Estimated reading time: 12 minutes

mom heard “texas”

My mom loves a road trip, especially when it involves going back to Texas. We lived there for more than fifteen years, and I earned both my undergraduate and master’s degrees there, so there’s a lot of our lives tied to that state. I never got used to the heat, but Mom hears “Texas” and is ready to get in the car before I’ve finished explaining why we’re going.

This time, we were heading down for AffiliateCon, where I’d be giving two presentations over the weekend. She was coming along as my road trip partner and unofficial cheerleader, a role that lets her be proud of me while occasionally rolling her eyes. She manages both quite well. I like having her along, and I know these opportunities won’t always be there. I don’t want to look back ten years from now and wish I’d spent more time with my folks when I could have. When we can turn something I’m doing into a few days together, I want to take the opportunity, even when it means listening to my mother’s commentary for several hundred miles.

It rained practically the entire way to Texas. We’ve driven that route more times than I can count, but I don’t remember rain following us all the way down. We’d get a fifteen-minute break, start thinking we might finally be through it, and then the windshield wipers would be right back at it.

On the older stretches of highway, the pavement was so shiny I could barely see the lines. Add construction and those tiny lanes, and I had both hands clamped around the steering wheel, trying to figure out where the hell I was supposed to be. Every so often, the tires would catch the rumble strip on the right, and we’d get that bumpa-bumpa-bumpa as I drove by Braille.

several codes and twenty-six boxes of vermicelli

By the time we reached the Airbnb, it was 10:30 at night; we’d been on the road all day, and getting inside became an event in itself. First, park in front of the house, walk up to the door, enter a code, go inside, and retrieve the garage door opener. Then get back in the car, drive around to the other side of the house, open the garage, park, and walk back around to the front. Enter a different code, go upstairs, and enter another code to get through that door. I’m reading all this, tired out of my mind, wondering how many times we’ll circle this house before we’re allowed to sleep in it.

There was also a private entrance on the side, with two more codes and a stairwell so steep and narrow we couldn’t carry our bags up it. Once we finally got settled, though, it really was a wonderful Airbnb. I loved the place, and I was glad we stayed there. However, getting in had required a little more of me than I had left that night.

By Friday morning, we had something very important on the agenda: H-E-B.

I cannot adequately explain how excited we were to go to that grocery store. We love things we can only find in Texas, including our favorite coffee and Dad’s vermicelli. We had pounds and pounds of coffee in the cart, along with twenty-six boxes of vermicelli. Twenty-six, because apparently twenty-five would have been cutting it close.

“some of our things?”

By Saturday, my attention had shifted to my first presentation. I was about twenty minutes away from taking the stage when I got a message from our Airbnb host.

He’d let himself into the unit to clean and prepare for the next guest and noticed we’d left some of our things. My first thought was, “Some of our things? We left ALL of our things. We’re staying until tomorrow. What the absolute hell?”

Then I read the next few lines, where he explained that he’d packed everything up and I could call him to arrange access.

My clothes, makeup, laptop, work things, and everything I needed for the next day’s presentation were at that Airbnb. I stood at AffiliateCon, getting ready to speak, trying to understand how our entire stay had been packed up while we were gone. I checked the reservation, and there it was. I’d booked the wrong number of nights. There was no misunderstanding to clear up or anyone else’s mistake to point out. I had clicked the wrong dates, didn’t notice, and confidently left for the day, thinking we still had a place to sleep that night.

We’d left in a hurry that morning, and while the place wasn’t a disaster, it wasn’t how I’d leave it for someone coming in to clean. I was embarrassed he’d found it that way and had to gather up all our belongings. I also felt a little violated knowing someone had handled our personal things, even though I understood why he’d needed to do it.

Knowing it was my fault didn’t make any of those feelings disappear. If anything, it gave me another reason to be upset with myself. For reasons I still can’t entirely explain, I suddenly felt like a nineteen-year-old who’d been evicted for not paying her rent. I was wiping away tears just before I was supposed to take the stage, wondering how I’d managed to screw up something as simple as the number of nights we needed.

I was standing there beside myself, trying to figure out what to do, when a woman I’d followed for years came over. We’d finally met in person that weekend and had recorded a podcast together earlier that day, and she must have noticed the look on my face. I told her what had happened while trying to convince both of us that I was handling it. “It’s okay. I’ll deal with it after the session, and we’ll figure out where all our stuff is.” Apparently, I wasn’t selling it, because she looked at me and said, “Hey, let’s say a prayer.”

So there we stood by the entrance of the Omni Hotel, heads bowed, praying together. My mind had been racing through bags, laptops, and where we were going to sleep, and she helped me get still long enough to remember why I was there. We would find our belongings and somewhere to stay, but right then, I had people waiting for me and work I cared about doing. I’d spent years following this woman online, and now she was standing beside me, helping me find my footing when I needed it. By the time we lifted our heads, I could take a breath and go do what I’d come to do. So off I go.

Before the trip, I’d been trying to come up with an icebreaker for “Rethink the Rep.” I knew I’d be asking everyone to do a lot of movements in a short amount of time, and I wanted to loosen things up before we got started. Somehow, that led me to stand in front of a room full of CrossFit coaches with a Heineken bottle.

“All right, let’s get this thing started. Nikki, hold my beer.” I handed her the bottle before continuing, “Most people say that right before doing something spectacularly nuts. CrossFit coaches just call it… Three…two…one…..GO”

It got some smiles, and honestly, after the twenty minutes I’d just had, I needed a little ridiculousness.

finally in the same room

Throughout the weekend, people stopped to thank me for being there. Some told me they’d followed me for a long time, and others said how important representation was and how glad they were that I’d come.

Then there were the people I already knew, except we’d never actually been in the same room. I’d seen their faces online, read their posts, and messaged with them, and now they were standing in front of me. There’s something funny about meeting someone for the first time when you already have so much to talk about. You’re trying to remember whether you’ve properly introduced yourself while also picking up a conversation you started months ago.

I loved spending time with those people in person. Online, a conversation fits around whatever else you’re doing that day, and sometimes you come back to a message hours later. Here, we could actually stay in the conversation, hear each other laugh, and get to know a little more of the person we’d been talking to all this time. I hadn’t realized how much I wanted that and felt bad that I couldn’t spend more time with everyone. I wanted to keep having conversations long after I needed to move on. People were sharing things that mattered to them, and I wanted them to know they mattered to me, too.

Familiar faces and handshakes were there, including a few that came with history.

One person I was overjoyed to see was someone I’d met on my first trip to Santa Cruz in 2018. He was one of the first people I met at CrossFit HQ, and he’s been part of my story ever since. He contributed to my first book, still checks in, and has known me through years of trying to figure out where all of this might lead. When he saw me, he came running over and gave me the biggest hug, and I was so happy to see him. He asked what time my session was, and when I told him Saturday at 3:15, he said, “Okay. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

There I was on the floor, getting ready to start the movement activity, when I looked toward the door and saw him sitting there, watching me with a smile on his face. I remember thinking, “Well, I’ll be damned. He came.”

There’s something a little surreal about looking up from your own work and seeing someone you’ve admired and respected for years sitting there, interested in what you have to teach. In the middle of everything I was trying to coordinate, I had this moment of realizing how much it mattered to me.

Later that night, after we’d retrieved our belongings and found another Airbnb, I sat down to write him an email. I wanted him to know how much I appreciated it, although admitting the full extent of that felt surprisingly vulnerable.

I can stand in front of a room and talk about deeply personal things, but telling one person how much it mattered that he showed up left me sitting there, trying to find the words through tears. By then, I think I was feeling the whole day. The panic before my presentation, the conversations, the kindness, and the relief of having made it through everything were finally catching up with me.

I also want to be clear that I loved that first Airbnb, and I still gave the host five stars. He hadn’t done anything wrong, and I wasn’t about to punish him because I apparently needed supervision while booking accommodations.

the trouble with having feelings and eyelids

Once we were settled in the new place, I slept hard. Unfortunately, when I woke up Sunday morning, my eyes had swollen so much that I stood in the mirror, absolutely horrified. I know what crying does to my face, but this felt excessive, even by my standards. I had another presentation that afternoon, and I could barely see enough of my eyes to imagine making eye contact with an audience.

Before long, we were freezing washcloths, and I was out on the deck with my head tilted back and an ice-cold compress over my eyes. Apparently, I could tell someone how much they meant to me or have eyelids the following morning, but doing both was asking a lot. Thankfully, after about fifteen minutes, the swelling started to settle. I can laugh about it now, although I was considerably less amused that morning.

By late Sunday afternoon, after my second presentation, I left feeling full. I was tired, certainly, but I wanted a little time to sit with everything before everyday life started asking for things again. Luckily, Mom and I had a long drive home.

murder, mayhem, and a little redemption

Our road trips usually involve listening to Dateline, which we call “murder and mayhem.” We’ll be driving along, listening to a story, when a detail comes out, and our jaws drop at the same time.

After an hour or so, we decide we’ve had enough murder and switch over to the fifties station. Somehow, we go from trying to understand why someone thought they’d get away with killing their spouse to rocking down the highway to “Rock Around the Clock” and “Blue Suede Shoes.”

We also stopped at the Kansas Star Casino because my mom loves a good casino. I shake my head laughing as I write this. She’s a nut. To my utter shock, I hit two jackpots in a row and walked out with $1,300 more than I’d come in with. After accidentally checking us out of our Airbnb a day early, I felt this was a respectable effort toward redeeming myself.

what I brought home

The money was a pretty great way to end the trip, but when I think about what I brought home from AffiliateCon, I keep coming back to the people.

I went there hoping those two presentations would give coaches something to think about and something they could use. What I hadn’t considered was how much I would get from being in those rooms with them. The thoughtful questions, the conversations afterward, the willingness to consider another perspective; all of it reminded me why I care so much about this work. There’s something powerful about being surrounded by people who care enough to keep learning, even when they’ve been coaching for years.

And then there were the friendships, the people I finally got to meet in person, and the unexpected moments of understanding with someone I once thought I’d never agree with. I came home feeling closer to this community because I’d had the chance to spend time with the people who make it what it is. CrossFit has been such a big part of my life, and that weekend, I got to feel how much I’m still a part of it.

I’d spent so much time preparing what I wanted to give that I hadn’t realized how much I needed to be there, too. I’m grateful I got to speak, grateful people trusted me with their questions and their stories, and grateful I left feeling more encouraged to keep going. I’m already looking forward to next year, although I’ll probably have someone double-check the Airbnb reservation.