His Call Sign Was Villain. He Was Planning to End His Life. Then He Went to the Paralympic Podium.

Dennis Connors grew up in the mountains of Southern California. By the time he was 17 he was competing for USA on the national rock climbing team, traveling Europe, and living by a single rule he hadn't named yet: high performance isn't a phase. It's a lifestyle.

That mantra carried him through the Marine Corps, through language school and the NSA and four years of banging his head against a desk until a gunnery sergeant finally got him deployed. Through the troop surge in 2007. Through the Triangle of Death, 27 rockets destroying the dining hall, and his first TBI that nobody diagnosed because the zero-to-one mentality said you were either fine or in a body bag — and he was fine.

Through counter-intelligence selection — only one in 100 Marines makes it. Through a second deployment running intelligence operations in Ramadi. Through an interrogation gone wrong where a man high on the Iraqi equivalent of meth slammed his head into a wall. Through a JSOC Tier 1 attachment he can't fully talk about to this day.

And then through coming home. Through PTSD he didn't believe in. Through two to three hours of sleep a night for years. Through the hallucination — an eight-year-old Iraqi boy playing with chalk in the middle of a suburban Oregon street, the son of an asset whose family was taken by Al-Qaeda after an operation went wrong, and when Dennis slammed on the brakes and pointed, his wife saw nothing.

March 2018

He had a plan. He knew the day. He had come to believe, with complete conviction, that he was a liability — not an asset — to everyone around him. That the world would be better without him in it. His call sign in Iraq had been Villain. He had taken that home too.

His wife heard something he said. She doesn't remember exactly what — he's asked her. But it was alarming enough that she turned on the lights, got the kids to bed, and said: you're going to leave all of this?

He broke down completely for the first time in his adult life.

The Therapist, the Funeral List, and the Conversational Gate

He spent a month finding a therapist who understood clearances — an Army reservist who knew what it meant to say 'I can't tell you what I did, but here's what it did to me.' She made him write a list of every person who would come to his funeral. It started at one or two names. She pushed back. It became pages.

Then she told him: those are the people you will destroy.

The work that followed reframed everything Dennis thought he knew about vulnerability. At spy school, intelligence operators learn about conversational gates — structured openings designed to allow information to flow. Vulnerability, he realized, works the same way. It is not disclosing weakness. It is having the courage to open a gate. Once the gate is open, you can step through.

He opened those gates with his veteran cycling community during a Project Hero ride. He told them what he had actually done in Iraq. He had expected them to see him differently. They hugged him and said: Dennis, we love you more now because we know what you've been carrying.

Shared Passion vs. Shared Service

One of the most specific and useful things Dennis says in this episode is the distinction between community built on shared service and community built on shared passion. Veterans groups are valuable — but the only thing holding them together is the fact of having served. Experiences vary enormously. What cycling gave Dennis was something different: a group of people doing the same thing, talking about the same thing, building toward the same thing. That's the kind of community that creates the depth of connection where a man can finally be fully known.

The Second Stroke — and What Had Changed

In May 2020, during COVID, Dennis had a second stroke. Partially paralyzed his left side. Nine months of relearning to walk.

And this time, from the first moment, his response was: I need help. Not I'll tough it out. Not what does this mean for my identity. Just: therapist, coach, community. What had felt impossible in 2018 had become a reflex.

He's going for gold at LA 2028. He says the medal won't be his. It'll be for everyone. If you want to go deeper on what Dennis is describing — the inner work of building self-awareness that doesn't collapse under pressure — this conversation maps directly to Module 3 of A2A at focusnowtraining.com/a2a.

Stay present,
Will

This episode discusses suicide and combat trauma. If you or someone you know is struggling, please reach out to a trusted person or a crisis line in your country for support.

More about Dennis Connors

Website, keynote speaking & executive coaching: dennisconnorsusa.com
LinkedIn: Dennis Connors
Instagram: Dennis Connors

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Co-produced by Robert Lopez | cratesaudio.com