08/31/2026
I’ve been trying to write this post for the past few days, but I think this video of sweet Weston sums it up best…
On Friday, I taught my last classes at mōtiv. After cheers, tears and so many hugs, everyone left, the music stopped, the studio got quiet, and I closed the doors for the last time.
I feared this day was coming, but nothing could have prepared me for what it would actually feel like.
For 13½ years, this place was such a huge part of who I am. I poured my heart into it. I showed up when I was exhausted, when life was impossibly hard, and when I wasn’t sure how I would keep going. I fought so hard to keep it alive. Probably longer and harder than most people ever would and put more in than anyone will ever know.
I made it through COVID. A rebrand. I rebuilt. I adapted. I kept believing if I just worked harder or found one more solution, I could keep the doors open.
Eventually, I had to accept something my heart didn’t want to accept.
I couldn’t save it.
But maybe the ending isn’t what defines this story.
Maybe it’s everything that happened in between.
I never wanted the studio to just be a place to work out. I wanted it to be a place where people felt safe, seen and like they belonged. A place to get stronger, escape for an hour, laugh, cry, sweat, heal and just be yourself.
And I hope with everything in me that I accomplished that.
I watched strangers become friends and friends become family. I watched people find confidence and strength they didn’t know they had.
What an incredible privilege it was to be there for all of it.
Friday, when the studio was finally quiet, I looked around those empty rooms and realized: The rooms were empty, but what we created wasn’t gone.
It lives in the friendships, the memories and the people who made that place what it was.
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