The first time Roxy Cowick told me about her cancer diagnosis, her voice didn’t crack. She didn’t dramatize it. She just said, “My world stopped for a moment, but then I realized my fight wasn’t just for me.”
She fought to live. For her kids. For her husband. For the life she knew wasn’t finished with her yet. “I chose to face it head on with strength, prayer, and the determination to keep going,” she told me. “It wasn’t easy but each day I reminded myself that surviving meant more than just getting through treatments. It meant showing up for life fully and fearlessly.”
So no, Roxy’s not just another name on a roster.
She told me about her gym routine with this casual confidence, like it’s just a normal thing to build yourself back from scratch. Every squat begins with her heels flaring out, a tiny ritual she doesn’t skip. Not because it’s superstition—but because it works. Her process is grounded in fundamentals. “Skipping the basics leads to problems,” she says. And you believe her.
She competes with this rare balance of joy and structure. On meet day, she’s locked in—but there’s always candy in her bag. Part routine. Part comfort. Maybe a little superstition after all.
She’s the kind of lifter who claps the loudest when someone else hits a PR. Not because she’s trying to prove anything—but because she genuinely loves it. “I just enjoy being in it,” she said. “The energy, the moments—it all means something to me.”
And then there’s her music. Her go-to track? No Quitter, Go Getter. That tells you almost everything.
But here’s what stuck with me most: she lifts for that version of herself sitting in the hospital chair. Bald. Tired. Unsure. “That girl prayed for the chance to be strong again,” she said. “So when I want to skip the gym or phone it in, I think about her. I lift for her.”
There’s a quote she keeps close: You didn’t come this far just to come this far.
And when you hear her say it, it doesn’t feel like a cliché. It feels earned.
She talked a lot about faith, too not in a way that felt rehearsed, but like someone who’s lived it. “God didn’t always take the storm away,” she told me. “But He gave me peace in the middle of it.”
That’s the thing about Roxy. Her strength isn’t just physical. It’s spiritual. It’s emotional. It’s the kind of strength that shows up when no one’s watching. That steadies the room. That makes you believe in showing up again, even when it’s hard.
And while most people would use parenthood as a reason to stop, Roxy saw it as her reason to continue. “Being a parent is one of the most important jobs we have,” she told me, “but I still make time for powerlifting. Because I believe in setting the example.”
Her kids see her juggle the chaos work, family, training and they see her keep showing up. That’s the lesson she wants them to carry. That even when life gets heavy, you don’t walk away from what makes you stronger. You adapt. You fight. You stay in it.
“If they can walk away knowing it’s okay to struggle,” she said, “that you never quit on yourself, and that trusting God and working hard can carry you through anything that would mean everything to me.”
She lifts because she’s a mother. Because she wants her kids to see what it looks like to chase something. To persevere. To trust God. To keep going, no matter what.
And if there’s one thing she hopes they take away from all of it?
“Strength isn’t just what you see on the outside. It’s how you keep showing up when life gets hard.”
