We caught up with the brilliant and insightful Beth Sims a few weeks ago and have shared our conversation below.

Beth, looking forward to hearing all of your stories today. If you had a defining moment that you feel really changed the trajectory of your career, we’d love to hear the story and details.

Yes, there was absolutely a defining moment in my career. In fact, it was less of a lightning bolt and more of a belly laugh… one that completely changed the way I see health, wellness, and being alive.

Early in my career, I took health very seriously. I lived it in black and white. There was no gray area, no wiggle room. You either ate clean or you didn’t care about your body. You either exercised daily or you lacked discipline. I was structured, regimented, and intensely committed. On paper, I was the picture of wellness.

But something strange started happening.

Despite doing “everything right,” I found it harder and harder to find joy in everyday life. I was healthy… but I wasn’t happy. I was fit… but I felt tight, not just in my muscles, but in my spirit. I couldn’t laugh at a spontaneous dinner, or enjoy a lazy morning, or eat cake at a birthday party without mentally calculating the consequences.

Wellness had become a set of rules instead of a way of living.

Then came the moment that changed everything.

I was at the beach one morning, the kind of morning you’d see in a travel magazine. The sun was just coming up, the waves were gentle, and I was on a very serious walk… of course. Probably tracking my steps, monitoring my heart rate, and judging anyone holding a donut.

And that’s when I heard it. Laughter.

Not a polite chuckle, I’m talking full-body, can’t-breathe, snort-a-little laughter.

I looked over and saw three women standing in a circle, laughing hysterically. No phones. No equipment. Just laughing. Curious (and slightly concerned), I walked over and asked what they were doing.

One of them wiped tears from her eyes and said, “We’re doing laughter yoga. Want to join?”

Now, if you had met me then, you’d know this was wildly outside my comfort zone. I did structured workouts, measurable workouts not… laughing with strangers at sunrise.

But before I could politely decline, they grabbed my hands and said, “Too late, you’re in!”

And then it happened.

We started with fake laughter, the kind where you feel ridiculous. “Ha… ha… ha…” Very forced. Very awkward. I felt like an investment banker with no sense of humor.

But within seconds, it turned real.

Contagious, uncontrollable, laugh-so-hard-your-abs-hurt laughter.

We laughed at nothing. At everything. At the waves. At ourselves. At the sheer absurdity of being adults fake-laughing on a beach at 9 a.m. And in that moment, something inside me cracked open.

I realized I hadn’t laughed like that in years.

Here I was, someone who taught health for a living and I had completely neglected one of the most healing, human, life-giving experiences available to us: joy.

Those women weren’t tracking macros. They weren’t timing intervals. They weren’t optimizing anything.
And yet… they were radiant.

Alive.

Well.

I left that beach different.

That morning shifted the trajectory of my career in a profound way. I began to see that true wellness isn’t just physical discipline, it’s emotional freedom. It’s laughter, spontaneity, connection, and permission to live in the gray.

Health is not meant to feel like a cage.

It’s meant to feel like a life you actually enjoy being inside of.

Since then, my work has expanded beyond nutrition and exercise plans. I talk about joy as a wellness practice. About play as medicine. About balance instead of perfection.

Because sometimes the most powerful breakthrough in your professional career doesn’t come from a certification or a conference…

It comes from three laughing women on a beach who remind you that being healthy also means being happy and that laughter might just be the most underrated workout of all.

Great, appreciate you sharing that with us. Before we ask you to share more of your insights, can you take a moment to introduce yourself and how you got to where you are today to our readers.

For as long as I can remember, movement has been my first language.

I grew up as a gymnast and dancer, in studios that smelled like sweat, Tiger Balm, and determination. My childhood memories are filled with early morning practices, permanently sore muscles, glitter that never fully came off (no matter how hard you scrubbed), and stage lights so bright you could forget your choreography and your own name at the same time.

I learned very young that you could be completely exhausted… and completely in love with what you were doing.

Gymnastics and dance shaped me in profound ways. They taught me discipline, body awareness, resilience and how strength and grace can exist in the very same moment.

They also taught me humility.

Because nothing keeps you grounded like falling during a competition that you nailed in rehearsal… in front of a full audience… then popping back up smiling like, “That was part of the routine.” Character building at its finest.

But beyond the physical, they taught me how deeply connected our bodies are to our confidence, our joy, and our identity. When we feel strong in our bodies, we show up differently in our lives.

So when it came time to choose what to study, deciding to pursue Exercise Science and Nutrition at Purdue University felt like the most natural step in the world. It wasn’t just a career path, it was an extension of who I already was.

But even then, I knew my purpose wasn’t only about performance or aesthetics. A belief had been quietly growing in my heart one that would later become my life’s motto:

Everyone deserves to be happy and healthy.
Not just athletes.
Not just people who already feel confident in their bodies.
Everyone.
The person running on fumes.
The professional battling burnout.
The person who feels uncomfortable even walking into a gym.

Everyone deserves access to wellness that feels supportive, not intimidating.

That belief is the foundation of everything I do today.

My work spans many spaces, coaching clients, planning community health fairs, hosting podcasts, creating wellness programs but the mission underneath it all is the same:

Helping people reconnect to their bodies… and rediscover joy in their lives. And I truly feel, deep in my spirit, that I am doing God’s work.

Whether I’m on a coaching call with someone learning to love their body again…

Organizing a health fair that brings life-changing resources into a community…
Or recording a podcast episode and literally praying it reaches whoever needs it most…

I feel this overwhelming sense of purpose.
It’s joy.
It’s service.
It’s calling.

Outside of my work, nature is where I go to refill my own cup. My absolute favorite thing to do is hike and not the easy kind.
I love the rugged hikes. The steeper, muddier, “are we lost?” kind of hikes. The ones where your legs are shaking, your lungs are working overtime, and you’re questioning every life decision that led you up that mountain… Like, “I could be at brunch right now… why am I climbing rocks?”

But then you reach the top.

And suddenly, it’s quiet. Peaceful. Expansive.

You’re sweaty, out of breath, hair doing something unexplainable… and yet you feel powerful. Grounded. Clear.
Those moments remind me how strong we really are physically, mentally, spiritually.

I think what sets me apart in the wellness space is that I bring both the science and the soul.

Yes, I have the education.
Yes, I understand physiology, nutrition, programming.

But I also lead with empathy, faith, and humanity.

I don’t see my clients as projects to fix, I see them as people to walk alongside.

What I’m most proud of isn’t a certification or a business milestone.

It’s the transformations that can’t be measured on a scale:
The woman who wore shorts for the first time in years.
The parent who can finally keep up with their kids.
The client who looks at me sometimes through tears and says, “I feel like myself again.”

That’s the work that matters most to me.

Because at the end of the day, I’m not just here to help people look better…

I’m here to help them feel happier, healthier, more hopeful and more at home in their own lives than they ever thought possible.

Other than training/knowledge, what do you think is most helpful for succeeding in your field?

Other than training and knowledge, what has been most helpful in succeeding in my field is heart paired very closely with humility… and a very healthy respect for naps.

Because you can have every certification on the wall, every protocol memorized, every macro calculated down to the gram… but if you can’t connect with people, you won’t change their lives.

Health and wellness is deeply personal work.

You’re not just talking about workouts and meal plans you’re stepping into people’s insecurities, their past attempts, their fears, their stories. You’re often meeting them at their most vulnerable: when they feel uncomfortable in their bodies, exhausted in their lives, or disconnected from themselves.

So what’s helped me most is learning to listen before I lead.

To understand before I instruct.

To remember I’m not working with “clients”, I’m working with humans. Humans who have cried in fitting rooms. Humans who have started over more times than they can count. Humans who don’t need more pressure… they need more belief.
Empathy is a superpower in this field.

So is authenticity. People can feel when you genuinely care versus when you’re just delivering a program. They know when you’re celebrating their wins even the small ones and when you’re just checking a box.

I’ve also learned that energy matters.
If I show up drained, robotic, or running on fumes, that transfers. But when I show up passionate, present, and fully invested, that transfers too.

Which brings me to two of my most “unsexy” but life-changing wellness pillars:
Nature and sleep.

I am convinced that getting outside is one of the most deeply healing things we can do and it’s wildly underprescribed.
You can feel anxious, overwhelmed, mentally cluttered… and then go stand barefoot on grass, or hike up a rugged trail, or sit by water and suddenly your nervous system exhales.

Nature has a way of putting life back into perspective and heals in ways no app, supplement, or biohack can replicate.
And then there’s sleep… the most underrated form of wellness that exists.

People want the magic supplement, the fat-burning workout, the cutting-edge protocol… Meanwhile I’m over here like, “Have you tried going to bed?”

Sleep regulates hormones.
Sleep restores muscles.
Sleep stabilizes mood.
Sleep improves metabolism.

And yet people treat it like it’s optional like it’s a hobby instead of a biological requirement. We glorify burnout and wear exhaustion like a badge of honor… when in reality, some of the most powerful healing happens when you’re unconscious and drooling on your pillow.

I always joke: you can meditate, hydrate, green-juice your way through the day… but if you’re sleeping 4 hours a night, your body is basically staging a quiet protest.

So yes knowledge matters. Training matters.

But what’s helped me succeed most is connection, compassion, humor… and reminding people that wellness doesn’t have to be extreme to be effective.

Sometimes transformation looks like:
Going for a walk outside.
Laughing on a coaching call.
Getting to bed before 10.
Drinking water.
Breathing deeper.

Simple things. Human things.

Because people may come to me for expertise…

But they stay because I help them feel seen, supported and valued.

We’d love to hear a story of resilience from your journey.

Absolutely.

When I think about resilience in my journey, one story rises to the surface immediately not because it was dramatic from the outside, but because of how deeply it reshaped me on the inside.

It goes back to my years as a gymnast.

From a young age, I was taught to push through. To be strong. To keep going even when your muscles were shaking and your lungs were burning. You fell, you got back up. You missed a turn, you did it again.

In that world, resilience looked like toughness.

But there came a season, one of the hardest in my life where resilience had to take on an entirely different meaning. I was injured. Not a small tweak you could tape up and power through… but an injury that forced me to stop. Fully stop. No training. No competing. No moving the way I had always defined myself.

And if you’ve ever been an athlete, especially in something as identity-shaping as gymnastics you know this truth: When movement has been your identity… losing it feels like losing yourself.

I remember sitting in the gym one day, watching everyone else train while I was on the sidelines, feeling invisible in a space that once felt like home.

I was grieving.

And that was confusing at first because we don’t talk enough about this kind of grief.

People think grieving is reserved for the loss of a loved one… or a pet… or something tangible.

But grief comes in many forms.
You can grieve a chapter of your life.
You can grieve a dream.
You can grieve the version of yourself you thought you’d always be.

I spent six months grieving the fact that I could no longer compete in gymnastics. Six months wrestling with the reality that the sport that shaped me the sport that gave me confidence, community, and identity was no longer mine in the same way.

And that was devastating.

Because gymnastics wasn’t just something I did. It was who I was. It was how I introduced myself. How I measured my strength. How I processed stress. How I felt special.

Losing that felt like the ground beneath me had shifted.

That season humbled me in ways nothing else ever had.

It forced me to slow down. To listen to my body instead of override it. To honor rest instead of fear it.

And it was the first time I realized that resilience isn’t always about pushing harder…

Sometimes it’s about allowing yourself to fall apart a little.

About sitting in the grief instead of rushing past it. About trusting that healing, physical and emotional takes time.
There were days I felt angry. Days I felt lost. Days I questioned who I was without the sport that had defined me for so long.
But that season also planted the seeds for the work I do now.

Because as I slowly rebuilt my strength physically and emotionally, I began to see wellness differently.

I developed a deeper compassion for people navigating setbacks. I understood what it meant to feel disconnected from your body… and the courage it takes to find your way back to it.

That injury didn’t end my journey. It deepened it. It made me softer where I had been rigid. More empathetic where I had been purely disciplined. More human in the way I approached health, both for myself and for others.

Today, when I sit across from a client who feels defeated… or frustrated… or like their body has “failed” them…

I don’t just coach them.
I see them.

Because I know what it feels like to grieve the loss of a piece of yourself… and to slowly, bravely rebuild.
Looking back now, I can honestly say that season was one of my greatest teachers.

It showed me that resilience isn’t just bouncing back.

It’s allowing yourself to be reshaped by the fall and rising again with more compassion, more wisdom, and more heart than you had before.