Last year, I left my full-time agency job. Let’s be honest… it drained me more than it grew me. Without anything lined up, letting go was scary… but necessary. I didn’t know what would fill the space.
Today, that space is filled with things that light me up. I’ve been able to challenge myself in ways I never thought possible. This morning, the challenge was on the pickleball court. And the joy was found in the journey.
It wasn’t easy. It was a grind.
There were some tough losses. Horrendous points.
There was even a moment I lost my cool out of frustration and threw my paddle into the net (I later apologized to my opponent—it was completely uncalled for).
But that’s why you keep fighting.
You don’t let one bad point—or one bad call—dictate the whole game. Or in my case, the whole day.
Sometimes you have to take the L on the chin and come back swinging.
Sometimes… you pickle the next game. 🙂↕️
Today, I found a way to come back and win the bronze medal.
“How many years can some people exist before they’re allowed to be free?” – Dylan
55:08 | 10K | New PR
12 minutes faster than December.
I didn’t just run. I broke loose. From the weight I used to carry. From the me that thought this wasn’t possible.
With every step, I remembered: I’m allowed to fly. The cage was never locked.
Freedom in motion. Not just a mantra— a reckoning.
I’m not finding myself. I’m freeing myself.
I’m free to move without asking for permission. I’m free to chase what lights me up instead of what weighs me down. I’m free to live within my own cadence, not someone else’s expectation. I’m free to take up space. Fully. Unapologetically. I’m free to run toward myself, not away from doubt. I’m free to speak my truth. Stand in my fire. Never shrinking back. I’m free to become more me with every step forward. I’m free to define my own finish line and to crush it on my own terms.
“How many roads must a man walk down?” “How many years must a mountain exist?” “How many deaths will it take till he knows?” The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind.
Existence can be fleeting. But it doesn’t have to be.
Nothing changes if nothing changes. Change is the key to unlock destiny.
A fork in the road. Rain on the mountain. Sudden and unexpected loss.
Some bring bliss. Some bring heartache. All bring change.
And it’s up to the traveler to decide the road. It’s up to the climber to choose the path. It’s up to the survivor to keep moving forward.
It’s up to the soul to rise on the zephyr, embracing what was always within reach.
If you had shown me this photo a year ago and asked what it meant to me, I probably would’ve said, “It’s just a track.”
Now? I see freedom. I see the birthplace of a champion. I see possibility. I see the grind, the sweat, the growth—and the liberty to chase it all.
Purpose isn’t a destination. No one reaches the end of the road and says, “I’ve figured it all out.”
Meaning is made in motion—in the quiet moments, in the breath between steps, in the ever-evolving conversation between your soul, the ground beneath you, and something greater than us all.
The question isn’t “What’s my purpose?” The question is: “What brings me alive—right now?”
And this picture, in this moment, means exactly that: Alive.
I feel it when my feet strike the track, when the crisp air fills my lungs, when the sun kisses my skin. I feel it in the thunder of my heartbeat, in the silence of running alone. There’s no crowd. No medal. Just me. And I feel more alive than ever.
Someone said to me today, “You don’t need to run. You’re skinny.” I laughed and said, “Funny… my mom used to say the same thing.” And I appreciate the sentiment—sort of. But I don’t run to lose weight. I run to feel alive.
A year ago, I was in the darkest mental space I’ve ever known. Disconnected. Numb. Drowning in the noise of my own mind. I wasn’t in conversation with my soul—I wasn’t even listening. And I sure as hell wasn’t free.
Since I started running, the conversations have returned. Some of them are too raw to repeat. But whether it’s the track or the trail, I’ve found something sacred in the discipline.
I’ve traded my chains of fear for the work. And it’s the work that sets me free.
That’s the difference between a prisoner… and a champion.
Pickleball has a way of testing you—not just your skills, but your mindset. It rewards patience, resilience, and the ability to adapt under pressure. In February, I put that to the test in a four-week 3.5 Men’s Doubles Ladder League, and let me tell you, it was a ride.
Rising & Sliding Down The Ladder
When I signed up for this league, I knew it was going to push me. I came out strong in the opening week winning almost 90% of possible points. But I slid down the ladder in week 2 only winning two out of four games. Week 3 was even worse, not capitalizing on the points I needed to set myself up for a push for the podium. Heading into the final week, I found myself sitting three places from last. Not exactly where you want to be when medals are on the line.
But that’s the thing about competition—it’s not over until it’s over.
Flipping the Switch
Going into the final week, I knew I had to play differently. Not just better, but smarter. More intentional. This wasn’t about coasting or hoping for a lucky break. If I wanted a shot at medaling, I had to lock in. 🔐
Trust the work. Trust the instincts.
I focused on my footwork, my shot selection, and most importantly, my mental game. Instead of playing not to lose, I played to win. No hesitation. No second-guessing.
And when it mattered most? I swept the field.
Every game. Every rally. Every point. I played with a level of confidence and intensity I hadn’t fully tapped into before. By the end of the day, I went from sitting near the bottom of the rankings to standing on the podium with a silver medal around my neck.
Doug, Gold medalist (on left) alongside Brent, Silver medalist (on right); Not pictured: Steve, Bronze medalist.
The Takeaway: Trust & Adjust
This wasn’t just about winning matches. It was about proving something to myself—that when the pressure is high and the odds are against me, I have another gear. I can adjust. I can fight.
Sure, I’ve had good games before. But this was different. This was a breakthrough.
Shoutouts & What’s Next
Silver medal and the Gearbox Pro Ultimate Elongated pickleball paddle
The fire is lit, and I’m already thinking about the next challenge. More tournaments. More leagues. More chances to level up. I’ve already booked a Spring outdoor ladder league coming up at the end of April.
In pickleball—just like in life—you grind, you come back, and you medal. 🥈
No one ever told me that doing hard things could coexist with so much joy.
A couple of weeks ago I ran my first half marathon in Myrtle Beach. With it being my first ever half, I came into race weekend expecting it to fully suck. And honestly, I was ready to embrace it. I was prepared to ride the wave and push through the pain, knowing it was part of the process.
But then something surprising happened. Just past the halfway point, as I was steadily pacing with the 2:30 group, I felt good. Not just “hanging in there” good, but genuinely strong, present, and capable. And in that moment, it hit me—the wave had already been ridden. The past 30 days of 100 miles, plus the 60+ miles in January, that was the real work. That was the true test. The day-in, day-out, feet-on-the-ground consistency, even when I didn’t feel like it, was so much harder than my 2:19 finish in MB.
That realization changed everything for me.
The Journey to Race Day
Training for a half marathon is not just about running 13.1 miles on race day. It’s about every single run leading up to it. It’s about lacing up your shoes when your legs are tired. It’s about getting out there in the cold, the rain, or when motivation is at its lowest. The true test wasn’t the race—it was every single run before it. The half marathon itself? That was the victory lap.
And let me be clear—it wasn’t a walk in the park. Running for over two hours straight is hard. Mile 12 tested me. My mind was filled with questions and doubt, my legs burned, and I wondered if I had enough left in the tank. But then I reminded myself: I had done enough. I had put in the work. I had already won before I even stepped onto that course.
The Finish Line
As I neared the end, I knew I would easily beat my goal. That gave me the push to ramp it up even more. The crowd’s cheers carried me forward, and when I crossed that finish line, it was like a floodgate opened. I broke down in tears. Not out of exhaustion, but from an overwhelming rush of joy.
I had done it.
Not only had I accomplished my longest distance yet, but I had also kept a promise to myself from 60 days ago. And I had done it in a way that filled me with joy. The medal around my neck was a great symbol of achievement, but the real reward? The person I became in the process.
Reflection: It’s All About the Grind
The Myrtle Beach Half Marathon gave me more than just a medal—it gave me perspective. It reminded me that the real victory isn’t in the race itself but in the months of preparation leading up to it. The real win is in the discipline, the grit, and the consistency.
To everyone out there pushing themselves toward a goal—whether it’s running, fitness, or any personal challenge—know this: the reward isn’t just at the finish line. It’s in every step along the way.
Thank you, MB Half. You were too good to me. I do not deserve you. But I’m sure glad I have you.
Special thanks to my wife, Kellie, for the best support I could ever ask for. I wouldn’t be here without you. 🫶
Love the feel!!!
55:08 | 10K | New PR
