There’s a moment in Allison’s first few weeks here that I keep coming back to.
She’s in class with Coach Ross. The workout has wall walks in it. And she is mad. Not frustrated-mad — actually angry. Grunting, complaining, gritting through it, furious that something this hard is happening on a day she already had nothing left.
“I was just so mad that it was so hard,” she told me. “This shouldn’t be so hard. Why is this so hard?”
Here’s what makes that moment matter: seven months earlier, Allison had never touched a barbell in her life.
The thing that brought her here
In February 2025, Allison took a moderate concussion playing indoor ultimate frisbee. Fourteen years in the sport. Her outlet, her friends, a real piece of who she was.
The concussion doctor pulled her from frisbee for a year. No skiing, no skateboarding, nothing where a second head injury could stack on the first.
She took that seriously. And it wrecked her.
“It was crushing to not only not be myself, but to also not be able to do the one thing that maybe would help me get out of my head.”
She was off work. She couldn’t take care of her kids the way she wanted to. Her parents stepped in. She was a single mom, working full-time, driving in from Milton-Freewater — and she’d just lost the one thing that reliably made her feel like herself.
Physical therapy started with the dizziness and the headaches. Once that cleared, her PT suggested strength training — some core, some neck, some stability, so she’d have a foundation whenever frisbee came back.
So there she was, in a PT clinic, holding an empty barbell, trying to figure out what a deadlift is.
“I was like, this is ridiculous. But also — I wanted to be better by the next appointment.”
Walking in
A friend had been recommending CrossFit for a while. Allison had always said no. Between frisbee, work, the kids, and the drive, there was no version of the week where it fit.
Then frisbee came off the table, and she needed a lifeline.
She showed up in what she calls the worst shape of her life. She didn’t know the movements. She didn’t know the lifts. She didn’t know the acronyms. And on top of all that, she didn’t feel like herself, which made walking into a room full of strangers harder than the workout.
“I had this warped sense of self where I was like — why would people want to get to know me when I’m not myself and I’m not this lovable person?”
She showed up anyway.
“Nobody really cared. They were able to still see who I was and appreciate what I could bring. You wouldn’t get that at Planet Fitness. People wouldn’t know I was there. I’d show up once and go, this is weird.”
The line that changed the whole conversation
We were maybe ten minutes in when she said the thing I’ve thought about every day since.
“I couldn’t control when my healing would come. And that was so frustrating, because I wanted to just get over it. I couldn’t do anything to make it better. But I could show up at the gym and work hard and see the difference there. I needed something I could change, when everything else fell outside of my control.”
That is the whole thing. That’s why this works.
Not because a barbell is magic. Because when you’re in a season where you can’t fix the big thing — the injury, the diagnosis, the parent who’s sick, the job, the grief — you can still walk through a door at 5:30, do the work in front of you, and watch a number move.
You get one place where effort and outcome are still connected. In a hard year, that’s not a small thing. That might be the only thing.
What she got wrong first (and this is the useful part)
Allison is competitive. So when she started, she went straight at it.
“I might have swung too far in wanting to be top of the leaderboard.”
She overdid an ab workout early on and couldn’t move for four days. Later, a muscle imbalance in her leg flared up and she had to back off heavy lifting entirely — right when she was making progress. That one stung.
And it forced the question that reframed everything:
What am I actually here for?
“Is it to get a PR every week? Or is it to be healthy as a mom, have longevity for my kids, be around for my family, have good emotional regulation and mental calm? Because if I can work out and do that — I could never make another PR and I’d still be living a better life than I was before.”
She still PRs. Deadlift went to 250 in January. Back squat’s in the 150s. But the goal moved, and the moment it moved, she stopped getting hurt.
“A lot of the work I’ve had to do is about being okay with feeling mediocre, but actually getting clean, good lifts. I’d rather build the foundation and be solid than hurt myself again.”
That’s not a beginner’s mindset. That’s a coach’s mindset. It took her about a year to get there. Most people never do.
The proof
Midway through this year, Allison’s family hit a serious health crisis. She stepped away from work for the rest of the school year to help. She missed a full month at the gym.
She came back. She was sore in a way she describes as ridiculous. And she came back right as Murph prep started — which meant structure, repetition, a group, and a deadline.
She did Murph.
“It was encouraging to see that the gains I had made and the foundation that had been laid — it was still there. It wasn’t gone.”
Then this summer: the first full family vacation in six years. All of them. The beach.
“To see my family in a more whole, healed place — not exclusively because of CrossFit, but not excluding it either.”
The principle
Here’s what Allison figured out, and she said it better than I could:
“CrossFit emulates life. If you want to be prepared for whatever happens next, you have to be willing to go through the hard, and put in the work right now.”
You don’t get to choose most of what’s coming. You do get to choose whether you’re ready for it.
THE SHOW-UP STANDARD
Three rules, pulled straight out of Allison’s year. If you’re starting from scratch, in a hard season, or coming back after time away — this is the whole protocol.
1. Commit to the door, not the outcome. Your only job is arrival. Not performance, not the leaderboard, not how you compare to the person next to you. Allison’s own words: the hardest part was getting there, and everything got easier once she was in. Pick your days for the week, put them in the calendar like appointments, and let the workout be whatever it is.
2. Stay light long enough to stay in. Load is the reward for form, not the substitute for it. Allison’s biggest gains came after she stopped chasing weight. If a coach tells you to go lighter, that’s not a demotion — that’s someone protecting the next ten years of your training. Say yes.
3. Come when you’re not your best self. Especially then. Nobody in this room is keeping score of your mood, your fitness, or your worst day. Allison walked in insecure, unsure, and not feeling lovable — and made friends anyway, because she kept showing up. The room can hold you. Let it.
Give it four weeks. That’s roughly how long it took Allison to stop feeling lost. Three months to feel independent. That’s the honest timeline, and it’s shorter than you think.
There’s a Legends class here — our older athletes — and Allison brings them up unprompted:
“I never would have thought I even wanted to be in a gym, let alone when I’m 70 or 80. But if I can still move and get out of bed on my own and take care of myself at that age — that would be a blessing.”
Her kids are 9 and 10. They’re counting the days until they’re old enough for the kids class. They already know that when Mom works out, it’s important.
“They want that for me.”
That’s the whole reason we open the doors.
Listen to Allison’s full episode of Actually Doing Things: CLICK HERE TO WATCH
Never done this before? Neither had she. Come see what a class actually looks like — no experience, no equipment, no idea what a wall walk is. That’s the normal starting point. BOOK A FREE INTRO
See you on the floor, Nikki + the DCF Team
This is one member’s personal experience, not medical advice. Allison worked with her physiatrist and physical therapist throughout her recovery and began training only when cleared. If you’re recovering from an injury, talk to your doctor first.
