For a long time, powerlifting was my identity.
I loved the simplicity of it: squat, bench, deadlift. Clear numbers. Clear progress. There’s something deeply satisfying about loading more weight onto the bar and proving—objectively—that you’re stronger than you were last cycle. Powerlifting gave me discipline, confidence, and a level of raw strength I’m still proud of today.
But strength, it turns out, isn’t the whole picture.
When Strength Wasn’t Enough
Outside the gym, I played competitive softball, and that’s where the cracks began to show. Two years in a row, I suffered a grade 2 tear in my left hamstring. Same injury. Same side. Same frustration.
Rehabbing once is hard enough. Doing it twice forces you to take a hard look at what you’re doing—and what you might be missing.
On paper, I was strong. My lifts were solid. But on the field, explosive sprinting, repeated efforts, and endurance under fatigue exposed a weakness that heavy triples never addressed. I had built an impressive engine for lifting heavy once—but not for moving dynamically, repeatedly, or for long periods of time.
That realization was uncomfortable. Powerlifting had given me so much, and I genuinely loved it. But I started to wonder whether my training was actually supporting the rest of my life—or quietly working against it.
Enter CrossFit
I’ll be honest: I was skeptical of CrossFit at first.
As a powerlifter, I had all the usual biases. Too much conditioning. Too many movements. Too chaotic. And surely, I’d lose strength—right?
Still, I was injured, frustrated, and open to trying something different. What finally pushed me over the edge was a simple goal: I didn’t want to keep getting hurt doing the sport I loved outside the gym.
So I made the switch.
Building What I Was Missing
The first thing CrossFit exposed was my lack of endurance. Not just cardio in the “run a mile” sense, but muscular endurance, work capacity, and the ability to recover quickly between efforts.
Workouts that combined moderate loads with higher reps humbled me fast. Olympic lifts under fatigue were a new challenge. Gymnastics demanded body control and coordination I hadn’t prioritized before. And the conditioning? Brutal—but effective.
Slowly, something started to change.
My aerobic capacity improved. I could breathe through workouts instead of feeling like I was drowning halfway through. My recovery between sets got better. On the softball field, I felt more resilient. Sprinting didn’t feel like a gamble anymore.
Most importantly, my hamstring stopped feeling like a ticking time bomb.
The Strength Myth
Here’s the part that surprised me most—and the one powerlifters always ask about:
I didn’t lose my strength.
Sure, my training no longer revolved around peaking for a 1RM. I wasn’t living in the 90%+ range week after week. But even with a broader focus, I’ve maintained my major lifts within about 10% of my powerlifting totals.
That trade-off has been more than worth it.
I’m still strong—very strong—but now that strength is supported by endurance, mobility, and overall athleticism. I can lift heavy and move well. I can train hard multiple days in a row. I can play a competitive sport without constantly worrying about reinjury.
Redefining What “Fit” Means to Me
Powerlifting taught me how to push, how to commit, and how to respect the process. I’ll always value that chapter of my training life.
But CrossFit expanded my definition of fitness.
It taught me that being strong isn’t just about how much you can lift once—it’s about how well your body performs across different demands. It’s about durability. Adaptability. And being capable in more than one narrow lane.
I didn’t leave powerlifting because it failed me. I left because I outgrew what I needed from it.
Today, I feel more balanced, more athletic, and more confident in my body than I did before. And if maintaining 90% of my max strength is the “cost” of gaining endurance, resilience, and fewer injuries?
That’s a trade I’d make again in a heartbeat.
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