TW: disordered eating
From an early age, sports came naturally to Danny O’Connor, but stepping onto the wrestling mat for the first time was all it took to push all other sports to the side. Wrestling became his world—his purpose.
“I was made for wrestling,” Danny said. And it showed. Within a year of starting, he had become a high school state champion, traveling the country competing. And with this newfound passion, his dream was clear: wrestle at the University of Iowa under legendary Dan Gable and become an NCAA champion. Danny even slept in an Iowa singlet every night, constantly chasing this dream.
But the same characteristics that fueled his relentless drive would also nearly take his life.
With a lack of proper guidance surrounding nutrition, Danny began using extreme weight management tactics in order to make weight for his matches. At just 12 years old, he was taking pharmaceutical laxatives daily. And when the recommended dosage stopped working, he continued to take more and more. Starvation became routine; some days, his only nutrition was a half bottle of Diet Coke and a few saltine crackers. He sweated through sauna suits, spit pounds off overnight, and punished his body in ways most couldn’t even comprehend.
As a result of the extreme malnutrition, he struggled as a student. Some days he was too weak to lift his head off the desk, and other days, he skipped school entirely, running for miles in a sauna suit to make weight. Eventually, the consequences caught up with him. He lost his honor roll student status, began failing classes, ultimately losing his wrestling eligibility and with it, his identity.
Wrestling was gone. And just like that, the dream he had built his entire world around vanished. Danny spiraled—angry, lost, and desperate for an outlet.
By junior year, he had failed every class, dropped out of school, and fallen into substance abuse while navigating homelessness. Before reaching adulthood, he had been criminally charged 22 times. Drugs replaced the structure and discipline of the boxing ring, and for Danny, the path ahead felt inevitable—jail or death.
Until, by some divine intervention, he walked into a boxing gym determined to make a change. And what he found in the gym was a lifeline, a place that gave him structure, routine, purpose, and something to fight for again.
There, he met a mentor who didn’t speak much English but showed up every day to train with Danny. Although communication was strained, the overall message was clear, his coach was someone who cared for him.
Within two years, he made the Olympic boxing team, and the same newspapers that once printed his mugshot now wrote about his victories. He was back, or so it seemed. But the invisible war that wrestling started had left him with an unseen enemy—an eating disorder that followed him into boxing.
In some ways, boxing made it worse. Now, making weight had higher stakes, it was a professional requirement, one that affected his paycheck, sponsorships, and future opportunities. Failing wasn’t an option. So, he carried the same brutal tactics from his wrestling days into boxing.
After brutally cutting weight for every fight, a “crash” followed, where he would compulsively overeat and gain back his lost weight extremely quickly, which led to further spirals of shame, struggle, and self-loathing. On the outside, he was a world-class champion, but behind closed doors, he was dying.
As a man, he felt trapped in silence. There were limited resources, and no group of guys to turn to. He searched for someone who could understand. "I used to wish I was an alcoholic," he admitted. "At least then, I could walk into a meeting and find 50 guys who got it."
Instead, he battled alone, fighting an opponent that no one could see.
The breaking point came in 2018. The night before fighting for the Welterweight World Championship belt in California—a lifelong dream—Danny was rushed to the ICU due to extreme weight loss and malnutrition.
“In 2018, sitting in that ICU room, I realized my life wasn’t worth a sport, a disorder, or anything else. I’d worked my whole life to reach the top, but in that moment, I chose to be a dad first, a husband first,” Danny said. “So I left the sport. I walked away from my dreams because I needed help—real help—for an eating disorder.”
Recovery became his new discipline. He tackled every aspect of it with the same grit that once won championships. From treatment centers, therapy, to nutrition plans, he left no stone unturned, trying every resource and avenue for recovery that he could find.
And when he finally reached a place where he felt he had overcome his eating disorder, he decided to return to the ring.
“I went back to boxing not because I had anything to prove to the world, but because I wanted redemption of the process that almost killed me. There were no medals on the line, I don’t even remember the guy’s name I was fighting, it was just me versus my eating disorder,” Danny said. “It was the most meaningful time I have ever stepped in the ring in my life. I didn't use any unhealthy weight tactics. I ate all the way up to the fight, even a couple of minutes before I got on the scale. I didn't stop drinking water. I was at my most optimal, and since the day I stepped on a wrestling mat when I was 12 years old, I had never been in optimal shape before a fight.”
And Danny ended up with a fourth-round technical knockout, a victory not just over his opponent, but over his eating disorder.
He still bears the scars, the memories of a kid chasing his dreams but not knowing the cost. He shares his journey now, hoping to be the voice he once needed. Because if there’s one thing he knows for sure — eating disorders don’t care about gender, strength, or success.
“I can literally beat up 95 percent of people walking around on this earth because of my profession, and I'm telling you how much I struggle with this thing. It has nothing to do with toughness. It has to do with a deep mechanism within myself that haunted me for almost two decades,” Danny said. “I want to put my story out there so that somebody can hear it if they need it, because I felt like I was on an island by myself, for so long and it was super lonely and debilitating at times. I'm hoping that sharing my story in such a raw and in depth way can connect with somebody that needs to hear it and maybe it will save their life or someone that they know.”
Now, to give back, Danny runs DO Boxing Academy with his wife Diane, which aims to empower youth through the transformative power of fitness boxing, mindfulness, yoga, and academic support, fostering mental, physical, social, and emotional well-being. The Enrichment Boxing Program goes beyond traditional physical activity, integrating non-contact fitness boxing with specialized mindfulness techniques to promote holistic well-being—physically, mentally, and emotionally for participants.
The DO Boxing Academy Youth Enrichment Program currently operates through a mobile model, partnering with schools and organizations nationwide to deliver services directly within their communities. In addition to these mobile partnerships, Danny and his wife are actively working to establish a permanent home for DO Boxing in Colorado. While a lease has not yet been secured, they are seeking the right collaboration to help open the DO Boxing headquarters—a dedicated facility that will serve as the central hub and expand its impact within Danny’s local community.
Now, as a father, Danny is passing down the lessons he fought so hard to learn. He’s guiding his one son—who now wrestles himself—on healthy weight management and nutrition, determined to break the cycle and ensure his son never faces the same battles he did. It’s a full-circle moment, proof that healing isn’t just for yourself, but for the generations that follow.
