I just returned home from a week in Florida, caring for my mom following her knee replacement surgery.

She is such a badass.

❌ No narcotics.

❌ No whining.

❌ No excuses.

Frankly, she didn’t even need me there, but I’m glad I was able to get in some good family time. ❤️

It also got me thinking a lot about my own physical condition, which is currently far from ideal.

So let’s talk about it.

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I’m broken

Real talk — I’m in the worst physical shape of my entire life.

A genetic orthopedic condition that should have been diagnosed and corrected 25 years ago has culminated in life-altering health issues over the last couple of years.

👉 Pretty much every form of exercise is a no-go.

👉 Walking around the city is torture.

👉 I can’t even roll over in bed without excruciating pain.

👉 And I’m 40 pounds heavier than I was two years ago. 😭

I’ve been an athlete my entire life, so my physical deterioration has not only impacted my mental health — it’s screwed with my entire sense of identity.

I’m a fat, immobile, broken person right now.

It sucks.

And to top it off, I’m in the midst of building several new businesses, so my income is hit-and-miss.

So, let’s recap. I’m:

• Overweight

• In debilitating pain

• Mentally precarious

• And financially unstable

But strangely, I’m also the happiest I’ve ever been. 

How the heck is this possible?

Nobody’s limitless

There’s nothing I love more than proving people wrong.

Whether it was my teachers, my bosses, or even an entire country, I’ve always had a “limitless” mindset when it comes to achieving success.

I’m far from perfect, and I’ve failed a ton, (hell, that’s why I write a newsletter called Drunk Business Advice), but at the onset of any given challenge, my brain has never been like “ehh, that goal seems a tad lofty”.

Instead, my brain screams “LET’S F*CKING DO THIS”.

For as far back as I can remember, I’ve truly believed that I can do anything. 🚀

And it’s no surprise that my noodle works this way.

My first career was in competitive figure skating. ⛸️

No one with any sense of personal limits could fling themselves high into the air, rapidly rotate their body at 400 RPMs, and expect to land gracefully on a narrow 3mm blade.

On ice.

Again. And again. And again. And again.

Sometimes I would land.

Sometimes I would crash with the same downforce as a grand piano, splintering onto a frozen sidewalk.

I was just a kid, and had no intellectual understanding of the complicated physics that determined my ability to execute (or fail to execute) seemingly impossible skating maneuvers. 

I simply had to trust myself. 

Even if I had let myself down moments before, and bruised my ass so badly that doctors would threaten to call CPS, I had to trust that I wouldn’t let myself down next time.

But while a limitless mindset is necessary for a figure skater, I’d argue that it wasn’t great for me outside of that sport, for one rock-solid reason:

I’m not limitless.

I have physical limits.

I have mental limits.

I have emotional limits.

I have financial limits.

And for the first time, I’m consciously recognizing that not only do these limits exist, but I make my life harder for myself when I ignore them.

Limits are awesome — if you know how to use them

Up until recently, my inner-monologue resembled a peewee hockey team ordering lunch off a 20-page menu at The Cheesecake Factory.

The possibilities are endless — but you’re probably not going to end up with a gastronomically pleasing result.

This is what a limitless mindset feels like.

A limitless mindset considers limits to be restrictions. 

And I was spending far too much time and energy trying to break through those restrictions.

But what if I stopped looking at limits as restrictions…

…And started looking at limits as guides?

I argue that if we recognize our limits, they’ll tell us how to put one foot in front of the other — and which direction we should walk. 👇

If we listen to our limits, not only will they tell us what we should be doing — we’ll be happier doing it.

This isn’t just me spouting off — it’s been scientifically proven that excessive optionality is the thief of joy.

That’s why everyone is so f*cking miserable on Tinder. 🤷

The Crash

In 2001, two weeks before the first round of National qualifying figure skating competitions, I fell in practice on a triple salchow. 

I immediately knew something was wrong. 😳 

I was used to taking hard falls, but this was a deep pain that knocked me completely out of focus.

But my music was playing, and my coach was yelling at me to finish my program, so I got up, and skated through the pain.

I thought I was limitless.

Two weeks later, despite knowing in my heart that I was seriously injured, I boarded a flight to Pittsburgh to compete, gobbling up ibuprofen like jelly beans.

But when I returned home (with no medals to show for my valiant efforts), my mom was not going to take any more of my shit.

She rushed me to the doctor, who examined me and took some x-rays.

A few hours later, she received a phone call from the doctor’s office informing her that she could stop by before the end of the day to pick up my wheelchair.

Um. What?

Turns out, the orthopedist who reviewed my x-rays was not the same doctor who had examined me, and based on what the x-rays were showing, that orthopedist didn’t even believe I was walking.

Because I had broken my goddamn hip.

Three weeks earlier. 🤦

I guess my bones have limits.

I couldn’t stay away

My six-month recovery period turned into a year due to complications, and I was crawling out of my skin. 

I wanted to be back on the ice so badly that I just hung out at the rink nonstop.

And looking back, I can narrow down that one inflection point as the foundation for my entire career.

Because during all the time that I was spending at the rink NOT focused on skating, I was instead learning about:

• The refrigeration plant that kept the ice frozen.

• The risk management procedures that kept people safe.

• And the business practices that earned just enough money to pay the exorbitant power bills.

As a mere teenager, I became an expert in the design, construction, and operations of world-class ice venues.

Soon, I found myself traveling the world to work on incredible projects, such as the largest ice arena in the Southern hemisphere. 👇

Back in the US, I started a company that led the development of NYC’s first ever rooftop ice rink, and (as you learned in last week’s issue) the restoration of the most iconic ice rink in the world. 🌎

My unique company attracted the attention of Harvard’s prestigious executive real estate program, where I became the youngest graduate, and one of only seven women in a class of 44.

These days, I sit on the alumni leadership committee, and just accepted an offer to work as an academic guest advisor for the class of ‘25’s final thesis project.

Holy shit. 🤯

That broken hip —that severe limitation— positively changed the trajectory of my entire life.

If I hadn’t gotten injured, I may have become an Olympic figure skater, but I wouldn’t have had such a diverse and exciting career.

Figure skating gave me resilience. 

But that injury gave me a reason to use it.

So now I’m fat and happy

Ok, I’m not happy about being fat, but I am the happiest I’ve ever been.

And I attribute my newfound happiness to finally ditching my limitless mindset, and consciously using my limits to guide my next move.

I no longer view my limits as restrictions. Instead, they’re like bowling bumpers, keeping me out of the gutter as I move toward the pins at whatever pace I damn well please. 🎳 

My head is still filled with shiny objects like innovative ideas, lofty dreams, and exciting pursuits.

And I’m probably capable of executing some innovative ideas, achieving some lofty dreams, and mastering some exciting pursuits.

But now that I’m recognizing my limits as a personal guide, rather than a challenge to overcome, I’m no longer stressing over:

• Which goals to pursue

• How to attack those goals

• And what happens if I fail

Because I’m happy in the process, and each failure is just another guide.

Cheers! 🍻

-Kristin :-)

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