From Control to Connection: A 10-Year CrossFit Journey

Ten years. Three gyms. Two states. One home: Train Denver.

A decade ago, I was 33—fresh off knee surgery, a former college athlete, single, and laser-focused on building a career. I was disciplined, driven, and searching for something more. A good friend in Utah owned a CrossFit gym and nudged me to give it a shot. I did. Spoiler alert: I loved it. It lit a spark, and just like that, the journey began. I chased gym goals. Tweaked my nutrition. Built structure into my days. Life was fast, but I was faster. I was in control.

Then came a big move for work. New town. New gym. New coaches. New community. Earlier classes. Higher stress. Life sped up, but I kept pace. I was still in control.

COVID. Like many, I built a garage gym and kept the flame alive. But I’m someone who thrives in community—in the sweat, the camaraderie, the accountability. So when I moved back to Denver, I rejoined my old gym. But something had shifted, it wasn’t like I remembered. New job. More travel. More loneliness. Less control.

Dating felt like a carousel of first and second dates. So I widened the pool. I started dating women, and then I met Michele. That loneliness faded. But with it, so did the illusion of control. Coming out wasn’t easy. It meant choosing authenticity over comfort, truth over ease. But it beat the alternative. So I did it. I’m still learning to live with ease. To be real. To care less about judgment and more about joy.

I convinced Michele to try CrossFit. Train Denver was close, and I’d heard good things. We walked in and were instantly welcomed. We found our rhythm with the 6:30 crew. We built a new morning routine—together.

Then our family grew. Mornings got messier. I’m not as strong, as fit, or as lean as I once was. I’m late to the gym every morning —15 minutes is tight for a kid handoff between classes. I trip over a random measuring cup Emma left on the floor as she steals my banana on the way out the door.

And you know what? Maybe control isn’t the goal anymore. Maybe it’s about showing up—through the chaos, the crumbs, the fatigue—and carving out that one hour to push, breathe, and be. That hour at Train Denver is my anchor. It’s not just fitness. It’s family. It’s freedom. It’s home