Our Story.

My name is Todd Ingram. In my forties, I began to see where my choices were taking me and what they could cost the people I loved.

I’m six feet tall, and at my heaviest, I weighed 318 pounds. My life revolved around junk food, restaurant meals, and nights at the bar. My wife and I were going out four or five nights a week, sometimes staying until two or three in the morning. Hangovers had become ordinary. So had being exhausted, uncomfortable, and unhappy with the man I saw in the mirror.

I loved my family. But the way I was living was putting our future at risk.

I was struggling to find my purpose. I had recovery experience, and I understood the language of honesty and accountability. Yet there were parts of my life where I still wasn’t being honest with myself.

For most of my life, I had been a people pleaser. I wanted to make my wife happy, make my parents proud, and be the person everyone wanted me to be. Somewhere along the way, I had come to believe that if I did enough for other people, they would give me the approval, peace, and fulfillment I was looking for.

I was keeping a score nobody else had agreed to.

Then I would sneak away and do what I wanted in secret, protecting the image I thought other people needed to have of me. I wanted their approval without letting them see the whole truth.

Eventually, I had to face my own part in that pattern. Other people could not give me a sense of worth or direction that I refused to build for myself.

That responsibility belonged to me.

I tried to change more times than I can count. I started diets. Bought gym memberships. Picked out workout programs. For a week or two, I would be all in. Then a few missed workouts became a few weeks away. Life got busy, something else took priority, and taking care of myself slipped to the bottom of the list again.

I kept making promises to myself that I didn’t keep.

The conversation that helped me change direction happened in a conference room at work. I was sitting there sweating, uncomfortable in my own body, when a man introduced me to peptides. But the part of that conversation that stayed with me was his insistence that they were not the answer by themselves.

He pointed me toward three foundations:

Nutrition. Training. Recovery.

He told me I needed to give those things my attention and make room for them in my life. At the time, that sounded selfish. I was used to putting everyone else’s wants ahead of my own needs, then resenting what was left.

But I was beginning to understand what neglecting myself was costing us.

Over the next year, I went from approximately 290 pounds to 235. Today, at 55 years old, I can see my abs. I see muscle and definition I’m proud to have built. I enjoy looking in the mirror and seeing evidence of the work I’ve put in.

And that work has changed more than my body.

I weigh my food. I plan my meals around protein, carbohydrates, and fats in amounts that fit my goals. I make time to train. I take recovery seriously. Peptides have also been part of my personal journey, but nutrition, training, and recovery remain the foundation.

Every day gives me another chance to follow through.

The deepest change has been in how I see my responsibility. I had to stop making my choices around how I wanted to be perceived and start making them around the man I intended to become.

For me, being a masculine man means having priorities and the character to honor them. Health. Strength. Longevity. Faith. Conviction. The diligence to do the work and the vigilance to recognize when I’m slipping.

It means telling the truth, including when the truth is uncomfortable. It means taking ownership of my conduct and being willing to change it.

My wife, Sondra, is the most important person in my life. I want more healthy years with her. I want to enjoy the life we’re building together. I want my family to have a man they can depend on and an example of what it looks like to take responsibility before another decade passes.

And I have two sons on this journey with me: Dalton and Sumner. Both inspire me. Both give me reasons to keep growing.

Sumner is in his early thirties and is a CrossFit Level 2 coach. He helps people build their fitness, and I admire the care he brings to his work. He takes his time. He wants to understand what he’s doing and do it right. He’s a quiet man, and when he speaks, he has something to say. I like to listen.

As I’ve become more dedicated to fitness, mental clarity, and service, I’ve come to appreciate his example even more. There is a steadiness in how he approaches things that I respect and learn from.

My oldest son, Dalton, and I seemed to reach a point of readiness around the same time. We each have our own path, but we’ve been walking through this change alongside one another. He’s doing well, and I’m proud of him.

He also holds me accountable.

Dalton will tell me the truth, and he does it with kindness and respect. I know it may not always be easy to speak that honestly to your father. His willingness to do it means a great deal to me. So does the way he does it.

That is the kind of relationship I want with my sons: room for honest conversation, the strength to hear something uncomfortable, and enough love to speak plainly without hurting or accusing each other. Being their father gives me a responsibility to lead. It also gives me a responsibility to listen and keep learning.

When I talk about a family legacy, this is what I mean. It is already taking shape in how we live, how we treat each other, and how we help one another become better men.

What I once thought was selfish, making time for my nutrition, my training, and my recovery, has become one of the most loving commitments I could make to my family. Taking care of myself gives me more to bring home: energy, presence, strength, and a better chance at a long life together.

That is the heart of Ingram Forged Genetics.

IFG Strong grew out of my desire to turn that experience into service. To share what I’ve learned, be honest about the work it takes, and encourage others who recognize themselves in my story.

I know what it feels like to start over. I know what it feels like to avoid the mirror, break another promise to yourself, and wonder whether you’ve waited too long.

At 55, I am still building. Still learning. Still accountable for what I do next. And I have the privilege of sharing this journey with two sons who inspire me to keep becoming a better man.

The legacy I want to leave begins with how I live today: what I put on my plate, the effort I bring to my training, the recovery I allow myself, and the way I show up for the people I love.

That is our story. And we’re still building it together.