Isolated and burdened, I found brotherhood, purpose, and healing through F3.

On August 1, 2024, I stepped into the gloom for the first time. I had no idea what I was walking into.

By then, I had heard about F3 three separate times. First, I saw a group of men pulling a truck during our local Fourth of July parade. Then I heard an interview with Dark Helmet on a podcast. Finally, my M mentioned F3 after seeing a Facebook post about it.

Looking back, I don't think those encounters were coincidences.

At the time, I was slowly drifting into what I now recognize as Sad Clown Syndrome. Work consumed most of my attention. My fitness was headed in the wrong direction. My social circle had shrunk. Most importantly, I lacked meaningful relationships with other men.

From the outside, everything looked fine. Inside, it was a different story.

Before F3, life had handed me more than my share of challenges. I had battled addiction, struggled with mental health, faced career uncertainty, and carried the weight of isolation for years. I was five years sober from drugs and alcohol and had recently returned to my faith after spending twenty-five years away from God. Yet something still felt unsettled.

Like many men, I had become skilled at wearing masks. There was the "everything's fine" mask at work. The "I've got it all together" mask in social settings. The "strong man" mask at home. The problem with masks is that eventually you forget who you really are underneath them.

Then came that first workout. Nobody explained much. The workout was chaotic. It was uncomfortable. It was hard.

I had spent the previous three years doing bootcamp-style fitness classes, but those happened indoors with climate control and plenty of creature comforts. F3 was different. Rain or shine. Heat or cold. No mirrors. No memberships. No excuses.

And I loved it.

But the workout wasn't what kept me coming back. The men did. There was something different about the PAX. It's hard to be fake at 5:30 in the morning.

These weren't men trying to impress each other. They weren't posturing or competing for status. They were authentic. They showed up for one another. They picked up the six. They prayed together. They laughed hard and worked harder. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I had found my people.

Just a few weeks later, that feeling was confirmed in a way I'll never forget.

At the time, I was active in Celebrate Recovery, a Christ-centered recovery program that had played a significant role in my sobriety journey since September 2019. During a Circle of Trust, I mentioned that I would soon be sharing my testimony. I had only been part of F3 for about two weeks. When the night arrived, three PAX showed up to support me.

Three men rearranged their schedules to stand beside someone they barely knew. That moment changed everything. It showed me what brotherhood looks like in action. It also showed my M that F3 wasn't simply a workout group—it was a genuine community of men committed to supporting one another.

For the first time, I realized I wasn't carrying my burdens alone.

Other men had their own battles. Other men knew pain, failure, fear, and uncertainty. In F3, vulnerability wasn't viewed as weakness. It was viewed as courage. Together, we carried burdens. Together, we celebrated victories. Together, we became better men. And I began to grow—not only physically, but emotionally and spiritually as well.

One of the things that attracted me most to F3 was its understanding of faith. F3 defines faith as a belief in something bigger than yourself. For me, that belief is rooted in God and the salvation offered through Jesus Christ. What impressed me most was that faith within F3 isn't treated as a box to check or a slogan to repeat. It's something that is lived out through service. That understanding eventually led me to serve as the Third F Q for Tornado Alley.

Today, I have the privilege of helping create opportunities for men to explore their purpose, serve their communities, strengthen their faith, and support one another through life's challenges. It's an honor I don't take lightly.

We live in a culture that increasingly isolates men. Too often, we're taught to suppress emotion, chase achievement, and measure our worth by productivity. We become disconnected from meaningful relationships while convincing ourselves we're doing fine.

F3 offers a different path.

It calls men to lead—not through ego, but through humility. Not through self-interest, but through service. Not through status, but through sacrifice. And the impact is remarkable.

I've seen men overcome addictions. I've seen marriages restored. I've watched men return to their faith, discover purpose, and step into leadership roles they never thought possible. I've witnessed tears, laughter, healing, reconciliation, and transformation.

My story isn't unique. Across the country—and increasingly around the world—men are finding the same thing I found in the gloom: a place to belong.

These days, I wake up before dawn not because I have to, but because I want to. I look forward to the discipline. The challenge. The laughter. The accountability. The shared mission.

No matter what life throws my way, I know there will be a circle of brothers waiting in the gloom, ready to push me, encourage me, and remind me who I am.

Serving as Third F Q gives me a front-row seat to the incredible work happening every day. I get to watch men take their next step—whether that's leading a devotional, organizing a service project, sharing their testimony, or simply showing up for the first time.

Every man has something to offer. Sometimes he just needs a group of brothers to help him discover it.

As I continue this journey, gratitude is what I feel most. I'm grateful for the grace of God that brought me back from the edge. I'm grateful for the men who refused to let me walk alone. And I'm grateful for my M—the most patient, loving, and supportive person I've ever known—who stood beside me through every step of the journey. Most of all, I'm grateful for the opportunity to serve others because, somewhere along the way, I discovered that helping other men heal has become part of my own healing too.

If you're reading this and you feel stuck, isolated, or uncertain about where you belong, hear this: There is hope. There is a place for you.

You don't have to be in shape. You don't have to have your life together. You don't have to have all the answers. You just have to show up.

The gloom is waiting.

Austin Marshall / 37 / Huffy

F3–Tornado Alley