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. 🫶
I laced up my shoes before the sun came up and headed downtown for a race I’d been preparing for but wasn’t obsessing over. It wasn’t the big one circled on my calendar — just another step in my half-marathon training plan. I’ve done plenty of 5Ks before, so I felt calm and confident, ready for the test ahead.
The cool air was alive with the energy of other runners, all with their own reasons for showing up. Some were chasing medals, others chasing fitness. For me, it was simple: I came to get better. I came to run fast. A light rain had started to fall, adding a sharp edge to the cold morning. It soaked the pavement and clung to my clothes, but it didn’t matter. Rain, cold, or discomfort — they were just part of the challenge.
When the race started, the rhythm came easy. One step, then another. Downtown Greenville blurred around me, the familiar streets transformed by the pounding of feet and the cheer of onlookers. I wasn’t thinking about the finish line, not yet. I focused on breathing, pace, and staying steady.
Midway through, that familiar tug of doubt crept in. My legs ached. I glanced at my watch and noticed how far ahead of pace I was. My mind whispered that slowing down was fine, that I’d already done enough. But here’s the thing about training for anything worth doing — you learn to quiet the voices that beg for comfort. I kept going.
When I crossed the finish line, I looked at my watch: 28:38. A new personal record.
It felt good. Better than good.
But not because of the number itself — I know a PR isn’t the goal. It’s a rung on a much taller ladder. The real prize is still 32 days away, on a longer course, with a bigger test waiting.
32 days.
32 chances to show up.
32 opportunities to grind.
Every training run, every mile logged, is a step closer to the race that matters. The lesson I took from my last race is simple but powerful: Progress doesn’t come from chasing perfection; it comes from relentless persistence.
I’ve got 32 days to embrace the work. To rise before the sun. To push my limits.
I proved I’m stronger than I was before. And next time, I’ll be stronger still.
Nathan Feuerstein, better known by his stage name NF, is an American rapper and songwriter known for his raw, emotional lyrics that delve into struggles with mental health, trauma, and personal growth. Through his music, he offers listeners a powerful way to process pain, find hope, and embrace vulnerability.
His songwriting teaches us that creativity can be a transformative outlet for emotional release and a tool for healing and self-discovery. NF’s authenticity and unflinching honesty remind us that confronting our darkest moments can lead to strength and resilience.
In his song HOPE, NF explores the emotional complexity of facing personal struggles and finding strength through adversity. The song emphasizes resilience, urging listeners to hold onto hope even when life is crippling.
Through powerful, introspective lyrics, NF conveys that healing is possible, and that transformation often begins with confronting our deepest fears. No matter how challenging the journey, we can grow, evolve, and rise above our circumstances. It’s an anthem of perseverance and faith in the face of pain.
Hope Yeah, I’m on my way, I’m coming Don’t, don’t lose faith in me I know you’ve been waitin’ I know you’ve been prayin’ for my soul Hope, hope
Thirty years you been draggin’ your feet Tellin’ me I’m the reason we’re stagnant Thirty years you’ve been claiming you’re honest And promising progress, well, where’s it at? I don’t want you to feel like a failure (failure) I know this hurts But I gave you your chance to deliver (deliver) Now it’s my turn Don’t get me wrong, Nate, you’ve had a great run But it’s time to give the people somethin’ different So without further ado, I’d Like to introduce my (My album, my album, my album, my album, my album, my album, my album) Hope What’s my definition of success? (Of success) Listening to what your heart says (your heart says) Standing up for what you know is (is) Right, while everybody else is (is) Tucking their tail between their legs (okay) What’s my definition of success? (Of success) Creating something no one else can (else can) Being brave enough to dream big (big) Grindin’ when you’re told to just quit (quit) Giving more when you got nothin’ left (left) It’s a person that’ll take a chance on Something they were told could never happen It’s a person that can see the bright side through the dark times when there ain’t one It’s when someone who ain’t never had nothin’ Ain’t afraid to walk away from more profit ‘Cause they’d rather do somethin’ that they really love and take the pay cut It’s a person that would never waver Or change who they are Just to try and gain some credibility So they could feel accepted by a stranger It’s a person that can take the failures in their life and turn them into motivation It’s believing in yourself when no one else does, it’s amazing
What a little bit of faith can do if you don’t even believe in you Why would you think or expect anybody else that’s around you to? I done did things that I regret I done said things I can’t take back Was a lost soul at a crossroad who had no hope but I changed that I spent years of my life holdin’ on to things I never should’ve kept, full of hatred Years of my life carryin’ a lot of baggage that I should’ve walked away from Years of my life wishin’ I was someone different, lookin’ for some validation Years of my life tryna fill the void, pretending I was in They get it
Growing pain’s a necessary evil Difficult to go through, yes, but beneficial Some would say having a mental breakdown is a negative thing Which on one hand, I agree with On the other hand, it was the push I needed To get help and start the healing process, see If I’d have never hit rock bottom Would I be the person that I am today? I don’t believe so I’m a prime example of what happens when you choose to not accept defeat and face your demons Took me thirty years to realize that if you want to get the opportunity To be the greatest version of yourself Sometimes you got to be someone you’re not to hear the voice of reason Having kids will make you really take a step back and look in the mirror At least for me that’s what it did, I
Wake up every day and pick my son up, hold him in my arms And let him know he’s loved (loved) Standing by the window questioning if dad is ever going to show up (up) Isn’t something he’s gon’ have to worry about Don’t get it twisted, that wasn’t a shot Mama, I forgive you I just don’t want him to grow up thinkin’ that he’ll never be enough Thirty years of running, thirty years of searching Thirty years of hurting, thirty years of pain Thirty years of fearful, thirty years of anger Thirty years of empty, thirty years of shame Thirty years of broken, thirty years of anguish Thirty years of hopeless, thirty years of (hey) Thirty years of never, thirty years of maybe Thirty years of later, thirty years of fake Thirty years of hollow, thirty years of sorrow Thirty years of darkness, thirty years of (Nate) Thirty years of baggage, thirty years of sadness Thirty years of stagnant, thirty years of chains Thirty years of anxious, thirty years of suffering Thirty years of torment, thirty years of (wait) Thirty years of bitter, thirty years of lonely Thirty years of pushing everyone away (You’ll never evolve) I know I can change (We are not enough) we are not the same (You don’t have the heart) you don’t have the strength (You don’t have the will) you don’t have the faith (You’ll never be loved, you’ll never be safe Might as well give up) not running away (You don’t have the guts) you’re the one afraid I’m the one in charge I’m taking the (no) I’m taking the Reigns
Running into 2025 with my head up, eyes forward, and heart open—and I’m not looking back for a second. 🏃🏻♂️💨
This year, I’m saying farewell to the me I’ve outgrown, celebrating the me I’ve rediscovered, and embracing the anticipation of the me I’m yet to know.
2025 is my year to conquer new challenges, starting with running my first half marathon. This time last year, I had only ever run 5Ks, never daring to call myself a distance runner. But everything changed when my wife challenged me to run the Greenville Trees Upstate Turkey Day 8K. I accepted—and crushed it. It wasn’t so bad after all, so I leveled up to a 10K. Now, with a 10-miler just 30 days away and my first half marathon in 60, I’ve gone from hesitant to hooked.
They call it the “running bug” for a reason. There’s nothing quite like the rush of crossing a finish line, the dopamine hit that floods your system, and the satisfaction of crushing a goal you once thought impossible. It’s euphoric. And I’m here for all of it this year—chasing the real dopamine, the kind that fuels growth, resilience, and self-discovery.
But this journey is about more than just running; it’s about pushing the limits I never thought I could challenge. Growing up, I wasn’t much of an athlete. Between mild asthma, outdoor allergies, and a chronic heart condition called Aortic Stenosis (a narrowing of the aortic valve that can limit blood flow and endurance), I was always told to “take it easy.” Physical activity was something I approached with caution, never pushing too hard or taking risks.
Movement is Medicine.
Ironically, it’s only by stepping outside those limits that I’ve become the healthiest version of myself. As I’ve increased my physical activity, my cardio fitness has soared. My resting heart rate is the lowest it’s ever been, and my HRV (heart rate variability)—a measure of my body’s resilience and recovery—is the highest it’s ever been. Beyond the physical benefits, running has transformed my mental health. It’s my stress reliever, mood booster, and a time for clarity and reflection.
In my upper 30s, I’m acutely aware of how important it is to stay active as I age. Movement is my medicine. I want to feel this good not just now but decades from now. When I’m twice my age, I want to be strong, mobile, and capable—not confined to a chair.
So here’s the plan for my half marathon:
1️⃣ Goal #1 is simply to finish.
2️⃣ Goal #2 is to finish with a sub-12-minute mile pace (or under 2:37 overall).
And if I don’t? It won’t be a failure; it’ll be a stepping stone for whatever challenge comes next.
Growth happens on the other side of comfort.
Limits exist to be pushed. Growth happens on the other side of comfort. And this year, I’m choosing to be uncomfortable in the best ways possible.
Here’s to running into the new year with purpose, passion, and perseverance. Join me on the journey—it’s going to a maratahon–not a sprint! 🏃♂️✨
