Team Dice: a Family’s Passion Powers Their Race to End CTE

“Say their names.”

It’s the only way Elizabeth Allardice believes she can guarantee her husband and others diagnosed with CTE will not be forgotten.

Her husband Robert, known by loved ones as “Dice,” never won a Heisman Trophy or a Super Bowl, but Elizabeth says his story — and others like it — need to be told and heard. For more than a decade, she and her daughter Kelly Dubs have been on a mission to not only raise awareness for CTE, but to directly support research and education focused on eliminating the preventable disease that robbed Dice of his golden years.

As a captain for Team West Point, Kelly honors her stepdad’s memory through CLF’s annual Race to End CTE. While some center their peer-to-peer campaigns around an in-person event, Kelly has found fundraising success simply through personal outreach, sharing her family’s story with all 400 contacts in her phone.

“My text message is short, but the story on my page is extensive,” Kelly said. “It starts with just one donation. You put one foot in front of the other and go for it.”

Kelly Dubs dressed up with her father, Legacy Donor Robert Allardice

The response from friends, family, and colleagues has been nothing short of incredible. Kelly has been the Race to End CTE’s top individual fundraiser for four consecutive years, raising more than $150,000 to support CLF research, prevention, and education initiatives.

Elizabeth and Kelly also fundraise to ensure the CLF HelpLine remains free to every person and family with concerns about brain health. They are particularly passionate about the HelpLine because of their own experience with CTE. In the mid-2000s, when Dice started to show signs of struggle with cognition and communication, they didn’t know where to look for help.

Educating others through “Team Dice”

Thanks entirely to support from CLF donors, families today can not only find medical recommendations and guidance for living with CTE, but they can also find community with a CTE support group or a Peer Support Connection with someone who understands their challenges.

“There was none of the help available when we were going through this,” Elizabeth recalled.

Though “Team Dice” utilizes texts, social media posts, and emails for their fundraisers, Elizabeth and Kelly have made it a point to travel from North Carolina to support others in the Legacy Family Community at in-person events in Alabama and Ohio. Kelly says she wants families to know they are not alone and that their loved one’s brain donation is making a difference.

Team Dice smile for the camera at the 2025 Cleveland Marathon

Elizabeth reminds Legacy Family members the best way to honor their loved one is to educate others about CTE and support the ongoing work to diagnose, treat, and — someday — cure this disease. Her efforts are extensive, but Elizabeth says she will remain relentless in honor of Robert Allardice, the love of her life.

“I’ll be darned if I’ll be sitting on the sideline and letting him be forgotten.”

Liz Allardice, wife of Legacy Donor Robert Allardice, holds up a sign on why she's Racing to End CTE

My Advice to Others Battling Post-Concussion Syndrome (PCS)

Warning: This story contains mentions of suicide that may be triggering to some readers.

A Life Turned Upside Down

At the peak of what was supposed to be the most exciting and happy years of my carefree, teenage life, I experienced an injury that would turn my world upside down.

On July 4, 2023, at the age of 16, my family and I were celebrating the holiday just as we always had, lighting fireworks in our backyard. One unexpectedly malfunctioned and exploded directly in my face. I could not see nor hear after the blast. For a moment, I thought I might have died.

We went directly to the local emergency room, hoping it wasn’t serious. I had no obvious physical injuries, so the physician sent me home, simply writing it off as a panic attack. For the next few weeks, I experienced debilitating headaches, dizziness, and had problems hearing. I visited my doctor several times only to be told I had severe migraines, and got prescribed medications that didn’t alleviate my suffering.

Believing I was okay, I went to an amusement park that summer with a friend and rode every roller coaster in sight. After exiting one of the indoor coasters, I fell off and thought maybe it was motion sickness. Getting off the next ride, I was nauseous, my vision was blurred, and my head was pounding. The drive back home was unbearable, and I had to sleep the entire time.

Since that day, I’ve continued to have horrible headaches, delayed cognitive function and motor skills, foggy memory, light and sound sensitivity, slurred speech, and severe neck pain. My face looks swollen, and my eyes seem off, as if I’m unable to focus.

I carried on with school, barely getting through the day while making multiple trips to the nurse’s office. They didn’t believe a word I said, telling me I was faking it to get out of class. In fact, other than my family, no one believed my problems. It wasn’t until during my final exam to get a modeling contract when a fellow candidate asked if I was alright; I’d taken medicine and looked somewhat pale. I told her about my accident, and she responded saying she’d had post-concussion syndrome (PCS) for five years before going to a concussion clinic, which helped immensely in her recovery.

I excitedly told my mother about this, and we went to the emergency room at a bigger hospital the next day. A physician diagnosed me with PCS, before referring me to a concussion clinic. It’s not an exaggeration to say the first appointment there changed my life. From the second I sat down in the chair, the therapist described in detail how I must’ve been feeling. For the first time, someone knew what I was going through. For the first time, someone believed me.

Unfortunately, the rest of the school year was awful. I was bullied for my condition not only by classmates but by a few teachers and staff as well. No one could understand my condition was real. They would gossip about me “faking it” and calling me “an amazing actress” while I was around. I was questioned multiple times about my attendance, despite having written accommodation in a 504 plan. I was also banned from the library; the only quiet place I could complete classwork or have lunch in peace. Instead, I was accused of skipping class.

Even worse, my mother was also harassed at work about my situation. These experiences made pushed me into a cycle of depression, self-harm, and suicidal thoughts which I still struggle with today. I had to start taking classes online at Union High School. I now realize how much PCS can affect your life, stripping it of what it once was. You’re sometimes like a shell of a person. You can feel totally helpless, angry, and alone.

Support through Recovery

Thankfully, I‘ve been fortunate to have a wonderful support system around me to help through the difficult times. They’ve been there for me through this rough process and I’m forever grateful to them all:

  • My mother and boyfriend Andrew have sacrificed so much to take care of me. They lift me up when I’m down, hold me while I cry, and make sure I know I’m loved.
  • My sister Alexa checks in on me daily and reminds me I always have a best friend who’ll be in my corner through thick and thin.
  • My Aunt Tonya and Uncle Rex provide constant sympathy and inspiration. Uncle Rex even helps with math, the hardest subject for me as I’ve dealt with PCS.
  • My best friend Lexi is always making sure I laugh, reminding me how brave I am, and sticking up for me when I’m not around.
  • And of course, Union High School treated me as one of their own from the first day. Not only was I respected and cared for, the teachers helped me excel when I didn’t think I could, ensuring I would finish my senior year with all A’s. I am so proud to call myself a Union Rocket.

What I’ve learned about recovery is it’s not linear and often extremely frustrating. It’s so important to adjust daily living to accommodate your needs, no matter how that may look. I like to carry around a “PCS care kit” when I’m out in public. I call it my best friend and savior. The kit includes Tylenol, aspirin, motion sickness bands, earplugs, sunglasses, and blue light glasses. It may look silly, but wearing the sunglasses always comes in handy when inside bright stores.

I’ve also learned to be patient and have grace for myself. Living with PCS can be a long and emotional battle. Listen to your body and give yourself the healing time you need.

Every day is a reminder I survived my accident. It’s great perspective to keep in mind when life gets tough, that I’m still here and going strong. Daily mantras, meditation, and being in nature have helped maintain a positive feeling that I’m safe and will get through this. I’ve also been attending weekly sessions with a therapist who is dealing with PCS. I highly recommend therapy to navigate the spiral of emotions you’ll inevitably encounter.

During the worst of my PCS, I always wished I had someone to talk to who had gone through the same experience. It’s incredibly reassuring to know others have been in your shoes and understand the struggle. I’ve decided to write about my personal journey in a memoir, to help show everyone out there battling PCS you’re not alone and it will get better. Despite what people say or tell you, remember this: you are strong, smart, and brave.

Don’t let that go.

______________________________

Suicide is preventable and help is available. If you are concerned that someone in your life may be suicidal, the five #BeThe1To steps are simple actions anyone can take to help someone in crisis. If you are struggling to cope and would like some emotional support, call the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline at 988 to connect with a trained counselor. It’s free, confidential, and available to everyone in the United States. You do not have to be suicidal to call.

Are you or someone you know struggling with lingering concussion symptoms? We support patients and families through the CLF HelpLine, providing personalized help to those struggling with the outcomes of brain injury. Submit your request today and a dedicated member of the Concussion Legacy Foundation team will be happy to assist you.

Alyssa Peterson

Warning: This story contains mentions of suicide that may be triggering to some readers.

A Bright Light Dimmed too Soon

When I think of Alyssa, her eyes come first: light brown, luminous, and always scanning the world with empathy and curiosity. Vintage vibes, Crocs style. Sharp, witty, and wise beyond her years, she saw people deeply, even as a child. Her kindness wasn’t a choice; it was instinct. She didn’t perform goodness; she embodied it. She was sharp, too; quick with a comeback, clever in a way that made you laugh and think at the same time. She saw people—really saw them—in a way most adults never learn to.

Even as a toddler, Alyssa carried herself like someone who understood the world in ways other kids haven’t even begun to notice. I remember once, running late to feed her, bracing for a meltdown. Instead, there she was, looking up at me with quiet patience and a half-smile. No drama, just grace. That was Alyssa.

Legacy Donor Alyssa Peterson holding a butterfly

We used to ride bikes together. She’d fly ahead, wind in her hair, but always stopped at intersections to wait until I caught up. We’d talk about school, about life, about how lucky we were to be surrounded by beauty, even on the hard days.

Alyssa was a natural athlete. Her first love was skiing, starting at just two and a half years old. She seemed born to fly down mountains. People from outside Colorado might think that’s crazy; those who live here know it’s not. She adored bundling up in layers alongside her younger sister, Emily—long underwear, wool socks, puffy suits, mittens, ski boots, and helmet. Alyssa skied on a local team and raced in the Nighthawks Series at Eldora, a small and notoriously windy ski area near Arvada. Eldora is known to locals as “Helldora” because of the icy conditions, but Alyssa embraced it. Under the lights and racing in the dark, she seemed to shine even brighter.

Legacy Donor Alyssa Peterson and sister in their skis

Alyssa also picked up mountain biking, skateboarding, and any other activity that screamed Colorado adventure. But it was soccer that truly captured her heart.

It was easy to see something click in Alyssa the first time she stepped on the field. She was four years old in tiny cleats, dancing through warmups pretending to be a kitty. By age ten, she was juggling the ball more than 100 times in a row. People would stop and film her in the park. No music, just her own rhythm. Neighbors would shake their heads in amazement and tell me, “That girl is going to be something.”

But Alyssa wasn’t just physically talented. She had wisdom and innocence that made her stand out. She played competitively, took private lessons, attended winter and summer soccer camps, and trained year-round. She set goals, writing them on her hand or the nearest napkin. Her ultimate dream was to go pro, then eventually become a coach. Our lives revolved around practices, matches, and tournaments. Alyssa loved every minute of it.

Legacy Donor Alyssa Peterson on the pitch in her soccer uniform

Changing Behavior

Around age 13, something began to change in Alyssa. At first, we chalked it up to adolescence: moody days, quiet withdrawal, the normal turbulence of a notoriously hard age marked by hormones, identity shifts, and social pressure. Looking back, I believe undiagnosed concussions may have played a much larger role in her mental health than we realized.

Throughout her childhood, Alyssa had several significant head impacts, from ski racing crashes and mountain biking spills to a poolside accident where she hit her head jumping in too close to the edge. Add in the frequent collisions from years of youth competitive soccer — including common skills like juggling and heading the ball — and the pattern becomes hard to ignore.

One of the most serious incidents happened when Alyssa was 11, ski racing in Glenwood. She hit a rut and crashed hard, landing headfirst and striking the right side of her head before sliding into a gate. She was wearing a helmet and stood up quickly, ready to keep skiing, but the dizziness and nausea came on fast. We took her to the hospital that morning.

At the time, I didn’t connect Alyssa’s physical injuries to her migraines or emerging emotional shifts. I didn’t realize concussions can quietly stack up, especially in the still-developing brain of a child. As I later poured over her medical records, I found times we hadn’t sought medical care after a fall. She was tough and wanted to keep playing, so we let her. We truly believed she’d be fine.

After Alyssa died by suicide in November 2019, I was desperate for answers. I devoured every mental health article I could find, spoke to those who knew her best, and examined every corner of her life. I even wrote a book, hoping somewhere in the pages I’d uncover clarity or closure. What I found instead was laughter, brilliance, beauty, and a million reasons to be proud, but no definitive answers. Alyssa didn’t have access to social media. She thrived academically. She was deeply loved and supported at home. I thought I was doing everything right, but I missed the quiet signs—her heart and her brain were hurting.

We lost Alyssa at just 13 years old. That sentence breaks me every time I speak it aloud. Even the detective assigned to her case said she was one of the most honest children he had ever encountered. Her teachers, friends, and coaches were equally stunned. There was no obvious trauma. No warning sign that screamed for attention. No clear reason.

According to the National Institute of Mental Health, suicide is a complex public health concern, and there is no single cause. Research shows concussions can significantly exacerbate existing mental health conditions and disrupt brain chemistry, which can destabilize mood regulation. I will never fully know exactly what Alyssa was struggling with.

But here is what I do know: even in her pain, Alyssa remained full of love. She adored animals. She stood up for those who couldn’t stand up for themselves. She was kind, artistic, hilarious, and endlessly imaginative. We were, and always will be, unbelievably proud of her.

Legacy Donor Alyssa Peterson on a hike in the forest

Grief is a strange, disorienting fog. You stumble through memories. You question everything. You try to make meaning from what feels like senseless pain. And in that process, you realize that maybe—just maybe—your story, your child’s story, can save someone else.

That belief is what led me and my daughter Emily to begin working with researchers, advocates, and legislators to create Alyssa’s Youth Concussion and Mental Health Protection Act. This proposed Colorado bill is focused on improving how we respond to head injuries in youth by addressing concussion tracking, return-to-learn accommodations, coach and teacher training, and parental notification when a child suffers a suspected concussion.

Advice for Other Parents

Alyssa’s brain could have been injured—repeatedly and invisibly. Some of her symptoms align with what we now know about traumatic brain injury (TBI), post-concussion syndrome (PCS), and the long-term effects of repeated head trauma in youth sports.

TBI and concussions can lead to depression, anxiety, memory issues, and emotional instability. For teenage girls already navigating hormonal swings and social pressure, the impact can be devastating. And unlike a broken bone, brain injuries don’t show up on an X-ray.

If you’re a parent, please listen to what I’ve learned through the heartbreak of losing my daughter, Alyssa:

  • Take every head injury seriously, even those which seem small.
  • Advocate for baseline concussion testing in your child’s sport. It can make all the difference.
  • Watch closely for changes in mood, not just changes in performance.
  • Believe your child when they say they feel “off,” or anxious, or just not themselves.
  • Ask the hard questions and have conversations even if they feel uncomfortable.

If your child’s joy starts to dim, don’t wait. Early intervention could save a life.

Alyssa’s legacy is one of empathy, courage, and kindness. We share her story not to scare others, but to awaken. Every parent who speaks up, every coach who learns, and every child who is protected keeps her light burning.

Because Alyssa, even in her quietest moments, gave us hope.

And it’s that hope we hold onto now.

For her.
For Emily.
For every family.

________________________________________

Suicide is preventable and help is available. If you are concerned that someone in your life may be suicidal, the five #BeThe1To steps are simple actions anyone can take to help someone in crisis. If you are struggling to cope and would like some emotional support, call the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline at 988 to connect with a trained counselor. It’s free, confidential, and available to everyone in the United States. You do not have to be suicidal to call.

Are you or someone you know struggling with lingering concussion symptoms? We support patients and families through the CLF HelpLine, providing personalized help to those struggling with the outcomes of brain injury. Submit your request today and a dedicated member of the Concussion Legacy Foundation team will be happy to assist you.