Lifting More Than Weights: RF2 Goes to The Games

When we landed in Albany for the CrossFit Games, it felt like stepping into a chapter of my life I’d once only dreamed about—except this time, I was walking into it as a woman completely transformed. We weren’t there as casual fans. We were there as a team—seven of our closest friends and fellow RF2 board members—representing a mission that has become as much a part of my identity as my own name. And we weren’t just funding it ourselves; CrossFit paid for our trip because they believe in what we’re doing and the impact we’re making. That alone still leaves me humbled. RF2 now has ten affiliates inside Colorado’s prisons, with two more in the works, and this trip was about showing up for the community, sharing our vision, and letting people see the change we’re fighting for from the inside out.

I kept thinking about how far my life has come in just over two years. Back then, I was trapped in a cycle of drinking and unhealthy habits, trying to numb the dissatisfaction I felt in my own life. Choosing sobriety changed everything—it set me on a path toward health, discipline, and self-respect. Not long after, I met Taylor, who brought me into the world of CrossFit. The funny part? I’d always wanted to do CrossFit—dating back to 2014—but I never had the support system to make it happen. Now, not only was I in it, but I was deeply involved—being part of a program that uses CrossFit to transform lives in some of the hardest places in the world.

The Games themselves were surreal. We worked out alongside Rich Froning, chatted with Roman Khrennikov, Saxon and Scott Panchik, and met Sydney Wells—where I got to tell her, face-to-face, how much she and Brooke have inspired me. Seeing Brooke compete in her final year was emotional, especially from the incredible seats we had—close enough to hear the crowd’s roar as athletes crossed the finish line. We reconnected with friends like Roderick Lopez (Meme For Time), and and Grant Hooper (Kipping It Real), and met new ones, like the crew from CrossFit Shatter and Thomas from Organic Gorilla. Thomas’ story hit me hard—he’s done seven years in prison himself, and when he heard about RF2, his eyes filled with tears. He told us that if something like this had existed where he was, it could have completely changed his reentry journey. And on a side note—Thomas’ Organic Gorilla protein bars? Probably the cleanest, best-tasting bars I’ve ever had in my life. If you know me, you know I’m picky about what I put into my body—and these were next-level good.

Outside the Games, New York was its own kind of magic. We stood at the 9/11 Memorial in complete silence, feeling the weight of the names etched into stone. We saw the Statue of Liberty, wandered through Broadway and downtown, and checked off all the NY staples—coffee, bagels, and pizza. And speaking of pizza… I found gluten-free pizza that destroyed every other pizza I’ve ever had. I wish I could bring those recipes home with me. But what I really appreciated was that there were always incredible, healthy options too—big, fresh salads topped with perfectly marinated chicken that hit the spot every time. I never once felt like I had to choose between enjoying the moment and fueling my body in a way that supports my health.

One of the moments that really stuck with me was watching Trevor, Nick, and Taylor get interviewed for The Best Hour of Their Day podcast with Jason Ackerman right there in the middle of Vendor Village. It wasn’t tucked away in some quiet corner — it was live, in the open, with people stopping mid-walk to listen in. Seeing them speak with so much passion about RF2, our mission, and the work we’re doing inside Colorado’s prisons made me so proud I could’ve burst. There was this electric energy in the air, the kind you feel when you know people are leaning in because the story being told matters. That podcast wasn’t just a platform — it was a spotlight, and the CrossFit community around us got to see the heart behind what we do.

Our cabin in Athens was the perfect home base—tucked in the woods, peaceful and quiet, yet alive with conversation and laughter when we were all together. Mornings started with coffee on the deck, evenings ended with hot tub sessions under the stars.

And in the middle of it all, Taylor and I celebrated our first wedding anniversary exactly the way I’d want—no matter where in the world we are or who we’re with. We had dinner, just the two of us, at Black and Blue Steak and Crab, then found ourselves in a flower field at sunset, taking photos I’ll treasure forever. It feels perfect that our anniversary now coincides with the CrossFit Games each year—it’s “so us.” Last year it was Texas with a smaller crew, this year New York with our closest friends. I can’t imagine anything that makes more sense than that.

One of my favorite little moments of the whole trip was watching Taylor navigate New York and New Jersey like a seasoned traveler. Just a few years ago, he was navigating prison life after 11 years inside, and now here he was—confident, calm, and leading us through busy streets without missing a beat. It’s the kind of transformation you don’t fully appreciate until you zoom out and remember where you both came from.

Leaving Albany, I felt full—of gratitude, of purpose, of pride in the work we’re doing. We left having deepened friendships, expanded our network, and reminded ourselves that RF2 is bigger than just us. It’s a movement, and every person we connect with—whether it’s an elite athlete, a CrossFit affiliate owner, or a man in vendor village selling clean protein bars—is another link in the chain. This trip wasn’t just about watching the Games. It was about showing up, being seen, and remembering exactly why we fight so hard to do what we do—inside and outside prison walls.

-M

Way After Forever

One year ago, I stood beside the most remarkable man I’ve ever known and promised forever. And somehow, it still doesn’t feel real that I get to call him mine.

Taylor makes me better.

Taylor loves me without condition, leads with humility, and holds space for every version of me—especially the one I’m becoming. He’s steady where I’m fiery, grounding where I’m untethered, and full of laughter when I need light most. He reminds me every day that I am deserving of a love that feels like peace and safety. He pushes me toward growth with a softness that never shames me. He holds me accountable because he believes in who I’m meant to be.

This year has been nothing short of transformational.
Not because we had to struggle through it—but because we’ve chosen to grow intentionally through it.
Every conversation, every decision, every quiet moment—we’ve shown up for each other with honesty, care, and purpose.
You hold me accountable while never holding me back.

You challenge me to rise to my fullest potential.
You remind me what I’m capable of.
And somehow, in the middle of healing and hope and the chaos of life, I became the most mentally and physically fit I’ve ever been—because of you.

We are partners in everything.
From our workouts to our work in recovery and rehabilitation. From dog parent life, to spiritual life. From early morning omelets to late-night snack runs—we do life as a team.

And you’re not just good to me.
You’re good to everyone.
You help people constantly. You lift others up. You’re humble, talented, hard-working, and fiercely loyal. You skateboard like a teenager, crush it at CrossFit, write with heart, and somehow still manage to be the softest soul in every room. You lead with integrity, and you love with intention.

Watching you step into your calling—advocating for and walking alongside those in recovery, helping change lives through RF2 and the work we do with NAS—it’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever witnessed. You were made for this.

And I was made to walk alongside you.

People say soulmates are rare. I believe you find yours when you finally become the version of you who’s ready to receive them. I’d been through enough to know what I didn’t want. But I never could have dreamed someone like you existed.

It’s wild how life placed us together. I had just walked away from a career I thought I’d never leave and stepped into something new, searching for meaning. He’d never even been to this town before, but he ended up exactly where I was—at the exact right moment. The timing, the alignment, the pull—it all felt like something sacred had intervened. From the beginning, it felt like home.

The world tried to keep us apart. But grace and grit and God had other plans. Undoubtedly divine timing.

I don’t know how a year has gone by already—it feels like we just got married. And at the same time, I feel like I’ve loved you for eternity.

I’m not just falling more in love with you every day,
I’m rising in love with you.
Becoming better because of it.
Becoming ourselves because of it.

In every lifetime, in this one, and way after forever—you’re it for me.

The one God made to be my better half.

—

Happy Anniversary, my love. 💛
Here’s to all that we are—and all we’re still becoming.

12 Years Of Aeri

I’ve had Aeri for twelve years.
But honestly, she’s had me.

She’s had my whole heart, every version of me, every transition—gracefully, loyally, without question. From 22 to 34, through the chaos, heartbreak, growth, and healing… she’s been the one thing that’s always stayed.

She didn’t just stick beside me—she chose me.
And she’s never stopped choosing me.

These days, she’s choosing him too.
Her love for Taylor is something else entirely. She follows him from room to room like he hung the moon. And somehow, watching her bond with him made me love them both even more. It’s like she knows I’m finally safe.

But make no mistake—she’s still my girl.

She still insists on sitting next to me, always on the right side of the couch, politely staring if I’m on the wrong side—like, "Mom, how do I get over there?"
She still runs sideways when we get home, so excited it’s like her front and back legs are on different missions.
She backs her butt up for scritches, “revs her engine” on command, and does “nice to meet you” instead of “shake.”
She can high five like a pro, and she’ll always choose green beans and watermelon over boring old dog treats—but not spinach, that’s her siblings’ thing.

We call her Bear. Or Bear-Bears. Or squishy potato.
(Or Aries-as Taylor likes to call her.)
She answers to every nickname. And every feeling.

She was inseparable from her bunny brother Todd before he passed the day after our wedding. I could ask her, “Where’s your brother?” and she’d go find him—every time.

She is sassy and soulful. Fiercely loyal. Stubborn in all the right ways.
She’s intuitive, deeply emotional, and always knows when someone needs comfort.
She’s paddleboarded with me, run miles at my side, and always—always—claimed her spot next to me, no matter where we are.

She is more than a pet.
She is a witness to my life.

And today, we celebrate twelve sweet, sacred years.

Happy birthday, Bear.
I don't know who I'd be without you.

– Mom

Becoming the Person I Needed

Some stories don’t begin with clarity—they begin with survival.
And some announcements can’t be summed up in a single sentence.

This month, I’m stepping fully into a new chapter of my life:
✨ I’m becoming a full-time certified Peer Recovery Coach and Qualified Behavioral Health Assistant—turning everything I’ve walked through into a path I can walk with others.

It’s not just a role.
It’s a reflection of what I’ve become.
And it’s why I want to share the story behind it.

I didn’t bury my pain. I carried it and kept going.
I kept working, kept smiling, kept showing up—while quietly fighting to believe I was worthy of more.

For years, I repeated patterns that hurt me. I shrunk myself to avoid conflict. I over-explained, over-accommodated, and let people walk all over me to keep the peace.
Not because I was weak—but because I was trying to survive.
Because I believed, somewhere deep down, that maybe if I was small enough, agreeable enough, quiet enough… I’d be safe.
I’d be loved.

But healing asked me to expand.

It asked me to break the cycle.
To choose myself—even when it felt uncomfortable.
To stop watering down my needs and start reclaiming my voice.

That’s where this story really begins.
With a decision.
Not to be perfect. But to become.

I left a toxic work environment in 2022. I quit drinking. I started working on myself not because I hated who I was—but because I believed I deserved a life that felt good. A life that honored everything I’d survived.

And through that, I started to see that what I thought were my flaws—my sensitivity, my intensity, my fire—were actually my gifts.

I used to believe I was bad at communication.
But that belief came from a past where my words were silenced or punished.
Now, I see communication—and the ability to advocate and walk alongside others—as one of my superpowers.
I’m still learning to harness it.
But I’m embracing it fully.

That’s what led me here.

Peer coaching is the natural next step.
It’s where my story and my purpose meet.
Where I get to hold space, build trust, and reflect the light back to people who haven’t seen it in themselves yet.

As I step into this new role, I carry it all with me.
The growth. The grit. The grace.
The girl I used to be—and the woman I’m becoming.

And through it all, I live by this:

I choose authenticity, growth, and grace.
I live in alignment with truth, led by faith, driven by purpose, and anchored in love.
I protect my peace, honor my healing, and rise from every fall with intention.
I walk in integrity, speak with honesty, and show up for others without losing myself.
I make decisions that reflect who I’m becoming, not who I’ve been.

If you’re on your way, too—
I’m cheering you on.

M

Redemption in Motion: Why We Keep Showing Up

Some moments shift everything.
For me, it was standing inside the same prison gym my husband once trained in—pulling a 280 lb deadlift while men on the inside cheered me on.
That’s when I knew this wasn’t just about fitness.
This was healing.
This was homecoming.

RF2 stands for Redemption Road Fitness Foundation (R and F squared—RF2). It’s a nonprofit that brings CrossFit and community into Colorado prisons, with the mission of reducing recidivism through fitness, mentorship, purpose, and connection.

We are so grateful for the full support of CrossFit Headquarters. Through their partnership, we’re able to:

• Maintain CrossFit-affiliated gyms inside multiple Colorado prisons

• Provide annual scholarships that fund professional credentialing for currently and formerly incarcerated individuals

• Receive tickets each year to attend the CrossFit Games

• Work with HWPO (Hard Work Pays Off), led by five-time Games champion Mat Fraser, to program the workouts for our fundraising competitions

It’s not just about lifting weights.
It’s about lifting lives.
Because as long as there is breath in your lungs, redemption is possible.

Men and women inside prison train with RF2. They have the opportunity to earn their Level 1 or Level 2 CrossFit certification, giving them the tools to teach professionally once they’re released.

It’s about giving people a second chance before they ever leave—a sense of direction, a chance to believe they are more than their past.
It’s also a space where they can perfect their craft and take ownership of their growth.

My husband Taylor isn’t the founder of RF2, but he serves as its Vice President, alongside a full board that includes individuals who began their journey while still incarcerated. Having spent over a decade inside himself, his role is deeply personal. He understands the impact firsthand.
So do I.

Every time we walk into a prison with RF2, something sacred happens.

In February, I stepped into the gym at Sterling Correctional Facility—the very place where Taylor once trained.
That day, I pulled a 280 lb deadlift with the support and encouragement of dozens of men still serving time.
I can still hear their voices cheering me on.
In that moment, the separation between “us” and “them” disappeared.
We were just people—fighting for something bigger than ourselves.

In May, we visited Limon Correctional Facility and took part in a hero workout with the men there. We pushed through reps, rounds, and sweat side-by-side.
Just recently, we visited Skyline Correctional Center and connected with yet another group of athletes behind the walls.

The impact is never small.

Each visit reminds me: these people matter.
Their stories matter.
Their strength, resilience, and growth deserve to be seen.

This weekend, we’re hosting a WOD Fest and fundraiser, where our larger CrossFit and recovery communities will come together in support of RF2.

The funds raised go directly toward helping incarcerated participants gain professional credentials like their L1 and L2, providing transitional services for reentry, and ensuring that our volunteers have the support they need to continue showing up and expanding this mission.

And at the end of this month, we’ll head to the CrossFit Games in New York.
Not just to witness greatness—but to represent the ones who aren’t allowed to be there yet.

This blog is where I’ll share the stories that don’t always make it to social media.
The unseen moments.
The people we’ve grown to love.
The redemption we’ve witnessed firsthand.

Because RF2 isn’t just about fitness.
It’s about transformation—
and the stories that rise from the deepest places when you believe in someone long enough.

M

Healing in Motion: 4 Months Into the Unknown

About four months ago, my body started speaking louder than usual. And I had no choice but to listen.

It began with pain—unexplained, persistent, and disruptive. Not just a sore muscle or a bad day, but something deeper. Something that didn’t match a simple diagnosis.
Pain that touched everything: my workouts, my digestion, my nervous system, my sleep, my ability to be present.
Pain that tried to convince me I was broken.

But instead of giving in to fear, I made a decision: to show up for my healing anyway.

In the past four months, I’ve...

• Shifted my entire way of eating—choosing foods that support my gut, reduce inflammation, and stabilize my hormones

• Learned how to move my body with compassion, not control

• Listened when I needed rest

• Continued to train and move with intention, in ways that feel good to my body (this varies heavily depending on the day)

• Leaned into community, education, and faith when everything felt unclear

I started pelvic floor physical therapy last week. It was the first time in a long time I felt seen. I’ll be going back again this week.
And in August, I have an appointment with a specialist I’ve waited months to see—someone I hope can help me understand the full picture.

This process has tested me.

There have been moments I’ve felt helpless. Moments when my symptoms were invisible to everyone but me. Moments when I’ve questioned everything.
But even in all of that, I’ve also witnessed my own radical transformation.

It would’ve been easy to slip back into old coping mechanisms or patterns that numbed my pain. But I didn’t.

Instead, I chose:

• Food as medicine

• Movement as a gift

• Recovery as strength

• Faith and hope as my compass

I still don’t have all the answers. But I’m moving anyway.
This is what healing looks like right now—not from a place of certainty, but from a place of deep trust.

So if you’re going through something you can’t yet name—
If your body is louder than the imaging and labs that come back “normal,” “healthy,” “unremarkable”…
If your symptoms are dismissed or misunderstood—

You are not alone.

And you don’t have to wait for clarity to start showing up for your own healing.

I’m in it with you. And I believe we’re going to find our way through.

— M

The Stories I’ve Been Holding

I’ve carried these stories quietly for some time.

Not because I was hiding them—
but because I didn’t know where they belonged.

There are some things you just can’t fit into a social media caption.
They’re too layered. Too sacred. Too real.
And maybe... not loud or shiny enough to compete with everything else online.

That’s why I created this space.
Untouched Becoming isn’t for performance or perfection.
It’s for truth.

Here, I’ll be sharing stories about healing.
About recovery—mental, physical, emotional.
About chronic pain that’s not always visible, and strength that isn’t always loud.

I’ll be writing about RF2, and the work we do that has changed my life—bringing CrossFit, community, and personal development inside the walls of prison and back out into the world.

I’ll write about the CrossFit Games, and the stories that unfold beyond the competition floor—stories of resilience, redemption, and the power of being seen.

And I’ll share pieces of myself too.
The quiet parts. The strong parts. The becoming.

This blog isn’t about having it all figured out.
It’s about holding space—for the stories that don’t get told, and for the people who are still in the process of becoming.

I’m writing now because I finally have a space big enough for it.
Not a grid post. Not a story that disappears in 24 hours.
A place where it can live. And breathe. And maybe reach someone who needs it.

Thank you for being here.
If something I share makes you feel a little more understood—you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

We’re becoming, together.

M