Before the prison story.
Before the love story.
Before the explanations people think they already know.
There is context.
Barry Sanders. Eddie George. Donovan McNabb. Elite collegiate athletes. Olympic-level swimmers. State champions across Arizona.
This is the level where athletes place their trust.
Chad Dunn doesn’t lead with credentials, but they surround him anyway. Today, he is the owner of MOVE Human Performance and Physical Therapy, a Valley-based performance and recovery center where professional athletes, elite competitors, and driven families come to work. Not because of hype, but because of presence. Because of trust that is built, not claimed.
But long before MOVE existed, long before people asked him to speak on national stages, long before his story became something others asked to hear, Chad was quietly building a system in his own head.
That system is now his debut book, Mind Over Virtually Everything: 10 Codes to Transform Your Life.
“This isn’t a self-help book,” Chad says. “It’s the how.”
The book doesn’t open with success. It opens with identity.
“If you ask someone to tell you about themselves, most people tell you what they do,” he says. “They don’t tell you who they are.”
So Chad does the opposite.
He tells the truth first.
“I’m a convicted felon. I’ve had six DUIs. I’m a former substance abuse user. That’s who I am.”
He doesn’t pause there.
“I’m also a CEO. I’m optimistic. I’m loving. And I choose who I am every day.”
That tension between who someone has been and who they decide to be is the backbone of the book. It’s also the backbone of his marriage.
Chad and Jackie’s story doesn’t begin neatly. It begins in a Tempe bar. Jackie was bartending. Chad was relentless.
“For eight months, he asked me out,” Jackie says. “For eight months, I said no.”
The first night they met, Chad made a declaration.
“He told me he was going to marry me. I told him to get in line,” she says.
When Jackie finally agreed to go out with him, Chad didn’t arrive with flowers. He arrived with paperwork.
“I gave her my indictment. I wanted her to know exactly who I was,” he says.
“People make mistakes,” she told him.
What neither of them could fully grasp yet was how much waiting, testing, and uncertainty that decision would involve.
Chad didn’t grow up in chaos. His parents were present. Supportive. Still married. He was an athlete. A competitor. Someone who chased adrenaline and stimulation. Somewhere along the way, however, entertainment became identity.
“I didn’t have a drinking problem; I had an entertainment problem,” admits Chad.
That appetite, combined with the wrong crowd and a willingness to bend rules, eventually crossed into breaking the law. Money laundering tied to Hawaii.
“I made bad choices.”
Now, years later, he says it plainly.
“Getting caught was the best thing that ever happened to me.”
The legal process dragged on. Years passed. When sentencing finally came, Chad received 30 months in federal prison. Jackie drove him there herself.
“I told her I loved her and hopefully I’d see her again in 30 months.”
She believed him.
“I was all in,” Jackie says. “One hundred percent.”
In prison, Chad worked construction management inside. He enrolled in school. He earned his associate degree in business marketing. And often, when the noise finally stopped, he sat alone.
“You have to go quiet,” Chad reflects. “You can’t hide from yourself in there.”
One night stands out more than most.
Chad remembers lying on his bunk, counting hours instead of days, when a man new to the unit was brought in. Angry. Loud. Still carrying the street with him. Within minutes, tension filled the room. Everyone watched. Everyone listened.
“I remember thinking, this is exactly where I’d end up if I didn’t change everything.”
That night, Chad made a decision that had nothing to do with survival and everything to do with direction.
“I stopped asking when I’d get out and started asking who I’d be when I did.”
Prison was rigid and routine, but purpose was a choice. So he built his own. On top of one thousand burpees a day.
“There was structure in there if you were willing to build it,” he says. “And I was willing.”
That’s where the codes began to solidify.
“Everything I’ve been through has been a positive experience… even the worst parts.”
When Chad was released, his parents picked him up.
“I asked for one thing,” he laughs. “A Mountain Dew.”
Then, rom-com-esque, he went straight to the bar where Jackie was working. This was after months of Jackie intentionally going quiet, stepping back emotionally to survive the separation.
“My knee started shaking,” she says. “I ran over and hugged him.”
Freedom didn’t mean instant clarity. They stumbled. They separated. They found their way back. Trust was rebuilt slowly, with Jackie’s three kids at the center of every decision.
Eventually, they married in Coronado, with the kids by their side and Jackie’s son serving as best man.
“Marriage is all in. There’s no half,” says Chad.
And work mirrors life.
After prison, Chad returned to performance training, working again with the same company that had employed him before. That stability mattered. But reality followed closely behind.
Background checks shut doors. Corporate roles disappeared.
“That was another punch in the face,” Chad says.
It became clear he would never fit neatly into someone else’s system. Jackie was the one who said it out loud.
“It’s time,” she told him. “You need to do your own thing.”
MOVE Human Performance and Physical Therapy opened in 2017.
Together, Chad and Jackie built something different. Cash-based. Relationship-driven. Physical performance fused with mental preparation. A place where conversation matters as much as conditioning and character matters as much as talent.
Athletes came. Families drove in. Word spread.
There’s a moment Chad talks about often, one that has nothing to do with headlines.
An elite athlete stands in front of him. Top-level talent. Money on the table. Pressure everywhere. The body is ready. The mind isn’t.
“They always ask for more work,” Chad says. “They never ask how to slow down.”
Instead of adding weight, Chad pulls the athlete aside.
“We’re not training your body today,” he tells him. “We’re training your thinking.”
They sit. They talk. They break down choices. Consequences. Preparation. What happens when no one is watching.
“That’s where trust is built,” Chad says. “Not in the lift. In the conversation.”
MOVE now trains top swimmers in Arizona across multiple clubs. Two MOVE athletes competed in Olympic Trials last year. High school state championships follow season after season. Collegiate athletes, NIL-era prospects, and professional players train alongside kids just beginning to dream.
“These kids are talented, but when the coach is gone, most of them don’t know how to think.”
Chad works with athletes navigating NIL deals, professional transitions, and the mental pressure that now comes earlier than ever. MOVE’s team reflects that philosophy. Physical therapists. Performance coaches. Specialists who have all overcome something themselves.
“You can’t build culture without character,” Chad says.
And Chad’s book circles back to the same principles he lives daily.
In his debut book, Chad details ten codes. Not rules; rather, choices.
Identity comes first.
“You have to know who you are,” he says. “Not what you do.”
Then choice, followed by optimism.
“Optimism is a skill. You train for it like anything else.”
There is accountability. Silence. Preparation. And finally, the anchor.
“If you don’t have a plan,” Chad says, “you’re going to become someone else’s.”
Jackie sees the codes in motion every day.
“He doesn’t really get stressed. Compared to where he’s been, most things don’t register as problems.”
In fact, when Jackie read the book, something shifted.
“I saw things I still need to work on,” she says. “We all do.”
Today, Chad speaks nationally. He coaches athletes and executives. Trains bodies and minds. Lives firmly in the small percentage who don’t return to prison.
“I choose this life,” he says. “Every day.”
mindovervirtuallyeverything.com
“Everything I’ve been through has been a positive experience… even the worst parts. Optimism is a skill. You train for it like anything else. I choose this life every day.”