An Excerpt from Built for More: An Untold Story of High-Level Sport, Identity & Becoming
I’ve been working on something personal.
It feels strange to call it a memoir, but it's my story. The real story behind The Athlete Identity Project and the mission I want to serve—and it's the reason I support Forging Youth Resilience (FYR - pronounced🔥).
FYR creates safe, healthy communities for underserved youth. Through fitness, nutrition, mentorship, and mental health, clubs around the country give every kid the opportunity to thrive.
So, in honor of Mental Health Awareness month and FYR's IGNITE campaign, I’m sharing a piece of what I've been working on. Because even the strongest among us need a place to belong.
Built for More: An Untold Story of High-Level Sport, Identity & Becoming
Content Note: This piece includes references to eating disorders and mental health challenges. While not described in detail, please read with care if these topics are sensitive for you.
.... I pushed through the double doors, leaned on a beam, and looked out at the arena of my childhood. I was the only one in the gym. I could see chalk and dust floating in the sunbeams streaming through the windows. And in that quiet moment, I made a personal, silent decision: I was done competing in the sport of gymnastics.
The dream of competing at the next level had quietly faded long before this - too much trauma both physically and mentally. But that day, I consciously let it go. Thirteen years of effort, injury, fight, and glory.
And this was the end.
I made that decision — and then I changed into my leotard and started warming up for practice. I may have been done competing, but I didn’t know how to be done with the sport.
...
Looking back at the summer following my decision to stop competing, I can see it clearly: I was an athlete trying to find herself without the sport, clinging to the familiar rhythm of discipline and hard work. But at the time, it didn’t feel like a search for identity. It felt like I was doing the right things.
I started coaching the pre-school classes and leading birthday parties on the weekends.
I joined the fitness center my parents went to and would spend hours in this new playground.
On the outside, all healthy behaviors — but they were fueled by unhealthy motivation. To be perfect. To be the hardest worker in the room. To still be known as the gymnast.
I started counting every calorie that went in and out of my body.
I didn’t allow myself to rest. Ever.
Anything less than extreme effort felt like failure.
...
“Eating disorder,”
“Anorexia,”
“Compulsive exercise.”
I largely tuned out the rest of the conversation — his voice became garbled in the cloud of shame, embarrassment, and denial that surrounded me.
Couldn’t they see it wasn’t about the food?
I saw therapists, nutritionists, and doctors all doing their best but unable to reach me - unable to understand the complex psychological and emotional state I was in. I imagine this cycle of seeking therapies and professionals would have continued.
But on August 29, 2005, Hurricane Katrina raged through my hometown.
And became a turning point in my recovery.
It was hard as a 17-year-old to wrap my head around the destruction of it all – much less as a 17-year-old whose life was built around a rigorous set of habits that now weren’t accessible. There was no gym. No fitness center. I eventually ran out of protein bars, and there was no way to buy more
I felt trapped.
Yes, by the chaos of living in a natural disaster, but I knew that would – with time – get better. We would rebuild. The world around me would eventually find a new normal.
But mostly, I felt trapped in the constant battle of trying to stay disciplined in the rigid rules and routines I’d built for myself. I couldn’t imagine a life where I wasn’t counting every calorie that went in and out of my body. And I didn’t know if I had it in me to keep that fight going.
It happened slowly and all at once, but I was sitting on the floor of a hotel in Louisiana – where we had escaped after months of living in a disaster area – and I decided I couldn’t do it anymore. I didn’t want to live like this.
It would finally be quiet—the noise in my head silenced.
I could finally rest.
But there was a stronger voice.
One that said: “You have to fight.”
This voice was loud.
So, I walked outside to where my mom and dad were sitting beside the pool.
“I can’t do this anymore,” I said through tears.
“I need help. I want help. Please help me.”
.....
It was slow. Messy. Full of surrender and starting over.
With the help of medical professionals, inpatient care at Ridgeview Women’s Center, and family and coaches that never stopped fighting for me, I began to rebuild — one tiny step at a time.
Piece by piece.
While recovery would be an ongoing process over the next decade, the care, education, and intensive therapy I received at Ridgeview saved my life — and gave me a future.
....
Years later, I found myself standing in a back alley behind a Cracker Barrel, walking into my first CrossFit gym.
There’s nothing like your first CrossFit workout. Thinking you’re fit and then watching people of all ages pass you up. Heart racing, lungs burning, muscles on fire. You either hate it or you fall in love.
I fell hard.
That countdown became a symbol of the community that helped me heal — without knowing anything about my past.
A reminder that the environments we create for others may be healing them in ways we’ll never see. And that the environments we choose for ourselves matter deeply.
The teammates, the coaches, the community around Crossfit gave me so much more than revival as an athlete.
They gave me a foundation for physical and mental health that continues to be the bedrock of how I find high-performance in other areas of my life.
They gave me sport and skills that transcend it.
And for that, I will be forever grateful.
....
There's so much more to this story that's yet to be shared. It was more than just leaving the sport that caused my world to spiral, and it was more than just CrossFit that saved me. But one thing that is undeniably true?
I wouldn't be who I am today without fitness, nutrition, and a community that celebrated strength and wellness.
I hope you'll consider supporting our mission so that we can continue creating those communities for youth who may not otherwise have the access.
Why I’m Supporting Forging Youth Resilience (FYR) & How You Can Too
The community gave me a place to belong.
Together, they built a foundation that helped thrive far beyond the gym.
And sometimes they change everything.
Every May, as part of Mental Health Awareness month, we run the IGNITE workout fundraiser.
If you feel moved to be part of it:
- You can register for the workout as an individual or a team on FYR's IGNITE Registration Page
- You can donate directly to my personal campaign: Amanda's FYR IGNITE Campaign
And You’re Also Invited to Join These Virtual Events (Led by Yours Truly):
Sabbatical Insights: Everything I Haven’t Shared on Social Media
📅 Tuesday, May 13, 2025
🕛 11:30 AM MT / 1:30 PM ET
Behind the scenes of the past few months of rest, reflection, and building something new.
The Five Factors of Health: Simple Habits for Families
📅 Sunday, May 18, 2025
🕒 3:00 PM MT / 5:00 PM ET
Simple, practical habits around eating, sleeping, training, thinking, and connecting—plus how to talk about them with your kids in ways that build confidence.
Reclaiming the Lost Art of Focus
📅 Tuesday, May 20, 2025
🕗 7:30 PM MT / 9:30 PM ET
If you’re normally working at this time, this session is for you. An honest conversation about protecting focus, increasing productivity, and sustaining performance in the middle of real life—not after it slows down.
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