28 again — ADHD, brain on fire, sprinting nowhere on a condo treadmill in Canada while the snow piles up outside. The gym has two treadmills, and while the person next to me jogs at a reasonable, polite Canadian pace… I’m beside them full tilt, hair whipping, sweat flying, the sound of my sneakers hammering the belt like war drums.
They stare. Of course, they do.
I don’t run — I launch. I don’t jog — I rage. It’s not fitness. It’s an exorcism.
Back then, five hours a day was my norm. My therapy. My escape. My reward system for ADHD on a silver platter, drizzled with dopamine. There were days I thought I was broken but not disabled.
And then 29 arrived.

🌪️ The Stroke

A cerebral betrayal. A lightning bolt in my brainstem. No warning. No mercy. Just lights out on half my body. This stroke not only took away my physical abilities but also hijacked my identity. I was no longer the person who could sprint on a treadmill for hours. I was reprogrammed like someone rebooted me but missed half the code.
You’ve heard the expression about strokes? They don’t just take your mobility. They take your identity. You’re not just slowed down — you’re rewritten. It’s like someone rebooted you but forgot to include half the programming.
They refer to rehab as a journey, but that’s too poetic. It’s more like being trapped in Groundhog Day with resistance bands. It’s brushing your teeth like it’s CrossFit. It’s learning to hold a fork again and pretending that it’s progress, not punishment.
And still, I fight. One glacially slow squat at a time.

🦠 Then… Pandemic

The world stopped. And so did I.
My rehab — my lifeline — crumbled. No more clinics. No more gyms. No more polite Canadian strangers witnessing my treadmill madness.
I was stuck. In my body. In my apartment. In the isolation that every disabled person already knows too well — it is now just… socially acceptable.
I did what I could. I adjusted. I tried not to spiral. I did not succeed.

🚲 The Bike That Changed Everything

Fast-forward to now—I’m in my mid—/late/whatever-30s and still fighting gravity every morning. I recently upgraded to a lightweight stationary bike, one I can manage even with my weird post-stroke body that doesn’t always remember what “left foot goes” means.

And let me tell you — THIS. BIKE. IS. MY. REBIRTH.

It’s not just a piece of fitness equipment. It’s a time machine. A whisper from the past that says, “You used to fly. Let’s try again.”

I climb on. I strap in.

I pedal.

And pedal.

And something shifts.

I get that feeling — that delicious, chaotic, all-consuming adrenaline rush I haven’t felt in over a decade. I’m sprinting. Not walking. Not rehabbing. SPRINTING. The kind of ride where music becomes background noise, time loses meaning, and all I can feel is velocity.

For two hours straight, I forget I’m disabled.

I sometimes forget that my left hand doesn’t open, that stairs make me anxious, and that the word “accommodation” is a misnomer.

I am speed. I am fire. I am sweat and hunger and joy.

💀 But Then…

I dismount.

My legs wobble like uncooked ramen. My lungs are toast. My post-stroke hand flails, trying to steady me against a wall. But worst of all?

My crotch is SCREAMING.

No one warned me that a lightweight bike meant lightweight padding. There are no nerves left in my foot, but every last pain receptor in my pelvic region is alive and thriving. I walk like I’ve been horse-riding on Saturn’s rings. Grace? Gone. Dignity? Never met her.

But you know what?

I don’t even care.

Because for the first time in forever, I felt like me. Not Stroke Survivor Me. Not Bone Disease Me. Not Insurance Code Me.

Just Me. The sprinter. The freak in the gym. The girl who runs when others walk because stillness has always felt like death.

🦴 A Little Broken, A Lot Alive

Between my osteoporosis, my ADHD, my stroke, and my general chaos gremlin energy, I’m basically a walking medical mystery. But every pedal, every ache, every sore muscle reminds me that this body — though faulty and fragile — still chooses motion.

And now, with my collagen packets in one hand and my crotch-friendly seat cover on the way (thank you, online shopping gods), I’m ready to keep riding.

Because even if the world tells me I’m broken… I know better.

#SprintLikeNoOneIsWatching #BikeLikeYouForgotYouHadADisability #StrokeSurvivorStory #ADHDtoDisabled

True Story- True Heart Biomedical’s Japanese Collagen Fixed My Knees, But Not Before a Bike Ride Ruined My Crotch