Zero Excuses: Kristin Kline’s Convicted Comeback

The Ad That Changed Everything

Kristin Kline was 18 years old when she saw the newspaper ad that would spiral her life into chaos. “I haven’t said a whole lot of this, but it was escort, escort agency. I saw an ad in a paper. I was 18 with a mindset of 12, maybe, and I was like, Hey, that sounds good. I’ll get paid,” Kristin told me on the podcast. She got on a bus that led to a plane, landing in a town where she had no idea what she was doing, who she was meeting, or where she was going.

Kristin had grown up in Arizona with adoptive parents who were both teachers. The adoption was no secret, but it left her feeling like she didn’t belong. “Right off the bat, that set me off in this black sheet didn’t belong. Something’s wrong with me, you know, phase,” she said. Her parents emphasized education and faith, sending her to private school despite teaching in public schools themselves. But behind closed doors, Kristin was carrying trauma from childhood sexual abuse that started when she was still in diapers. Instead of going to college on an athletic scholarship, she fled.

What started as excitement about tasting freedom quickly became addiction and chaos. Kristin got kicked out of one state, moved back to Arizona, and tried to build a conventional life with marriage and children. For 10 years, she stayed in an abusive marriage, the only times she was sober being when she was pregnant or nursing her two kids.

The Armed Robbery That Sent Her Away

The nightmare that landed Kristin in prison happened when her children were five and six years old. “My nightmare was I hung out with the wrong people and I caused a car accident and I picked up an armed robbery and assault with a deadly weapon charge. And I never went home again until I came home,” she explained.

It started with a car accident involving someone she was trying to help. Feeling guilty, she loaned money for pain pills, but the money got stolen. When they went to retrieve it, they crossed a threshold that changed everything. SWAT teams arrived, and Kristin found herself in the back of an armored car, facing serious felony charges.

The first month and a half in county jail was the worst place she’d ever been. Her parents bailed her out, and she spent about a year with her children before turning herself in. The court sentenced her to three years. “I thought I was going to have one hell of a time. I was not in the mindset to change. I was going to do my time. I put money on my book so I’d have a cushion. And I was just going to do me and then I’d get out,” she said.

The Counselor Who Saw Something Different

The turning point came when a counselor believed in Kristin for no apparent reason. She was working as his clerk, trying to get tickets so she wouldn’t have to go to minimum security. When he asked why, she said she’d rather be in a cell than in a bay with other people. He refused to write the ticket.

“He told me, you’re smart. Like you don’t belong here. And then he said, which was really hurtful at that time to my pride. He said, you’re not a gangster. And that stuck with me,” Kristin recalled. When she finally moved to minimum security, the mindset was different. She found her groove and everything changed.

As a lifelong athlete, Kristin had always stayed active, but in minimum security, she deep-dived into fitness. Other women started noticing and wanting what she had. It took time for her to realize she could help them, but eventually, she decided to lead a fitness class.

The Speech That Started a Movement

Kristin wrote flyers and put them in the housing units, telling women when to meet her in the chow hall. She had her closest friends show up for support, and before she knew it, the chow hall was packed. What happened next surprised even her.

“I just led with my heart. And I will tell you this, I cried. They cried. It made me cry more,” she said. She told the women she felt compelled to help them and share what she had. Her message was practical and urgent: they were all getting out within five years, and she didn’t want them to hate what they saw in the mirror when they left.

75 women signed up for her class. She had no formal coaching experience, just her athletic background and determination to figure it out. She separated them into advanced and beginner groups, had them track progress and journal. The weight loss and camaraderie they saw were remarkable. She even managed to get certificates printed, and years later, women still post pictures of those certificates on Facebook.

The classes ran on weekends for three hours and on weekdays after work until the yard closed. Women had to choose between coming to class or eating dinner, often missing chow to participate. “It took dedication,” Kristin said.

Building a Life Beyond the Walls

When Kristin’s release date approached, she was terrified to leave. “I didn’t want to re-enter. I was terrified. I knew the safety net that I had created inside. And I had become this person that was different inside. But once you get outside, life hits you in the face.”

She went back to live with her parents, who had been raising her children. The irony wasn’t lost on her that she was returning to the place she’d spent her whole life trying to escape. She met her future spouse, Megan, in prison, and they agreed Megan would work while Kristin built their nonprofit.

“I think my purpose pushed me further than my fears,” Kristin explained. She worked on changing her mindset, cutting negative influences from her life and filling her mind with audiobooks and podcasts from people she admired. She did work for free, showed up consistently, and slowly watched the stigma fade.

Convicted Comeback: Going Back to Pull Others Out

Today, Kristin runs Convicted Comeback and Coach Zero Excuses, building systems that rebuild people after transformation. She’s developed reentry boot camps and fitness certifications, turning facilities into classrooms and survivors into leaders.

The hardest part was getting back into prisons to help current inmates. She wrote a book called “How to Adult After Incarceration” because she needed a manual that didn’t exist. Her goal is simple: go back and pull people out of the fire, one at a time.

“If we didn’t know that we could make it, how many more do you think don’t know? So isn’t it our duty to go and share that word?” she said. Kristin discovered that when you’re pounding it out on the cement, going in loops around the track, you think a lot. She realized your mind is like a muscle, and behaviors are like muscles. They’re uncomfortable while you’re training them, but once they’re trained, growth follows.

Her message to women still inside is the same one she gave in that packed chow hall years ago: there’s hope, there’s a way out, and someone who’s walked the path is willing to show them how.