A life-changing “meetcute”
In 2010, I started working as a personal trainer at 24 Hour Fitness in Boulder, Colorado.
I had just graduated college in Ohio and moved to Colorado as a “break” before grad school—and honestly, I just wanted a free gym membership. I went in to apply for a front desk job… and somehow walked out with a personal training position.
It was my first week, and I was completely overwhelmed—reading NASM books, trying to figure out how I was actually going to be a trainer. Even though I’d spent years working out and playing competitive volleyball, this felt like a whole new world.
One day, slightly distracted, I walked up to the front desk.
There was another trainer there I hadn’t met before. He looked about 15 years older than me, studious in his glasses, maybe even a touch pretentious. We made eye contact for a second, and then he said:
“Hey… what’s wrong with your arm?”
As you can imagine, I was immediately annoyed.
I had spent most of my life trying to hide the fact that I had severe nerve damage in my right arm. And this guy—who hadn’t even introduced himself—just went straight there.
With what was probably a very unimpressed face, I said,
“Hi. I’m Julia. You are…?”
“Russ. So yeah—what’s wrong with your arm?”
I muttered back, “I have nerve damage I was born with. Nothing I can do. It’s just like this.”
He paused.
“Are all your muscles there?”
“…what?”
“You’re not missing any muscles, right?”
“Well… no…”
“Cool. Then you can rebuild the nerves. I can help you.”
I was completely floored.
After a lifetime of doctor appointments, 15 years of occupational therapy, and trying out just about every practitioner you can imagine—no one had ever said that to me.
NO ONE. Not once.
And the casual way he said it stopped me in my tracks.
From that day on, whenever we had even 5–10 minutes, Russ would take me through a few exercises for my arm.
At first, it felt impossible. Some muscles would fire. Others just… wouldn’t. I did what felt like hundreds of one-arm cable rows—left hand holding my right shoulder blade—trying to get my lat to engage.
And then one day…
BOOM.
My lat fired.
Russ and I both started jumping around, high-fiving like I had just hit some massive PR (even though it was probably 10 pounds… but I guess for me, it was indeed a record ).
From there, things continued to change. Strength improved. Muscles began firing that hadn’t before. And after another few weeks, Russ introduced me to “his friend who did some crazy fascia work”—which took everything to a completely different level and truly changed my life.
But that first awkward moment with Russ—that’s when everything really shifted.
Because I had something I’d never had before:
Belief.
Through my own experience—and now working with over a thousand people—I’ve seen how often we’re told the opposite.
That we can’t heal.
That we’re too far gone.
That we just have to manage symptoms.
That pain is just part of getting older.
That lost mobility won’t come back.
Maybe you’ve even heard some version of the classic:
“You’ll never ______ again.”
That belief can run deep. But pause for a second and ask yourself:
Where did that belief come from? Who gave it to you? And why are we so quick to accept it as fact?
And even more importantly—why do we stay so committed to it? (Because the medical system gets it wrong. Like, A LOT.)
Now, I understand there are different levels and complexity of injury or limitation. But I want to be your Russ for a moment and tell you something true:
Fascia can be restored, no matter the level of restriction.
Mobility can be unlocked, no matter your age.
Pain can go away, no matter how long you've had it.
The first step in any of that is believing it’s possible for yourself. It sounds simple—but it matters more than you realize. Because let’s be honest, you’re unlikely to put in the work if you don’t believe it will actually do anything. Am I right?
So here’s your invitation this week:
Pay attention to the story you’re telling yourself about your body.
Where are you assuming something won’t change? Where have you already decided what’s possible—and what’s not? And what would it look like to challenge that, even just a little?
Your body is capable of more than you’ve been led to believe, my friend. And I’ll always be in your corner reminding you of that.
You can do this!
P.S. Russ and I are still friends and caught up over lunch two weekends ago. I always find it worth while to hold onto people who believe in you
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Yes — it can. Fascia is a huge part of how your body moves, adapts, and heals, so when it becomes restricted, stiff, or dehydrated, it can create all kinds of compensation, pain, and limitation. When you start improving the health and function of that tissue, mobility can absolutely start to shift — even if things have felt stuck for a long time.
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Often, yes. A lot of people have been told they just have to live with pain, stiffness, weakness, or loss of movement, but that is not always the full story. The body is often far more adaptable than people realize, and when you address the right systems, change can happen in ways people did not think were possible.
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Fascia surrounds and connects everything — muscles, nerves, joints, and more. So when it gets restricted, the effects can show up in a lot of different ways: pain, weakness, tension, poor muscle firing, limited mobility, and strange compensation patterns. Sometimes the issue is not that your body “can’t” do something — it is that the system supporting that movement is not functioning well.
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Usually because that is what they have been told. Maybe by doctors, practitioners, past experiences, or just years of feeling stuck. When you hear over and over that nothing can change, it becomes easy to accept that as fact. But belief matters more than people think, because it shapes how we approach healing and whether we even give our body the chance to respond.
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It can. Feeling stiff, weak, or deeply limited does not automatically mean you are broken or beyond help. In many cases, it means your body needs better support, better input, and a more effective approach. Fascia work can be a powerful piece of that, especially when the goal is to improve mobility, reduce pain, and help the body function more efficiently again.