One Year Later: What Hip Surgery, Recovery, and Community Taught Me

A little over a year ago, in April 2025, I had hip surgery. What started almost two years ago as something I thought was just a “tweak” during a workout turned into a torn labrum, months of pain, PT, modified workouts, and eventually a decision I really didn’t want to make: surgery.

Going into it, my surgeon thought it would be a pretty straightforward torn labrum repair. But once they got in there, it ended up being more involved than expected: an anterior and posterior tear in my labrum, IT band windowing, a femoral osteochondroplasty, and a hip bursectomy. So when recovery didn’t feel simple or quick, there was a reason.

At the time, surgery felt like the biggest, scariest option. I knew it was probably the right path forward, but that didn’t make it feel any less overwhelming. Six weeks on crutches, a year of rehab, no running, no jumping, no big CrossFit movements, and being told it could take a full year before I really felt like myself again – it all felt like a lot.

And honestly, even the “six weeks on crutches” part didn’t go exactly as planned. I ended up on two crutches until the end of June, and then using one crutch through most of July. The first challenge was figuring out how to be “30% weight bearing,” which is exactly as awkward and confusing as it sounds. The next challenge was forcing myself to slow down and actually use the crutches when I needed them. That was harder than I expected.

I wanted to rush. I wanted to be ahead of schedule. I wanted to believe that because I was active, strong, and consistent, maybe I could speed things up a little bit. But recovery doesn’t really work like that. I was constantly reminded that this was going to be a long, tedious process – and that if I did the work right and well, it would pay off in the long run.

And “right and well” meant doing the boring stuff consistently. It meant getting into the gym, even when I wasn’t doing anything exciting. It meant going to PT twice a week for six months, and now continuing weekly through the end of this month, and doing my PT protocol at home on a daily basis. It meant not pushing movements until I was truly ready, even when all I wanted to do was run, jump, swing from the rig, squat, lift, and move like I used to.

As a coach, I’ve told athletes so many times to modify, be patient, trust the process, and think long-term. It turns out, it’s much easier to say those things than it is to live them.

Being on the other side of that was humbling. I had to learn how to accept help. I had to learn how to communicate what I needed. I had to learn that showing up still counted, even when the workout looked nothing like what was written on the board.

And I had to learn how to celebrate different kinds of wins.

After surgery, PRs looked different. They looked like walking without crutches. Squatting without pain. Getting through a workout without thinking about my hip the entire time. Feeling strong instead of fragile.

And then there were the “firsts” that felt huge.

My first toes-to-bar after surgery happened on my birthday (just a few weeks ago!), and I swear it felt like one of the best PRs I’ve ever had. Not because it was the most impressive thing I’ve done in the gym, but because of everything it represented: patience, consistency, PT, and not rushing the process.

When you have to rebuild from the ground up, every first matters.

Through all of it, Train was there. My fellow coaches checked in, helped me adjust workouts, celebrated small wins, and never made me feel like I was less of an athlete because I was recovering. Members asked how I was doing. People cheered for milestones that probably looked small from the outside but felt massive to me. That mattered more than I can explain.

Injury can feel isolating. It can make you feel like you’re falling behind or like you need to wait until you’re “better” to show back up. But Train reminded me that the gym isn’t just for PRs, peak fitness, and the days when everything feels good.

It’s also for the rebuild.

It’s for the messy middle. It’s for the people adjusting workouts, doing PT exercises in the corner, asking for help, and trying to trust that their body will come back stronger with time.

Now, just over a year post-op, I’m officially on a running protocol. I’m running for the first time since my injury – almost two years later. My goal in PT right now is to run 400 meters at Murph. To some people, that might not sound like a big deal. But to me, it feels huge.

A little over a year ago, I was scared I wouldn’t feel like myself again. Today, I do. Maybe not in the exact same way as before, and maybe not on the timeline I wanted, but I feel strong, capable, supported, and back in my body again.

This recovery has changed the way I think about fitness and the way I coach. I have a deeper respect for anyone walking through the doors with pain, fear, uncertainty, or frustration. I know what it feels like to want to push and also know you need to hold back. I know what it feels like to celebrate something that might look small to everyone else but feels enormous to you.

If you’re dealing with an injury right now, here’s what I want you to know: you don’t have to disappear. You don’t have to wait until everything is perfect to keep showing up. You don’t have to figure it out alone. Modify the workout. Ask for help. Celebrate the small stuff. Trust the boring work. Let your coaches support you. Let your community remind you that you still belong here.

Because sometimes recovery isn’t just about getting back to where you were. Sometimes it’s about becoming more patient, more resilient, more grateful, and more connected than you were before.

A little over one year later, I’m really proud of how far I’ve come. And I’m even more grateful for the community that helped me get here.

— Coach Emma