It was 5:45am. I was bent over my steering wheel, peering into the darkness, making sure I was following the faded white lines. The car window was still crusty with ice and the roads were painted with a fresh coat of snow. But none of this mattered, because I held a crystal clear vision of what I needed to happen.
These secret workouts in the Nebraska rec centre were going to shock the world. No one else was grinding like me. I made sure my teammates didn't know about them so I could improve at a quicker rate than them. I didn't let my coaches know because I needed to prove them wrong.
Fuck everyone. I'm going to become the best by myself.
After three years of this approach, my stats got worse. I was isolated. I sat on the bench. I dropped out. My crystal clear vision was shattered. The system I thought would separate me led to disaster.
To start my pro career, I got lucky. I signed with the Adelaide 36ers and my head coach was Joey Wright.
Day one of pre season, training was at 9am. Nothing before, no set rules, just make sure you're ready to go at 9. I wanted to set the tone so I arrived at 7 ready to work out. Joey was already at the gym. We went to work.
Day after day the same loop repeated. Other guys started to join in. Joey challenged the pace of my moves, put me in drills I'd never seen, gave me live feedback. Working out with the Joey was fun. We competed and got after it. The morning felt a lot less lonely than it had in Nebraska. My skills improved day after day.
All my life, coaches had told me I needed to work on my body. I recognised quickly that in the NBL one strength coach for 15 players wasn't going to cut it. My agent put me in touch with a strength coach named Alf. Daily one on one programming, live feedback, laughs and a shared vision. For the first time in my life I found myself enjoying working on my body.
I was putting in the work, surrounded by great people. But still my first year didn't go the way I wanted. The pros is no joke.
I knew if I wanted to secure myself in the NBL, I had to have a great offseason. Every day I worked out with Joey and lifted with Alf. Progress was going well. But it wasn't until I ran into a young kid that my offseason really shot off. Nick Marshall. He'd returned from a D2 college and was playing on my team. I took him under my wing and we became friends. Each day involved car rides with laughs, on court battles and epic conversations about improving, development, and his favourite topic, new music.
My team was growing. Every new person added helped in their own unique way. I found a movement coach, Eduardo, who bulletproofed my body. My brother joined me in the work and helped me find joy in the process again. I met my wife and together we found peace outside of the game. Countless others I crossed paths with shared knowledge, sparred, and became teammates outside of the traditional sense.
I went from averaging 3 points per game my rookie year to, 6 years later, winning finals MVP and leaving the NBL to play in the Olympics and the NBA.
But I was still an idiot.
Desperate to stay in the NBA, I did what I thought had gotten me this far. Grind and iterate. I got to the Houston Rockets practice facility at 6am every day and shot on the shooting gun, alone. I studied shooting drills. I reflected on my progress. I made subtle tweaks, formulated theories, and attempted to execute on them, all alone.
Three months later I was in the G League shooting 7% from three and playing with zero confidence. I'd strung some horrible games together, and right before tip off, I saw myself in the bathroom mirror. Shaved head, big beard, wearing red. I looked the exact same as I did 8 years earlier in college.
I thought to myself, fuck, I'm losing the battle. I need to change something.
So I made the best decision I've ever made. I reached out for help.
In my 2024 Paris Olympic campaign, Joe Ingles and Patty Mills brought in their personal performance coach to work with the team. That was who I needed to work with. The best of the best.
But far out, it was scary to reach out and ask for help. To admit I couldn't find the solution alone. It felt like I was confessing out loud that I'm not enough. That I'm not good enough. That I don't belong.
But that's the real work. That's where the most growth happens. To give up looking capable to become capable.
I called Cody, my now new performance coach. We clicked and I added him to my team. Cody helped take my game to the next level. Returning to the NBL, I put together a career best 21 points per game. And more importantly, I found joy, passion and love for the game.
Yet again, my team was what made the difference. Not the early mornings. Not the late night self reflection. It was the combination of different people working towards the same vision.
For most of my career, I was lucky to stumble into this. I found people I connected with and made sure to work with them. But now, I'm conscious about trying to grow and improve my team. Beth introduced me to a naturopath who fixed my lifelong gut issues. One of my old friends, Freddy, has become a skills trainer, and we've reconnected. I'm on the hunt for a nutritionist to take my body to the next level.
I still wake up at 5:45 most mornings. I still hunch over the steering wheel in the dark on the way to work. But I'm not hiding from anyone now.
I drive in wondering who's waiting for me when I arrive.