Pursue Your Strength: Nate Wiens

Strength doesn’t begin with lifting weights or competing against others. For Nate Wiens, it begins with the first step he takes every morning — the sharp, metallic click of his prosthesis locking into place. It starts with the deep exhale as he braces himself for the pain: the ache that begins at the distal end of his stump and travels upward through his knee into his upper thigh.

That’s where Nate’s strength begins.

It continues throughout the day. After a workout, when sweat pools in the socket of his prosthesis, he must drain it to prevent the end of his tibia from painfully pistoning against the bottom. For Nate, strength is hopping around after a shower, shifting to keep his blood flowing and ensuring it doesn’t pool, which could compromise circulation. Strength is pushing through the sharp, vice-like pain that shoots up his knee when the nerves get pinched in a crowded grocery store, all the while staying calm and friendly with the cashier.

At night, strength is the ritual of removing the layers of plaster, titanium, carbon fiber, and silicon. It’s massaging the remnants of sinew, bone, and muscle to prepare his body for another day of what’s required to keep moving. But the truest strength, for Nate, is the mental fortitude to do this day after day, for the rest of his life.

Nate lost his left foot and part of his lower leg in a lawnmower accident just a month shy of turning three years old.

He was life-flighted to the hospital, where his parents faced a heartbreaking choice: attempt to reattach his foot, knowing it would be lifeless, or move forward with a prosthesis. They chose the latter.

After surgery and countless hours of rehabilitation, the seed of strength was planted. Nate learned to walk, run, climb, and push so hard that he repeatedly broke his prosthesis — which made both him and his doctors smile, despite the extra work it caused them.

As a child, strength wasn’t something Nate sought out; it was a survival mechanism. He played basketball and baseball, then switched to lacrosse in high school. He marched miles a day in the drumline, carrying 60 pounds of gear on his shoulders. In fifth grade, he underwent another surgery to prevent his tibia from pushing through his stump as he grew. More rehab. More strength forged in sweat, pain, and a relentless drive to keep moving.

In college, Nate left competitive sports behind but found solace in weightlifting. Traveling for work as a consultant, he made time to train wherever he could, squeezing workouts into hotel gyms with whatever equipment was available. Later, after a career change, he began building a home gym to ensure he would always have a space to grow — physically and mentally. For over three decades, strength has not been optional for Nate. It has been the foundation of how he lives.

“I’m not the biggest, fastest, or most powerful person in the room. I don’t have the body of a bodybuilder or the endurance of an elite athlete,” he says. “But I am strong in ways that few will ever understand.”

Nate lives with constant reminders of his limitations -- and how flexible they can become when pushed. Without strength, he might need a cane or even a wheelchair. He can’t build up his left leg the way others might; he has no calf muscle, and his upper leg is atrophied. Arthritis will likely hit his knee and hip far earlier than most. But strength training is the key to maintaining as much normalcy as possible, for as long as possible.

The challenge was laid before Nate as a child: build strength or be confined.

“This isn’t just about lifting weights — it’s about lifting myself up every day,” Nate says. “That’s how I’ve lived, and that’s how I continue to live.”

The gym has also given him opportunities to immerse himself in healthcare, fitness, sports, and causes related to amputees. As a teenager, Nate offered hope to others: an 80-year-old man who had just lost his leg to gout, a 30-year-old tough guy recovering from a motorcycle accident, and mothers who feared their children’s lives would be confined to wheelchairs. He has shown them that life doesn’t have to end with loss.

It can be redefined through strength.

Outer strength — the kind that lets someone lift weights — is important, he says. But for Nate, inner strength — the kind that lifts others, inspires, mentors, and shares hope — accomplishes far greater things.

Metaphors of Strength 

When Nate thinks about strength, two metaphors come to mind.

The first is a single stick breaking versus a bundle of sticks held together. Alone, a stick can snap under pressure, but together, they are unbreakable. This is the strength of community — his community of amputees. The people who understand what it means to be strong in ways others may never fully comprehend. They push each other to exceed expectations, running suicides until they’re puking and outpacing their able-bodied teammates. Together, they are unbreakable, Nate says.

The second metaphor is Aesop’s fable of the oak and the reed. The oak, proud and sturdy, is uprooted by the storm, but the reed, flexible and yielding, survives. This is the strength of adaptability. Nate’s prosthesis doesn’t allow for textbook squats or deadlifts. Full ankle mobility is unattainable. But these challenges aren’t excuses; they’re opportunities to adapt. He adjusts his stance, massages muscle and bone during rest periods, and works extra sets to prevent further atrophy in his left leg.

For Nate, flexibility isn’t just physical. It’s a mindset that allows him to keep moving forward even when the path is unclear. When things don’t go according to plan.

Having a prosthesis has taught Nate the fundamentals of exercise — not just from textbooks, but from the trial-and-error school of life. His anatomy degree helps, but it’s the lived experience of rehab, advice from gym buddies, and his own ingenuity that keep him improving despite limitations. Strength, for Nate, is understanding that what works for others might not work for him — and that’s okay.

“The inner journey of strength, fitness, and health is deeply personal,” he says. “It’s about finding your own path to vitality, regardless of the obstacles.”

For over three decades, Nate has understood that strength isn’t about the heaviest weights or the loudest accolades. It’s about consistency. It’s about pushing through pain, overcoming self-doubt, and showing up when it feels impossible.

For Nate, strength means waking up every day and asking, “What’s the best I can give today?”

“That is the strength I live by," he says. “And that is the strength that will carry me through every day, for the rest of my life.”