Former incarcerated drug dealer returns to the scene of crime: launches popular “ConBody” fitness business
Every day, I went from store to store looking for minimum-wage retail jobs, but no one hired me due to my three felonies. It felt like a life sentence. Desperate, I tirelessly handed out business cards on the subway and stuck flyers on any free wall. One day, in my frustration, I decided to start exercising in public squares to garner attention and put my dream into action.
- 1 month ago
August 14, 2024
Coss Marte transformed his life from selling drugs to running ConBody, a successful fitness company with 20,000 clients. | Photo courtesy of Coss Marte
NEW YORK CITY, United States — In 1985, my pregnant mother emigrated from the Dominican Republic to the Lower East Side of Manhattan. After my birth, we lived next door to my aunt. My mother worked tirelessly in a t-shirt factory, but we remained below the poverty line. We slept on one mattress until we eventually moved into a small apartment with my father and siblings.
As a kid, I aspired to escape poverty. I watched my cousins and the older kids on the street, involved in the drug trade, making substantial money. They stepped out of their luxury cars, showcasing expensive clothes and flashy chains. Eagerly, we gathered around them as they distributed dollars to us.
At 11 years old, I fell into bad company and started smoking marijuana. When I turned 13, I shifted my priorities significantly and lost interest in school and academic pursuits. Instead, I focused entirely on becoming rich. As a result, I began selling drugs.
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A childhood stolen: navigating poverty, drug dealing, and the trauma of early arrest
I grew up in a crime-ridden neighborhood with abandoned and decrepit buildings. Today’s trendy restaurants and expensive cocktail bars starkly contrast what I saw. As I tried to exit my building, the neighborhood felt perilous due to large groups of individuals waiting to buy and consume drugs. Even before I started school, I stepped over heroin needles.
At a very young age, desperate to escape poverty, I started selling drugs. At first, I bought an ounce of marijuana, packaged it, and sold it to my friends at school, making almost $300 in a week. Soon, I sold marijuana at Sara Roosevelt Park, an easy way to make a quick profit. Later, I began selling at the Chinese Hispanic grocery store on Eldridge and Broome Streets, hiding my product on the shelves. However, the female cashier caught me and gave me a stern warning.
At 13 years old, I faced imprisonment for the first time when authorities apprehended me with two bags of marijuana. The arrest felt terrifying as the police treated me like an adult. They rushed at me violently, threw me onto the ground, handcuffed me, and pointed their guns at my head as if I were a murderer.
I could not even attempt to escape as they surrounded me. As the screams echoed around me, my body shook under the blue and red lights of the siren. At that moment, I lost my childhood and innocence. I confronted adulthood even though I was not ready for it.
From drug trafficking to prison cells: man endures brutality behind bars
At 15, they released me from prison, and I started dealing cocaine. I stationed myself on a plastic box at the bodega entrance to sell drugs around the clock. I handled up to seven phones as customers kept calling. When I turned 19, I ran a lucrative drug distribution business, making about $2 million a year. Together with my partner, I transitioned from the old business model of selling cocaine and crack on the street corner. We moved to a delivery business that served a larger, wealthier clientele.
Throughout my life, I heard people boasting about their convictions and the years they spent in prison. As I entered my early twenties, I feared I may face the same fate. Unfortunately, my thoughts became reality and I spent many years in and out of prison. In 2009, at 23 years old, the FBI charged me with leading one of the largest cocaine operations in New York City.
Consequently, they sentenced me to seven years in prison. The moment I entered prison, guards subjected me to extreme violence. They took away all my belongings, forced me to strip completely naked, and ordered me to take a cold shower. Afterwards, they sprayed me with a chemical powder that kills any bacteria you carry. At last, they gave me the uniform to join the herd.
The guards directed extreme racism at me, using racial slurs and degrading language. Harshly, they dehumanized me, treating me like an animal. In prison, I constantly felt pressure. I always thought about potential attacks from inmates or officers. At the same time, I worried about unjust sentences from the court judge.
Facing death, man transforms life in prison with intense exercise, loses 100 pounds
Upon my arrest, I hid seven tablets of LSD in my wallet. Terrified their discovery would worsen my sentence, I placed them under my tongue and handed over my wallet. Minutes later, they quickly took effect. By the time the prosecutor and several officers called me in for an interview, I felt so stoned I became unable to respond coherently.
They questioned me about my colleagues, but I could only laugh uncontrollably. I shouted that they should let everyone go and that I would bear their sentences. They did not understand my upsetting condition. Ultimately, I confessed everything. When the drugs wore off, I felt immense guilt and feared reprisals.
As soon as I entered prison, doctors informed me I faced the potential risk of a heart attack due to high cholesterol levels. Standing 1.72 meters tall and weighing over 104 kilograms, I faced a life expectancy of about five years. Unless I changed my course, I would likely die in prison. Recognizing the seriousness of my situation, I decided to transform my life.
Fearing death in prison, I immediately changed my diet and started exercising. I ran around the yard and devised simple but effective exercises in my small cell. I performed bed bottoms, jumping jacks, burpees, and push-ups, losing 100 pounds in six months.
Changing lives: from inmate training to wedding behind bars
Without intending to, I started helping other inmates train. One day, Bus, a fellow inmate weighing over 150 kilograms, asked me for help losing weight. Surprised but willing, I accepted, and we began training together. Remarkably, he lost half his body weight. This success attracted his friends. Soon, we built a daily exercise community inside the prison.
I transformed not only my life but also my companions’ lives. Without realizing it, I planted the seed of change in my mind. During my time in prison, my girlfriend often visited me with our little son, providing immense support. The day my sentence entered its second year, my girlfriend arrived at the prison. I looked into her eyes through the glass and proposed to her through the telephone speaker.
She looked up, her eyes brimming with excitement, and accepted. Emotionally, we leaned our hands against the glass, unable to touch each other. We began preparing and when the day we eagerly awaited finally arrived, the prison guards called me to another cell. For three hours, I waited for my girlfriend there.
I felt my hands sweating and my heart racing. When I saw her arrive, I looked on with admiration as she approached. Everything else disappeared. We kissed for a few minutes and made a promise: to spend the rest of our lives together. At last, we exchanged rings. When I watched her leave, I felt our love and commitment.
From solitary confinement to freedom: a hidden stamp in Bible sparks a new hope
With only two months left to serve on my sentence, I found myself in a conflict with an officer who brutally beat me. When I attempted to retaliate, the alarms blared throughout the area, resulting in my transfer to solitary confinement. During those first 24 hours in solitary confinement, my nerves remained on edge.
In a letter, I asked my family to send a lawyer. Unfortunately, I lacked a postage stamp, which prevented me from mailing the letter. Uncertainty enveloped me as I wondered how long I would stay in solitary. I worried about my son feeling disappointed in me if I was not released as promised. In a week’s time, I endured 43-degree temperatures in a cell swarming with bugs.
Day and night, I grappled with my thoughts as unanswered questions haunted me. Then, one fateful day, my sister reached out to the prison and sent me a letter, encouraging me to read Psalm 21 in the Bible. To that point, I only touched the Bible to use it as a notebook, jotting down the numbers of criminals from Mexico or Colombia whom authorities deported so I could set up better deals upon my release.
I felt like I needed a lawyer, not a Bible. However, boredom eventually overcame me, and with nothing else to do, I read it. When I opened the Bible to read Psalm 21, a stamp slipped out of the page. I could barely believe it. I felt dumbfounded. In those pages, I discovered the postage stamp I desperately sought. Eager to secure my freedom and exit that place, I swiftly attached the stamp to the letter and dispatched it.
Behind bars, man writes 90-day workout plan and aims to open gym
In the prison yard, I helped every prisoner who approached me. Trapped between four walls, I crafted my plan to open a gym after my release. I viewed it as an opportunity to contribute positively to society rather than causing harm.
While in solitary confinement, I devised a series of exercise routines. I also wrote my famous 90-day workout plan, now published in my book ConBody. Subsequently, I designed a detailed meal plan for the prison that, though unappetizing, worked effectively. Having a project and a future aspiration kept my mind busy and focused.
Outside of solitary confinement, I shared my ideas with other inmates. They usually dismissed it, suggesting a prison-style boot camp instead. However, none of their opinions or comments stopped me from moving forward as I decided to turn ConBody into a reality.
I started a new chapter, feeling I had been granted a fresh opportunity at life. That stamp in the Bible provided the sign I needed, showing me that my life could change direction. Despite spending so many years in and out of prison, I could still give my life a new meaning.
Determined to rebuild life: man overcomes past, creates opportunities, and achieves dream
After serving four of my seven-year prison sentence, I returned home on parole and lived on my mother’s couch for a year. I worked hard during this period to establish my business and training center. I felt grateful and happy to be free, but ashamed of my past. Surrounded by my son and wife, I felt joy and remained dedicated to rebuilding our family. I knew I could do everything I needed to for us.
Every day, I went from store to store looking for minimum-wage retail jobs, but no one hired me due to my three felonies. It felt like a life sentence. Desperate, I tirelessly handed out business cards on the subway and stuck flyers on any free wall. One day, in my frustration, I decided to start exercising in public squares to garner attention and put my dream into action.
At Sara D. Roosevelt Park on the Lower East Side, where I played soccer as a kid and later sold drugs, I began approaching people to offer them workouts. Every day, I headed there at 5:30 a.m. to work out and started training people in the park. I actively promoted myself by sharing my story multiple times a day. Distributing business cards on the street, I approached people to offer training. While on the train, I communicated with other passengers about my work.
Former convict turns dream into ConBody: a hit fitness concept
Gradually, just like in prison, people started approaching me to train, each with different goals and objectives. Despite encountering numerous obstacles, I began to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Over time, a sizable training group formed. As the temperature dropped, I began searching for a nearby location to conduct our training.
I talked to some real estate agents, searching for a place to hold training sessions. Initially, they showed a lot of interest, but as soon as they discovered that I was an ex-convict, their body language changed. Ultimately, they judged my situation, deeming me unfit and rejecting me.
Nevertheless, I refused to give up. After months of searching and facing rejection from nearly 20 realtors, I received some good news. A friend notified me about a studio available for rent. The space, located on Broome Street, ironically sat in the same area where I used to sell marijuana and cocaine. Immediately, I recognized it as the perfect location for my business.
In November 2015, I signed the lease and in January 2016, ConBody opened its doors. As the business progressed, it moved in the right direction. The concept became an instant hit because people immediately loved ConBody’s prison-life-inspired workouts. The entire place reflects that theme.
When the class begins, a prison cell door slams shut, simulating the real prison experience I remember. Clients arrive, walk through the door, and enter a parallel world. They discover a wall covered in police photos where patrons can have their pictures taken post-training, holding a sign featuring the company’s slogan: “Do the time.”
ConBody’s commitment to formerly imprisoned individuals
At ConBody, some people see the wall with the mug shots and the prison door as a bit gimmicky. However, I view it as my gimmick. I outfitted the entire space this way because I grew tired of hiding. This choice symbolizes freedom for me and lets me breathe freely.
Today, I embrace my criminal record instead of hiding or feeling ashamed of it. I and the formerly imprisoned individuals I hired, empower ourselves through the ConBody theme to come to terms with our pasts. We transform our backgrounds into assets rather than letting them dictate our lives. It sets us apart from other fitness companies.
Initially, people feel uncertain and uncomfortable. They seem unsure about what to expect. Yet, as they become familiar with our staff and observe our trainers providing support and reliability, they begin to unwind and lower their defenses. At work, we treat everyone with respect and recognize their inherent dignity as human beings.
It becomes apparent that every person entering the gym is just like any other. I hired hundreds of formerly imprisoned individuals and achieved a zero-recidivism rate as none of them have been incarcerated again. This achievement stands as my proudest accomplishment. Many individuals formerly incarcerated struggle to secure employment, hindering their ability to afford necessities such as food and housing. Unable to provide for their families, they often remain in poverty.
Conbud: cannabis dispensary advocating for social justice
After ConBody succeeded, I got approval for a dispensary license and launched a new project named Conbud. This new project involved the cannabis industry, a great opportunity for those affected by the criminal justice system to benefit from this lucrative field.
Conbud combines a marijuana dispensary with a museum-like space that showcases interactive media and educational data on how the war on drugs impacts communities. Through this new initiative, we amplify the voices of those affected by systemic and social justice inequities. By offering financial opportunities within the cannabis industry, we focus on preventing recidivism among formerly imprisoned individuals. This approach emphasizes societal issues while giving a meaningful path for reintegration and success.
When you first walk into Conbud, a wall lights up with pictures of celebrities arrested for marijuana use at some point. This includes Bob Marley, Mick Jagger, Jimi Hendrix, Paul McCartney, David Bowie, Tommy Chong, Paris Hilton, Woody Harrelson, Snoop Dogg, and Macaulay Culkin. In the middle, you see a picture of me.
At Conbud, most of the staff includes formerly imprisoned individuals, and they show videos detailing their stories in a series called “Meet Your Dealer.” I believe that Conbud advocates within the industry by sharing their experience. It highlights how the criminal justice system affected me.
Guiding former inmates toward a brighter future
I want to bring this model to various industries because I believe in the untapped potential of former inmates. People view them as forgotten, but I know that is not true. During my period in prison, I encountered some of the most remarkable and brilliant individuals. Their abilities and insights often get overlooked, yet they hold immense, unexplored potential. I refuse to forget about them or leave them behind. I commit to making them the new protagonists in the story of industry and innovation.
Unfortunately, upon release, prisoners often find no one waiting for them outside. They have only a bus ticket and $40. They often spend $20 at a fast-food restaurant, leaving them with just enough for transportation. Eventually, they find themselves adrift. To secure more money and survive, people often dive back into the same dark and hellish world that led them to prison. This is why I believe in second chances.
The system does not help or rehabilitate; it only punishes and humiliates. I am living proof that you can get ahead with the necessary tools. I overcame every obstacle along the way. My journey began with a childhood plagued by drugs and very little innocence. I faced challenges in and out of prison. Through my evolution, I managed to fulfill a dream I saw behind bars.
To maintain communication with our incarcerated individuals, my team and I visit the prison three times per week. We offer them hope for release, provide training, and establish a direct path to the outside world, demonstrating that life beyond prison is real and attainable. I take immense pleasure in witnessing the transformation of those who work with me. At first, most of them slept on inflatable mattresses or my couch. Now, each one has secured their own home and successfully rebuilt their lives from scratch.
