Thirty-nine years ago today, on September 5, 1985, I was clinically dead from a lethal drug injection. Miraculously, I was revived, pulled back from the brink, and given a second chance at life. Since that moment, I’ve felt a responsibility to share the miracle I witnessed—the crossing over in death, the truths revealed to me, and the incredible journey back. But it wasn’t until much later, after my son’s near-death experience during the opioid crisis, that I found the courage to tell the full story.
For years, I kept this story to myself, but when my son faced his own battle with addiction, I knew I had to share it in its entirety.
What’s it like to die? I can't explain that without first being honest about what it was like to live the way I was living. To tell my story, I had to open up to my sons, my friends, my clients, and the world. I had to reveal that I was an addict, someone who succumbed to the darkness of drug addiction—and died because of it.
In doing so, I expose the shame of allowing my life to spiral out of control. I was once an NCAA All-American wrestler, a rising star in my mid-twenties, working as an international model represented by the prestigious Ford agency. My face graced designer ads and magazine covers; I worked in New York, Paris, Milan, Zurich, and Tokyo. But as my career flourished, so did my addiction, until it finally consumed me.
When my book Wrestling with Angels was released in 2020, I was both excited and apprehensive. Sharing the story that had lived inside me for decades brought vulnerability, but when Dr. Steven Jaffe, a renowned recovery expert, described it as “extremely relevant” amidst the opioid epidemic, I felt a sense of validation. My story wasn’t just mine anymore—it was part of a larger conversation. Dr. Jaffe wrote, "I was inspired by John's vivid description of his own death from a drug overdose, followed by his receiving the gift of returning to life. This is a highly entertaining read, and in this time of an opioid epidemic, it is extremely relevant." His words struck a chord within me, reassuring me that my story was resonating with others.
I was a wrestler at Penn State, representing one of the top programs in the nation—a lineage that remains in my heart like family. I shared Wrestling with Angels with one of my beloved teachers, Dr. Charles Prebish, Professor Emeritus of Religious Studies. For Dr. Prebish, Penn State wrestling was more than just a sport; it was a form of sacred fellowship. He once told our class how, after an operation, he insisted on leaving the hospital early to attend a dual meet in Rec Hall, bringing along a special cushion to rest his post-op body semi-comfortably. When I faltered during my final dual meet there, committing what felt like a blasphemous act, I feared it was unforgivable. But I knew I couldn’t just reveal the glorious moment when I stood before the source of all truth and love without also showing the life I led before that moment, with all its triumphs and tragedies.
Dr. Prebish’s response to my story meant the world to me: "A magnificent read. John's unabashed prose strikes right to one's heart and inspires great compassion. I simply cannot remember the last time I cried as I read the concluding chapter of a book. This is one utterly tremendous story!" His words felt like a form of forgiveness from the loyal fan base I felt I had let down in my senior year. I was in contention for a national championship and once ranked second behind the legendary Olympic champion Dave Schultz. But my addiction broke through that year, and I finished below expectations.
There is a sacredness in wrestling, akin to the reverence martial artists hold for their disciplines. Wrestling is known as the oldest sport, and those who practice it understand it as the most ancient form of martial art. Years later, at age 36, I put myself through the Olympic trials as a form of penance for my past sins. I punished my body to reach the level of competitiveness I needed, finding catharsis in the process. Although I didn’t win the trials, I defeated some younger champions and earned a medal.
It wasn’t until I nearly lost my son to the ravages of the opioid epidemic that I began to fully share my story—how drugs had taken me from my family. I told him how, once I crossed over in death, I stood before the light and was shown the grieving prayers from my family, who knew I was careening towards death. Their prayers were answered, and part of my mission upon returning is to let other families know that their prayers for their loved ones are not unseen or in vain. Prayers of hope do indeed hold your loved ones in the light, and I was in a better place because of them.
For years, I have worked as a messenger of health and wellness, serving as a personal trainer to a who’s who client list. I was featured in GQ as the guy to know for fitness and rated as the top personal trainer in LA by Allure magazine.
Throughout those years, I tried to reflect the light I was shown, doing my best to motivate, direct, and offer hands-on prayers for everyone I’ve been entrusted with. Yet, I never publicly shared my near-death experience until now, in this book. The first person I shared my manuscript with was my former client, Laura Morton, a 20-time New York Times Best-Selling author. Laura encouraged me to complete my story and bring it to the world, writing in her review: "The book tugs at your heartstrings, touching on difficult issues so many families are dealing with every day. John expresses his experiences beautifully, allowing himself to be raw, real, and full of grace."
Since its release, Wrestling with Angels has been optioned for a film by Hollywood producer Mark Sennet, which is both humbling and exciting. I am profoundly grateful for the many angels who have touched my life. Their presence, guidance, and love have helped me to share my story—one that is as much about redemption as it is about the unyielding pursuit of truth and love. As my story continues to reach new audiences, I hope it serves as a beacon of hope for those struggling with addiction, and a testament to the power of second chances.
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