Charging Forward: 4 Nike Athletes on Resilience, Roots and Persistence

Dur Bali
21, basketball forward, Saudi Arabia, player in the first women's Saudi National Basketball Cup

Basketball has been in my blood for as long as I can remember. Growing up, I was surrounded by the game, whether it was watching my grandfather or just feeling the energy of the court. The moment I truly fell in love with it was when I first played in a real, competitive setting. That adrenaline rush, the rhythm of the game, and the way everything else faded away — it felt like home. 

I knew I wanted to pursue hoops seriously when I realized I wasn’t just playing for fun anymore. I was studying the game; waking up early to train; and pushing myself beyond my limits because I wanted to be great, not just good. 

I spent some time in Colorado as a teenager, and that was a huge shift for me. Being there gave me a different perspective, not just on life but also on basketball. The game was faster, more physical, and the sheer depth of talent was massive. It forced me to elevate my game, to play smarter and tougher. At the same time, it showed me that basketball is universal, no matter where you are. The passion for the game connects people. That experience helped me develop a grittier mindset, which I carried back home with me.

My grandfather was the first person to really teach me the game. He was a professional basketball player, and he always told me talent can get you noticed, but discipline and heart are what keep you in the game. On the court, he taught me patience — when to slow down; how to read defenses; and how to always play smart, not just hard. Off the court, he emphasized integrity. He would say, “The way you carry yourself outside the game reflects the player you are inside it.” That stuck with me. He showed me that being an athlete isn’t just about winning; it’s about leadership, resilience and staying true to who you are.

In 2021, I suffered an ankle injury that kept me sidelined for almost a year. That was one of the hardest times in my career. Being forced to sit out when all you want to do is play messes with your mind. 

That injury taught me patience and the importance of trusting the process. I focused on what I could control: rehab, mental toughness, studying the game from a different angle. It made me realize that resilience isn’t just about pushing through pain; it’s about adapting, learning and coming back stronger.

Nader El-Jindaoui
28, football right winger, Germany, newly signed with LA Galaxy 

The first time I fell in love with football was when I saw the Brazilians play — Joga Bonito, do you remember that? The Nike campaign from the 2006 World Cup. It meant “Play Beautifully.” When I saw them play and they played like they danced, I loved it — I wanted to be just like them. It was the beauty of the game. That was the moment I knew football was my passion. I fell in love with how they played. They inspired me.

The journey wasn’t easy. I was diagnosed with epilepsy at a young age, and the doctors told me I would never play football again. There was a two-year phase where I didn’t play at all. But I believed in myself. I did it for my family. They believed in me when no one else did. They’re the reason I never gave up. They had nothing but gave us everything. Injuries, financial problems, pressure — all those things could have stopped me, but I kept going. I wanted to help my family, to pay them back for everything they had done for me. Even when the doctors told me I couldn’t play, I held onto my dream. 

When I became a dad, “I want to make it” turned into “I must make it.” When you become a father, you do it for your children. You think you’re giving 100 percent, but when you have kids, you give 200 percent. It’s a new superpower. 

My wife — without her, I might not have achieved my goals. She is my backbone. My family is my fuel. They give me power. Without them, I would not have accomplished my goals.

I’ve moved from Hertha Berlin to the LA Galaxy, and everything is new. A new culture, new language, new weather. I’m starting completely from scratch. In Germany, they say that at 28, I’m old now. But I plan to show everyone I’m not finished. That it’s not about being young, it’s about being good. That’s my mission — to show Germany, and to show the world. 

I’m nervous, I’m excited. There’s a bit of me that is scared. But I fight against it. That’s how my whole life has been. Fear is part of life. Some people told me I should stay in Germany, where it’s safe, but I don’t want to look back one day and say I didn’t try. I’m not just trying — I want to make it.

Rouguy Diallo
30, triple-jumper, France, Olympian and 2014 World Junior Champion

I’ve always been competitive. For a long time, I kept coming in second — always close, but never quite there. Then, one day, my father, who lived in Guinea, called me just before a race. He motivated me, and I won. That was the moment I realized I want to do this for the rest of my life. This is my passion, and I want to win again and again and again.

I didn’t start out as a triple-jumper. I competed in many disciplines before I found my event. At 15, my main event was heptathlon. Long jump, 100-meter hurdles and the 100-meter were my favorite events. I was very versatile. Then, at the French Championships, I jumped in front of Teddy Tamgho, who was the world record holder in the triple jump at the time. He saw something in me and told me to train with him. When a world record holder tells you to train with them, you don’t hesitate. I dropped everything — the combined events, all the other disciplines — and focused entirely on triple jump.

I’ve competed at the highest levels — the European Championships, the Olympics. But strangely, my proudest moment isn’t from those. It’s my victory at the 2014 Junior World Championships. It was my first international medal. Even though I’ve been in the biggest competitions, I have a hard time feeling proud if I don’t have a medal around my neck. That’s just how I am. The wins stay with me. They are my proudest moments.

My career hasn’t been easy. I've had a lot of injuries. And they were big injuries. That’s been my biggest challenge. Every year, just months before a major event, something would happen. Ones that kept me from training for months. And yet, I always managed to come back, to qualify again. 

Teddy has been my biggest influence — he taught me everything, physically and mentally. He’s a master of mindset, and that’s what sets him apart from the rest. He pushed me to be stronger, to believe in my abilities and to never settle. He was very specific on every smallest detail during training. He explained that if I wanted to reach excellence, I had to be perfect. He taught me about discipline. He made me so strong technically that I knew I was in shape to perform every time. I was 100 percent confident in my skills.

My faith has shaped me too. It’s what built my entire being. When I have a failure, I turn to my faith. When I have a victory, I turn to my faith. It has taught me to relax a little and leave everything in God’s hands. Whether it’s good or bad, I know it’s for a good reason.

Intisar Abdul- Kader
38, marathon runner, United Kingdom, First British Somali to reach Everest Base Camp One

I just completed the final of the six World Marathon Majors, making me the first British-Somali woman to do it. It’s been years of training, discipline and resilience to get here, and now I've crossed the final finish line—it feels incredible.

Training is always the hardest part, but I see race day as a celebration. I’ve run tough courses like Boston and New York, but I enjoyed every minute, so the difficulty didn’t bother me. Other Somali long-distance runners inspire me so much. We have incredible athletes, and being part of that legacy means a lot.

I was diagnosed with MS just before starting my master’s degree. Running had always been part of my life, but that diagnosis is what led me to long-distance races. I had run in high school and college, but after that, I needed a routine. Some alone time to clear my mind. I started running longer distances. I started running 5 kilometers at my local park, then moved up to 10Ks and half marathons. It took me a year or so to be brave enough to apply for the London marathon — and I got in! It was a 10-year journey on the dot. 

In 2016, I signed up for a marathon. I got in and never looked back. Running helps me manage my MS symptoms. It especially helped me manage the fatigue, which is weird because running can also make you tired. But I was able to focus on movement as a way to combat the sudden onset of tiredness that led to balance issues and vertigo. Running gave me a sense of stability and control over something I didn’t have 100 percent control over. I also have an incredible clinical team that supports me.

Beyond marathons, I took on Everest Base Camp One. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Going up wasn’t as bad as coming down — that was terrifying. It was slippery and freezing, and I was scared of falling. My coldest day and night was the last push to Base Camp One, and that was minus -25 degrees Celsius. I can’t believe I did that, to be honest. But reaching the top and raising my Somali flag was an incredible moment.

Every year on May 18, the Somaliland government posts my picture, and it’s such a proud moment. That trek made me want to inspire young Muslim girls, to show them that their dreams are valid and the world is theirs to explore.

Being a visibly Muslim runner has come with challenges. I’m so grateful for the Nike hijab that launched in 2017 — before that, I had to wear makeshift hijabs, and it wasn’t easy. Showing up in the right gear was hard. Even with that, I still get stares. At the 2019 Chicago Marathon, a man patted me on the head at the start line and said he liked my “headpiece.” I was shocked. I was already nervous, and then someone invaded my space. Thankfully, other runners stepped in to support me. 

That moment taught me to stand my ground. People may stare or make comments, but I refuse to let that stop me.