From Gamer to Pilot: Mastering the Skies in a Different Way

Before I ever picked up a drone, I had already spent thousands of hours flying,just in a completely different way. I was deep into Halo, especially Halo 2, where my clan was ranked #4 in the world in Big Team Battle for a short time. I wasn’t just another player; I was the team strategist and the guy you didn’t want to see in a Banshee, an alien aircraft designed for aerial combat and ground assault. It could glide, hover, and execute rolls, making it perfect for air dominance and precision strikes. I used it to devastate entire teams, controlling the airspace like it was my personal playground.

Most people don’t realize how much gaming translates to FPV, but for me, it was second nature. Years of joystick control, reaction timing, and spatial awareness gave me an edge before I even touched a drone.

At the time, drones weren’t even on my radar, I barely knew they existed. But one day, while scrolling through YouTube, a video featuring a strange-looking drone caught my eye. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but something about it piqued my curiosity, so I clicked. Within seconds, this little machine was flipping, rolling, and slicing through the air with an almost lifelike precision. I was mesmerized. And then, it pulled off THE reverse wall ride, a moment so insanely cool it completely blew my mind.

I had no idea what I was watching, but I knew one thing:

I needed to do this.

The TinyHawk Disaster

After watching THE reverse wall ride, I was instantly hooked. I had no experience with drones, but I knew I had to figure out how to fly like that. It didn’t take long to realize that FPV could be an expensive hobby, and I wasn’t about to sink money into gear without knowing if I’d actually enjoy it, or if I was even capable of flying. So instead of rushing in, I started with a Taranis QX7 radio and a simulator. I spent 200+ hours in Velocidrone, dialing in my control, refining my movements, and making sure I had the fundamentals down before even considering flying a real drone.

Once I felt confident in the sim, I did my research and picked up a TinyHawk S, a whoop that came highly recommended at the time. I was pumped. Flying a real drone for the first time was exhilarating, and I couldn’t get enough of it. I was flying multiple times a day, squeezing in packs whenever I had the chance. I was making steady progress and enjoying the process. I was becoming addicted.

But something just didn’t feel right. At first, I figured it was just part of the learning curve, maybe real drones just flew differently than the sim. I kept flying, hoping I’d adjust with time. But the more I flew, the more I started to realize it wasn’t just me, the drone itself wasn’t performing the way I expected. I couldn’t fly like I did in Velocidrone. Simple tricks felt like a struggle. Powerloops, even on 2S, would bottom out with every attempt. Indoor orbits were nearly impossible without hitting a wall. The control just wasn’t there, it felt sluggish, heavy, and unresponsive. No matter how much I practiced, freestyling felt out of reach. For a drone with so much hype, the TinyHawk S left me completely underwhelmed.

After a few weeks of struggling with it, I came to a disappointing conclusion: if one of the most highly recommended whoops flew this poorly, then I figured the rest had to be just as bad or worse. Frustrated and let down, I gave up on whoops entirely and went back to what I knew best: Velocidrone.

Back to the drawing board

Even though whoops hadn’t worked out, I wasn’t ready to walk away from FPV. I felt like I was made for this hobby. I kept flying in Velocidrone, practicing daily, learning new tricks, and steadily improving my control. After several months, I met Heads from Infinity Loops in a Velocidrone freestyle lobby. We started running into each other often, and over time, we became friends. He was a much stronger pilot than I was back then, and he helped guide my progress by throwing new tricks my way, with each one a little harder than the last. It gave me a sense of direction I hadn’t had before, and with every trick I learned, I felt more locked in and motivated to keep going.

At the same time, I was constantly studying some of the best freestyle pilots: PDEVX, Auxplumes, and Heads himself. Each of them had a unique style that I admired. PDEVX’s technicality, Auxplumes’ unique flow, and Heads’ overall freestyle and creativity all resonated with me, and I wanted to take inspiration from all three as I built my own style.

By the time fall rolled around, I was ready to give real drones another shot. I built my first 5-inch quad, and the moment I took off I finally recieved the experience I’d been chasing all along. It was smooth, powerful, and responsive. It felt like everything I had imagined FPV would be when I first fell in love with it.

For the next four months, I focused entirely on flying outside, sharpening my precision and developing my freestyle flow. But as the season shifted, flying became more and more difficult. The rain kept me grounded, and when it wasn’t raining, the cold made my thumbs too stiff to fly with any precision. Eventually, winter made the decision for me… I had to take another break.

Eventually, during one of our daily Velocidrone sessions, I mentioned to Heads that I hadn’t been flying much because it was too cold outside. That’s when he asked why I didn’t just fly whoops indoors. I told him about my experience with the TinyHawk S and how underwhelming and disappointing it was, and he immediately pointed out that it wasn’t exactly a great drone to begin with. Then he told me to try the Mobula6 instead. To prove his point, he sent me some of his own flight footage. The way he moved, the precision, the confidence, and he flow. It was nothing like what I had experienced with the TinyHawk. Watching those videos, something clicked. Maybe whoops weren’t a lost cause after all.

I ordered a Mobula6, and as soon as I took it for a maiden flight, and I immediately knew that this was what I had been looking for all along. The control, the power, the handling – it was everything I had expected a whoop to feel like. I fell in love immediately.

That flight changed everything. From that moment on, I was completely obsessed with whoops. Unlike bigger drones, whoops can be flown anywhere. I could rip a freestyle session in my living room, at a random park, or just step outside for a quick flight. Having a family makes it hard to travel for FPV, but with a whoop, I didn’t need to. If I had just five minutes, I could send it from my couch.

More importantly, I finally understood how to practice effectively after spending so much time in a simulator. There’s a massive difference between flying around aimlessly and flying with purpose. Each time I messed up a trick, I wouldn’t just move on, I’d stop, analyze exactly what went wrong, figure out what I should have done differently, and immediately try again with those adjustments in mind. Every mistake became an opportunity to fine-tune my execution, making my progress faster and more efficient.

With a structured approach to learning, I developed a system: I’d work on a trick until I became proficient, refine it, then immediately start working on the next one. I was no longer just copying tricks – I was building combos, flowing through tricks nonstop, and developing my own style.

I was finally starting to feel like I knew what I was doing, and for the first time, I realized I might actually have what it takes to compete in the next IGOW.

IGOW3: From Underdog to Contender

By the time IGOW3 (International Game of Whoop) was announced in June 2021, I had been flying whoops for about six months. I wasn’t entering to win, I just wanted to see how far I could go. My original goal was simple: improve my overall skill level and try to make it into the top 25%.

At first, I thought I was just an average pilot. But as the competition progressed, I started noticing that people were immediately reacting to my videos differently. The way they talked about my flying, the way they predicted I would make it to finals… It made believe that I actually had a real chance to come out on top.

I kept raising my goal as the weeks went on. Top 25% turned into top 10%. Then top 40. Then top 16. Each time I pushed further, I started realizing: I was actually good at this.

I soon discovered that IGOW didn’t only require skill to win, it required a massive time commitment and the ability to fly through the burnout. The challenges became more demanding, pushing pilots to their limits week after week. And for me, one of the biggest obstacles wasn’t the tricks… it was my gear.

By Week 8, I was having massive problems with HappyModel Diamond flight controllers. Every single one I used would start failing within days, sometimes even after the first pack. The VTX would slowly stop working, making it harder and harder to stay in the air. It was frustrating, exhausting, and expensive. I was constantly replacing parts, and it was draining both my motivation and my wallet.

I was ready to quit. I had put everything into this competition, and it felt like I was fighting an uphill battle against my own equipment. I had even started listing some of my gear for sale, thinking it was time to step away due to how much money I had spent by that point.

Then weBLEEDfpv reached out.

They offered me my first-ever sponsorship, a moment I had never expected to actually happen. It felt like my first real victory, and just like that, my motivation came surging back. If a company believed in me enough to offer a sponsorship, I couldn’t just walk away. I had no choice but to push forward and see this competition through to the end.

The following weeks weren’t easy, but I endured. And then came Week 20, a turning point for an entirely different reason.

The challenge that week was LiveGOW, a live freestyle competition within IGOW. Up until this point, every week had been about completing strict challenge requirements, but this was something different, a chance to freestyle, to be creative, to put everything I had learned to the test.

The competition was fierce, and I knew playing it safe wouldn’t be enough. I needed to do something bold and something no one had ever done before so I can stand out and gain an advantage. I saw an opening and took a massive risk: I went for a Barani inside a triple gate stack, right in the middle of my freestyle line. The trick was high-risk, high-reward, and if I could land it clean, it would earn me some serious points.

But the line was brutally difficult, and for a while, I wasn’t sure I could pull it off at my current skill level. I spent several hours each day grinding through attempt after attempt, constantly tweaking the line to improve the flow and tighten up the execution. Nothing felt clean enough. Every run had something just slightly off. As the deadline closed in, the pressure was overwhelming and I still didn’t have a solid submission.

and with only 30 minutes left, I finally landed the full line the way I envisioned it. I uploaded the video with 8 minutes to spare.

I won the week.

It wasn’t just another week completed, it was my first real accomplishment in FPV. This wasn’t about just surviving the competition or grinding through challenges, this was about pushing my limits and proving to myself that I could compete at the highest level.

Then finals finally arrived a couple of months later and it brought a whole new level of difficulty. Each week, we had to create our own challenge, get it approved, and complete it ourselves before the deadline. If you failed to complete your own challenge, you got a letter. And to pass the week, you also had to give out enough letters to the other finalists. It was a delicate balance: your challenge had to be hard enough to fail your competitors, but it still needed to be easy enough to achieve yourself. That balance proved to be rather difficult. Some pilots made challenges that were too easy and didn’t give out enough letters. Others made them too hard and failed their own.

But I had a different plan. I didn’t just want to pass, I wanted to dominate. So for the first round, I created the Barani Pendulum Challenge: three Baranis, back to back to back. It was fast, technical, and left no room for error.

Eight of the eleven remaining pilots recieved a letter that week.

By Week 35, my second child was born. It just so happened to be during Akira’s finals challenge, which was super convenient since his challenge was brutally difficult. I had no regrets sitting that one out.

The remainder of finals was tough, but easily some of the most fun I had all season. The challenges became more technical, more creative, and way more demanding. Shauny D’s original tricks stood out as some of the most unique I’d ever seen, and Akira’s challenges pushed my limits with lightning-fast powerloop and Matty flip challenges that required total focus and precision. Finals brought out the best in everyone, and it pushed me to bring out the best in myself.

I gave it my all week after week, but things took a turn for the worse around Week 41. It stopped being about who had the most skill and became a contest of who had the biggest flying space. The final challenges were designed to require massive obstacle setups that I simply couldn’t fit in my house. I didn’t lose because I lacked the skill, I lost because I just ran out of room… literally.

Here’s how I aquired each letter during the season:

• W – I had my second child during Week 35 and had to skip the challenge.
• H – I created an Angle/Acro mode switch challenge that specifically designed to give Avasian a letter, but he was eliminated the week prior. Without him, I wasn’t able to give out enough letters.
• O – I underestimated the difficulty of my Line of Sight challenge and wasn’t give out enough letters.
• O – The Week 41 challenge required a massive sized obstacle that I couldn’t fit in my living room. This challenge was the entire reason I moved my whole fpv setup to the garage.
• P – Unfortunately, the Week 46 challenge required an even larger obstacle, and I couldn’t make it work… not even in my garage. Despite having a decent amount of space in my garage, the setup needed at least 21 feet, and I just didn’t have that kind of clearance.

When it was all over, I was mentally drained. Competing for almost a full year without breaks had taken its toll, and I was more than ready for some downtime. IGOW3 was more than just a competition for me. I came in hoping to land somewhere in the top 25%, but by the end, I had pushed myself further than I expected. It showed me that I could actually become a solid freestyle pilot if i put in the time and effort.

Even with the setbacks, it was an unforgettable experience, one that shaped me as both a pilot and a competitor.

I finished 3rd out of 625 pilots.

IGOW4: The Road to Victory

I started preparing for season 4 as soon as IGOW3 ended. I knew that if I wanted to win the next one, I had to fix my biggest weakness: staying calm under pressure. Any time I neared the end of a tough line, the nerves would hit. My heart would start pounding, my thumbs would tighten up… and then I’d mess up the run. If I wanted to go all the way in IGOW4, that had to change. To fix that, I began live-streaming my flights to simulate that same kind of stress. Flying in front of a live audience forced me to stay calm and composed, even when things weren’t going smoothly. my hands shook, my heart raced, and every mistake felt like a disaster. But over time, I adapted. The pressure stopped getting to me, and my flying became smoother, more controlled, and more consistent.

When IGOW4 started in April 2023, I was ready. I knew the season would be long and unforgiving, so I approached it with a strategic mindset. Every week, I focused on managing my time, conserving energy when possible, and pushing hard when it counted. I also closely studied my competition, looking for patterns, weaknesses, and anything I could use to gain an edge. IGOW is as much a test of endurance as it is of skill, and it required staying sharp, consistent, and mentally focused over the course of six straight months. I treated every challenge like it could make or break my run… because it could.

As the main season got underway, it became clear that IGOW4’s challenges were on a different level compared to previous years. The bar had been raised across the board, but in a good way, at least for me. I thrived on the increased difficulty.

Each week, I aimed to add my own flair to my submissions, always looking for ways to stand out. It usually paid off: I ended up winning 9 of the 21 challenges and placed in the top 3 in five others. The harder the challenges became, the more I enjoyed them. Several weeks still stand out as some of my personal favorites:

• Week 4: Ripping back-to-back with SweemTube
• Week 7: Trippy spin week, where I flew the entire video inverted.
• Week 8: I landed a self half-Matty pendulum, which was harder to pull off than I anticipated.
• Week 10: The elevated cube challenge was unique and a lot of fun to do.
• Week 11: The skatepark scavenger hunt was pure fun. Sweem and I spent a couple of hours chasing skaters and even an RC car.
• Week 16: The trippy spin ladder. An idea I almost used for a challenge back in IGOW3, which ended up being one of the hardest and most rewarding challenges of the season. What I had envisioned back then was only half as difficult as what we were tasked with. And that switch at the top was way tougher than it looks.

One of the most memorable challenges was Barani Massacre 2.0.. a sadistic love child of the original Barani Massacre from IGOW3 and my own Barani pendulum challenge from Round 1 Finals, but with a twist. It required executing a Barani pendulum through a triple gate stack, hitting a different gate with each swing, and finishing with a Kururi, a Matty flip with a 180° yaw spin under the object, into a tight powerloop. It demanded absolute precision, sharp timing, and total control. Ironically, I nailed the hardest part of the challege, but accidentally submitted the wrong clip for the easy part, earning my first and only letter of the season. It was a painful reminder that in IGOW, no matter how well you fly, paying attention to every detail matters.

IGOW4 Finals: The Final Ascent

This season’s finals format was a major evolution from previous year, and was a true test of strategy. Instead of every pilot competing individually, the top four highest-ranking pilots from the leaderboard were given the power to draft from the remaining finalists. It wasn’t just about picking people to compete with, it was about tactics. Some drafters chose stronger pilots to try to eliminate the biggest threats early on, while others picked weaker ones to buy time for repairs and recovery. How you played your draft directly shaped your path forward.

I took a strategic approach, carefully choosing pilots based on their strengths, weaknesses, and how I thought the rounds might play out. But strategy alone wasn’t enough. I was flying 4 to 12 hours a day, putting in the time, the effort, and the focus needed to stay competitive. Finals demanded everything, and I was all in.

In the Top 16 and Top 8 rounds, we returned to the create-your-own-challenge format, but this time, with a competitive edge. Each group consisted of four pilots, and over two weeks, we had to complete four challenges: our own, plus one from each of the other three pilots in our group. I drafted ShakeWhoop, IFlySometimes, and Shauny D, which gave us a solid mix of challenge styles. Some were fun and straightforward, while others were unexpectedly frustrating. Compared to the previous season, the pace was intense. Completing twice as many challenges per round made things feel overwhelming at times, especially with elimination on the line. Points were earned both by completing others’ challenges and by how many pilots failed yours, so strategy and execution both mattered.

The most difficult challenge from the top 16 round came from Shauny D. It involved nonstop balloon juggling, popping one mid-Matty flip off the top of my head, and surviving a bounce section that sent my whoop flying across the room with every hit. The unpredictability made the whole thing feel like chaos. I went through nearly 100 balloons, and even now, almost 2 years later, I’m still finding shredded pieces in the corners of my garage.

At the end of the first round round, Shauny D and I advanced to the Top 8, where our group merged with Moe and RCKY. After another round of head-to-head challenges, Shauny D and I both moved on once again, but this time joining Avasian and Akira to round out the Top 4.

The Top 4 round was a brutal test of time, memory, and execution. It was far more difficult than any challenge I’ve done before.

We were given two obstacles, each with a combo of around 25 tricks, and only a single week to memorize, practice, and deliver both (around 50 tricks total). I spent two full days trying to memorize the first line and practice it in sections, building muscle memory, dialing in control, and trying to find consistency. But no matter how many runs I did, I never felt ready. I’d forget what came next, accidently perform the wrong trick, or crash before I made it halfway. There just wasn’t enough time to settle in or build confidence.

Eventually, I had to make a tough call: take the best clip I had and move on, even if it wasn’t perfect. If I didn’t, I’d burn too much time and never get a decent run on the second obstacle. With only a few days remaining, I scrambled to start memorizing and practicing the next obstacle. Each day felt like a blur of frustration and pressure. I never had a moment where I felt truly locked in.

Everyone was feeling it. The week flew by in a haze of failed attempts and mental fatigue. There was no room for mistakes, but there were plenty of ways to make them.

And yet, when it was all said and done, Akira and I had made it through. We were heading to the final round. A round that would be known as

The Battle of the Titans

For the championship round, the format stayed the same but scaled down. Only one obstacle was selected: a TGS Cube with a single combo made up of roughly 35 tricks. Manageable compared to the Top 4, sure, but with the title on the line, the pressure was suffocating. One shot. One week. One winner.

And across from me was Akira.

We’d both been rising through the ranks since IGOW3, pushing ourselves and each other toward this moment. This wasn’t just the championship round, it was the long-anticipated showdown that we had expected to have during IGOW3. Akira was the kind of pilot who didn’t crack under pressure, he thrived in it. His lines were precise. His execution was ruthless. He was a behemoth of a pilot. And now, we were the last two standing.

To make matters worse for me, we were flying on his home turf. The TGS Cube was Akira’s obstacle, one he had flown many times before. He had the flow, the timing, and movements already baked to muscle memory. I didn’t just have to fly clean. I had to overcome every ounce of comfort and experience he had built into his chosen obstacle.

It wasn’t just a championship round, it was a Battle of the Titans.

I threw everything I had at this round. Every spare minute went into flying, and I even took time off work so I could fully commit – just me, my whoop, and the line I had to conquer. When I wasn’t flying, I was visualizing the run nonstop, replaying it in my head over and over again during every waking moment. All the while, I was trying to silence the voice that kept reminding me that I was running out of time.

And the line that I needed to perform was not easy by any means.

• The 540 split-S was my first roadblock. I kept overshooting, missing the gate entirely, or crashing out. Eventually, I decided to bump my max roll rates to 1100° for the sake of hitting this starting trick more consistently. It worked, but now everything else felt off. My usual flow was gone. I had to adjust my muscle memory on the fly, recalibrating every trick in the freestyle to match the new feel.
• Then came the trippy spin ladder, which was right in the middle of the run. It was a nightmare. In practice, I could do it 50% of the time. But under pressure, mid-line, with my heart pounding and battery sag creeping in? There was a significantly higher probability of missing a gate or crashing into something. Every attempt felt like rolling dice.
• And the Matty flip through the top of the cube at the end of the line broke me more times than I can count. The entry was blind. The exit was narrow. One bad angle, and the whole run unraveled. Over and over, I hit reset. Over and over, I asked myself if I could actually finish this.

Every trick felt like it could be the one that ended the run – one misstep, one hesitation, and everything would unravel. Each reset was a quiet reminder that no matter how hard I worked, the entire line could fall apart in an instant.

The final day came fast.

I woke up early that morning, determined to give it everything I had left. In the eleventh hour, when I was down to my last few batteries, running on fumes, I landed a run I could live with. It wasn’t perfect, but it was complete. Clean enough. Maybe even good enough to win?

I wasn’t sure.

I submitted my video.

And then I waited.

and I pulled it off!

I was crowned the IGOW4 Champion.

After seven months of competing against 1,707 pilots, I had done it. IGOW4 pushed me further than anything before, testing my endurance, focus, and determination. Every week forced me to push through fatigue, complete new challenges, and perform under pressure. Making it to the end wasn’t just about skill, it was about proving that I could handle everything the competition threw at me and keep moving forward.

When the dust settled and the final scores were in, I couldn’t believe it. I was excited beyond words, but even then… it didn’t feel real. I had dreamed about making it this far, but never truly imagined I’d pull off something like this. And when the adrenaline wore off, the simple truth hit me: I had become the champion of the biggest freestyle competition in FPV history.

I had climbed the mountain. And in that moment, I stood at the top exhilarated, stunned, and completely drained.

But even then, the question crept in: what now?

I had just won the biggest freestyle competition in FPV. The goal I’d been chasing for over a couple of years was finally mine. And yet, as the adrenaline faded, so did the clarity. There was no higher ladder to climb. No next round. Just silence and a strange feeling of stillness.

But I didn’t wait for this moment before I started to think ahead.

Even before the finals ended, I was building something in the background. A new idea. A new challenge. Not for me, but for the entire community. Something that would change the game, raise the bar, and open the door for more pilots to push themselves in ways they never had before.

Something that would take freestyle competitions to the next level.

The Birth of Tyrantt’s Pro Whooper

In the final months of IGOW4, even while fully immersed in the intensity of competition, I found my mind constantly drifting to something new, an idea quietly taking shape in the background. A freestyle competition where results were decided purely by skill, execution, and performance.

Freestyle competitions had always been plagued by subjective judging, where friendships, popularity, and personal bias often played a bigger role than actual skill. But what if that could be eliminated entirely? What if pilots weren’t judged on who they knew, how popular they were, or how well-liked their content was… but strictly on what they performed in the air?

That question became the foundation of Tyrantt’s Pro Whooper: an objective-based freestyle competition inspired by Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater, built around transparent rules and consistent scoring. Every trick had a defined point value. Mistakes had clear penalties. Bonus points could be earned by completing KWAD Objectives, maintaining streaks, and hitting Tricks of the Week.

But the goal wasn’t just about removing bias, it was about creating a competition format where pilots at every skill level could participate, learn, and compete without the pressure of elimination or popularity contests. I wanted something fair, transparent, and focused purely on flying ability.

The moment IGOW4 wrapped up, I jumped straight into testing this idea. The concept was ready, and now it was time to bring it to life.

I started by running a small beta test to iron out the rules and fine-tune the scoring calculator. The feedback was immediate and overwhelmingly positive. Pilots quickly embraced the concept, excited by the clarity and fairness. I knew then that I was on the right track.

In January 2024, the first official Tyrantt’s Pro Whooper launched with 30 pilots. It wasn’t huge, but for my first-ever event, it didn’t need to be. What mattered was how it worked. By the end, there was no doubt: this wasn’t just another freestyle competition. It was something genuinely new, something different, something the FPV community had been waiting for.

Tyrantt’s Pro Whooper proved objective competition wasn’t just possible, it was exactly what freestyle needed.

Even as the first Tyrantt’s Pro Whooper event was underway, I was already looking ahead, planning something bigger, broader, and designed specifically to help pilots grow. If Tyrantt’s Pro Whooper was about showcasing objective skill, my next idea was about building that skill in the first place.

That idea became Freestyle Boot Camp 101

Launching Freestyle Boot Camp 101

While Freestyle Showdown was running, I was already starting to think about how to expand the Pro Whooper brand beyond just competition. Not everyone wanted to chase points or compete under pressure, some pilots just wanted to fly, learn, and get better at their own pace.

That’s where Boot Camp 101 came in.

I wanted to create something that gave pilots structure and progression, without the pressure of penalties or elimination. A place where you could miss a week, take your time, and jump back in when life allowed. It was designed to be flexible, encouraging pilots to step outside, try new tricks, and fly in new spots, all while improving week by week.

Each lesson focused on a specific trick or concept, paired with a challenge and video breakdown. And to make sure pilots weren’t going it alone, we brought in mentors, experienced pilots who helped guide the community with tips, feedback, and support along the way.

When Boot Camp 101 officially launched in July 2024, the response was beyond anything I expected. We saw over 610 registrations, with 285 unique pilots actively participating, submitting more than 1,500 videos over the course of the event. The prize pool soared past $6,000, turning what started as a simple idea into one of the most successful and impactful freestyle programs the FPV community has experienced.

Boot Camp wasn’t just a learning program, it helped build a community. Pilots were helping each other, encouraging each other, and improving together. And for me, it solidified something important: Pro Whooper was no longer just a competition. It was a platform for growth.

Side note: Since Pro Whooper had evolved into the name of the overall brand for these series of events, we needed to give the competition its own identity to avoid confusion. That’s how it officially became known as Freestyle Showdown.

Catching My Breath

Since then, I’ve been taking a much-needed break. After running IGOW4, Freestyle Showdown, and Boot Camp 101 back to back, I finally gave myself permission to slow down and catch my breath. It had been nonstop for a long time, and stepping back gave me a chance to reset and refocus… Well only for a couple of months until I dove headfirst into planning my move to Mexico.

Now that I’ve finally made it to Mexico and started to settle in, I’m ready to ease back into the flow of things. New events are on the way, and I’ve got a lot of fresh ideas taking shape behind the scenes. It won’t be long before things start ramping up again.

Thank you

Thank you for taking the time to read about my journey. Whether you’ve been flying with me since the early days or you just found your way here, I appreciate you! Stay tuned, theres a lot more to come!