Athletics

A Year Without Basketball

N Our Voice by Rienk Mast

A Year Without Basketball

I’ve never been good at sitting still.

As a basketball player, you're wired to keep moving—running plays, grabbing boards, chasing improvement. 

But after last season, I had to confront the one thing I didn’t want to slow down for: my knee.

I’d been pushing through pain for months, hoping it would somehow work itself out. But by the end of the year, it was clear—I had a choice to make, and none of the options felt good.

I could try to gut it out for another season, knowing the pain would only get worse. 

I could opt for a minor surgery and return in four to six months, hoping for the best. 

Or I could choose the most difficult path: major surgery, an entire season on the sidelines, and a long, lonely road of rehab.

I went with the latter.

Certainly not because it was easy. 

But because I knew that if I wanted to have the career I’ve always dreamed about—both at Nebraska and beyond—I had to invest in my future, not just my present.

So May of 2024, I had surgery. 

And for the past year, I’ve been in the thick of it—rebuilding strength, regaining trust in my body, and trying to stay patient while the game I love kept going without me.

A Familiar Fight

This isn’t my first time dealing with a major injury. 

Before my freshman year at Bradley, I tore my ACL, so I already had a sense of what was coming.

But even with experience, nothing really prepares you for the grind of rehab. The mental toll, especially, hits in ways that are hard to describe.

Some days were encouraging—I’d hit a milestone or feel a little stronger. But there were plenty of days when everything felt stuck, and I had to fight off the frustration of watching from the sidelines while my teammates battled through another season.

It’s hard to feel like part of the team when you’re training in a different room, going through your own workouts while everyone else is practicing. I was in the building every day, but often, I felt like a bit of a ghost in the background.

That said, I made it a point to stay connected.

I watched every practice and sat on the bench for every game. I studied the team, tried to understand our dynamic, and looked for the moments when I could still contribute—not with my game but with my voice and support. 

It gave me a new perspective. I learned a lot about leadership just by listening.

Those first couple of months post-surgery were brutal. I was on crutches for nearly eight weeks, barely able to do the simplest movements.

But little by little, things progressed. 

Three months in, we ramped up the physical therapy. Since then, I’ve been working daily with Andrew McCabe and Kurt Joseph, our athletic trainer and strength coach, who have been incredible in keeping me grounded and motivated.

While everyone else was on the court, I was learning how to walk, run and jump again.

I joked a lot with the guys about “getting my bounce back”—because for a long time, I couldn’t even dream of dunking. 

I’ve had one dunk in 2023-24. 

Just one. 

And you better believe I celebrated that like I’d just won a game at the buzzer.

I miss that feeling—the freedom of the game. 

But I’m getting closer. I can feel it.

Lonely Times

As positive as I’ve tried to stay, I won’t pretend this year was easy.

There were hard days, lonely ones, moments when progress felt stalled, and doubts started creeping in.

I had to confront that uncomfortable question every athlete dreads: What if I never get back to where I was?

That’s when my support system really showed up. 

My family has been incredible, especially my dad, who flew out after the surgery to help me get settled. We FaceTime twice a week, and those calls helped more than they probably know.

Being able to talk through the frustration with people who genuinely understand me—that’s been a lifeline.

And then there’s my team. 

My teammates have been amazing. 

Even though I couldn’t contribute on the floor, they never made me feel like I was on the outside.

Their support reminded me that I’m still part of this. 

Still needed. 

Still valued.

There were setbacks. 

Times when I pushed too hard and had to pull back. I had to learn how to listen to my body in a new way.

Rehab isn’t a straight line—it’s more like a series of hills, and some days you feel like you're rolling back down.

But I’ve learned to trust the process. 

To be patient. 

To show up every day and do the work, even when it’s tough.

Picking Up Where I Left Off

Now, a year later, I’m almost back. 

The timeline was always 10 to 12 months, and we’re sticking to that. 

No rushing. No shortcuts.

I’m easing back into contact practices this summer, and if all goes well, I’ll be ready to go full-go by the time the season rolls around.

My goals haven’t changed. 

I want to help this team compete at the top of the Big Ten. 

I want to help us win our first NCAA Tournament game. 

And I still believe I can play professionally when my time here is done.

What’s changed is my perspective. 

This year forced me to slow down, reflect, and learn more about myself—not just as a player but also as a teammate, a leader, and a person.

I know now that I can handle adversity. 

I know that I have the right people around me—coaches, trainers, teammates, family—who will push me when I need it and lift me up when I fall.

The game hasn’t left me. 

I’m still here. 

Still fighting. 

And when I finally step back on that court, I’ll be ready to pick up where I left off and write the next chapter of my journey.

I’ve learned how to sit still. 

Now, I’m ready to move again.