Who Is Len Yang?

Len’s most striking trait isn’t his backhand flick. It’s not even his meteoric rise on Instagram as a viral pickleball star. It’s the way his story starts with his family.

“My dad works graveyard shifts,” Len explains. “Like, 10 PM to 6 AM. But he’d go straight from work to the courts.”

No shower. No nap. He drives twenty minutes to the nearest public park in Queens, New York– and plays until midmorning. Then he goes home to make his wife coffee, chat with her before she leaves for work, and—yes—head back to the courts until late afternoon. Only then, after hours of playing pickleball, would he sleep. Briefly. Then it’s back to the MTA.

“My dad lost like 40 pounds in three months,” he says. “He’s probably in the best shape he’s been in decades.” Even more than that, though, Len’s dad—like so many immigrant parents before him—seemed to finally find something of his own. A community. A joy. Passion outside of work.

“There’s this thing with older Asian dads, you know?” Len says. “They don’t really have a lot of close friends. But now, every court within 50 miles—he knows it. He knows everyone.”

This is what pickleball gave Len and his father. A new kind of closeness.

But to understand Len, you have to go further back.

Before the rooftop games in Austin and before the content and the Joola sponsorship—there was table tennis. There was a tough childhood. And there was pain.

“I played competitive table tennis for seven years,” Len tells me later in the interview. And for a long time, it wasn’t fun.

A busy childhood

Len started playing table tennis around the age of seven, which was late according to his coach. The best stars apparently start holding a paddle as soon as they can stand. 

Growing up, Len says he did everything an Asian parent could put their kid into—piano, art classes, chorus, swimming. Len swam in the under-eight division, and was lapping kids in practice. Clearly outperforming his peers, he was told to stop passing them and “get kicked in the face instead.”

Len’s dad wasn’t having any of it. When the swim coach declined to move his son into an older age bracket, he pulled Len out entirely and sent him to a table tennis summer camp instead.

It was there that he met the coach who would shape the trajectory of his competitive career. She had immigrated from China and brought serious pedigree with her—including a U.S. Open title. Len’s father saw the potential immediately. Swimming lessons and every other extracurricular were put on pause. From that point on, everything revolved around ping pong.

Years later, the foundation they built together would carry Len to a different kind of U.S. Open—this time, in pickleball—where he’d stand at the top of the podium again, this time with a gold medal in hand.

But from age 8 to 15, it was just nonstop ping pong, prep school, and classes. Even on the weekends.

Recalling his childhood, Len says “My whole life was just ping pong and studying. I had good friends in school, but I never saw them outside of it. I’d get picked up early from school just to go to ping pong practice.”

The first taste of national success

During the peak of his young table tennis career, some of Len Yang’s most impressive results came early. He made the U.S. national team multiple times. Among his top achievements: first place in North America and second in the world in the under-13 age group.

The North American Championship took place in Markham, Ontario at the state-of-the-art Pan Am Centre. But it was the World Championships in Doha, Qatar, that left a lasting impression. Hosted at Spire Academy, the experience felt surreal—an international arena, far from home, where some of the sport’s brightest young talents came together.

Later, he would compete again on the world stage at the under-15 championships in Shanghai. The trip marked a turning point in his view of the sport. 

"Table tennis in China is just different," he said. “They’re built different.” 

Watching the intensity and discipline of the Chinese players up close left him both in awe and slightly concerned for the future of his new sport. “Once China gets into pickleball,” he added, “it’s game over for the rest of us.”

Ironically, a few weeks after our conversation, Len and his partner Jamie Wei took home the gold medal in the Expo Bridge Cup held in Chengdu, China.

Abuse, burnout, and resentment

Like many young athletes pushed too hard too early, Len eventually grew to resent the sport that once defined him. The joy that had sparked at summer camp began to erode under the weight of escalating expectations.

By the time he switched to a new coach, things took a darker turn. “I don’t really know how to sugarcoat it,” he says. “I was mentally and physically abused.”

It’s a reality that many athletes in niche sports like table tennis know all too well: success often comes tethered to toxic coaching cultures, where pressure replaces play and control masquerades as mentorship.

Looking back, Len doesn’t excuse or brush over what happened—but he recognizes how it shaped him. 

“I wouldn’t do that to anyone else or wish it upon anyone else,” he says, “but the discipline I have now came from that.” 

Still, by the time he reached high school, the damage had been done. 

He hated table tennis.

The next obsession: basketball

By the time Len reached high school, his parents had largely stepped back from managing his extracurricular life. That’s when a close family friend named Paul introduced him to a range of new sports.

Being fiercely competitive by nature, Len gravitated toward basketball. “I’d be at the park every day, taking hundreds of shots, practicing in the backyard” he says. That drive quickly paid off. He climbed the ranks and, by senior year, was named captain of the varsity team.

Brooklyn Tech wasn’t exactly a sports powerhouse—it was known more as the “nerd school.” The basketball program had been a perennial underdog, without winning any titles in decades. But a new coach brought fresh energy to the program, and everything changed. In Len’s final season, the team won its first division championship in 25 years and made it to the Elite 8. Since then, the program has only climbed higher, even reaching the finals last year—a legacy Len helped ignite.

Then came dragon boating

After table tennis and basketball, Len Yang found himself drawn to yet another sport: dragon boat racing. It wasn’t a completely random pivot. As a kid growing up in Queens, New York, he’d passed Corona Park nearly every day after ping pong practice. Each August, the park hosted New York’s Dragon Boat Festival—one of the biggest in North America. So when he learned Brooklyn Tech had a dragon boat club, he gave it a shot.

As usual, Len went all in

“I’m stupidly competitive,” he says now. “Sometimes it’s not healthy.” That drive led him to train relentlessly—especially after COVID hit in 2020. With outdoor training off-limits, he turned his home into a gym. “Two to three hundred pushups a day. Fifty pullups. I got jacked. I put on like 15 pounds of muscle.”

Tryouts for the national team were adapted to the pandemic. Normally a 20-person crew, dragon boat selections shifted to solo 500-meter sprints in one-man boats. It was a brutal format—one that exposed who could truly move the water. And for Len, who had never even been in a single-man boat until the day before his first trial, it went about as expected.

He placed dead last.

That might have ended it for most people. But for Len, it triggered something deeper. He trained harder. Weekdays in the gym, weekends on the water—eventually going from last in the country to third in the nation for under-18s. 

He made the U.S. team. Worlds were supposed to be in Hong Kong, but the event was canceled due to COVID.

Two years later, Worlds returned—this time in Thailand. Len was 19 and trying out for the U24 team. He made the roster again, barely, but paid the price. The gap between U18 and U24 was massive, and he pushed his body beyond its limit. A torn shoulder followed…which affects his overheads in pickleball to this day.

That injury would become a breaking point.

The darkest season

2023 was a physical, then emotional low for Len, catalyzed by the shoulder injury. 

He was in a toxic relationship. A terrifying cancer scare followed. He started developing unexplained symptoms, went through endless bloodwork, and waited in fear. He told almost no one. His parents knew about the shoulder. The rest, he kept to himself.

“I was suicidal,” he says quietly.

And then, out of nowhere, came the thing that would change everything.

An unlikely lifeline: pickleball and Taylor Swift

One of Len’s old table tennis coaches—now working at JOOLA, a ping pong brand that quickly became one of the leading pickleball manufacturers—had been urging him to try pickleball. Len brushed it off. “What is this dumb-sounding sport?” he remembers thinking. But eventually, like all of us, curiosity won.

His dragon boat coach at Ithaca happened to know a local club owner and invited Len to play. That first session changed everything. “I played once, fell in love, and got obsessed.”

He started training constantly. “This was April 2023,” he recalls. “Pickleball literally pulled me out of depression.”

Music helped too. “I’m a huge Swifty,” he says with a smile. “Her music and pickleball together literally dragged me out of suicidal thoughts.”

Within weeks, he entered a tournament at the local club—and won the 4.5+ bracket.

CityPickle and Laura

By that summer, Len’s game had leveled up fast. The courts at Crocheron Park were crowded most nights, and the level kept rising. 

What started as casual community nights quickly turned into a proving ground. Word spread. Players from Manhattan started making the trip out. That’s how Len got invited into his next circle—a friend group hitting at CityPickle in Midtown. It wasn’t an official club. Just a group of regulars. 

That night, Len showed up, played, and—without knowing it—met someone who’d change the course of his year.

He met his girlfriend, Laura.

“I always joke about it, but I owe a lot to her,” he says now. “She coached at CityPickle that summer and got me into a lot of better groups in Manhattan.” They started drilling together. She introduced him to higher-level players—4.75s, 5.0s, the type of people who made you realize how far you still had to go. “She got me into the circle that made me play every day,” he says. “She’s a huge reason I got better so fast.”

He remembers watching a group of four players on a side court that first night. “We all stopped to watch them, like, oh my god, they’re so good,” he says. One guy told him, “Yeah, they don’t really let others in. That’s a tough group to break into.”

Len didn’t flinch. In his head, he silently promised himself: By the end of summer, I’ll be playing with them.

And he was.

The climb

In October, he and Laura entered New York’s biggest local tournament: 10:10. They won.

Then came the ego. “I thought I was hot shit,” Len laughs. “I was like, we’re the best in New York.”

But that confidence met a brick wall when he discovered there was a pro group—and he wasn’t in it.

Until that point, he’d been commuting back and forth to Cornell, juggling classes with weekend pickleball trips into the city. “Five-hour bus rides, every weekend,” he says. “By the spring semester, I was in New York more than I was at school.”

That sacrifice paid off. After the 10:10 win, he doubled down. He scouted upcoming tournaments, aimed higher, and zeroed in on his next target: APP Next Gen in Dallas. “It was in Laura’s hometown,” he says. “We were riding high from 10:10, so I figured—why not? Let’s go win it.”

They did not win it.

Humble slice of Dallas leads to a new friendship

“I hand-scouted everyone in our bracket,” Len says. “I had a Notes app filled with DUPR scores and match history. Like, I really did my homework.”

None of it mattered at Dallas Next-Gen.

Their draw pitted them against a 5.2 female and a 5.5 male—Lauren Mercado and Aidan Shenk. “We got destroyed,” Len says. “They went on to win the whole thing.”

The loss was a wake-up call. It was also a turning point.

“That’s where I met Jack,” he says—referring to Jack Munro, one of the country’s rising young pros. “And that’s where I realized: there’s a whole level of pickleball I hadn’t even seen yet.”

But instead of folding, Len did what he always did: set another goal. Climb another rung.

Back in New York, Len took the Dallas loss personally. “I knew I needed to start playing with better people—like, actually better,” he says. And in New York pickleball, there was one circle that stood above the rest: the pro group.

It was sacred.

At the time, the roster read like a who’s who of East Coast talent—Kelsey Grambeau, Bruno Faletto, Andrew Yaraghi, Kate Fahey, Erik Forsythe. The group played at Lifetime and ran like a private club: invite only.

Len wasn’t on the list.

The pro group door cracks open

So he made his own way in. He started with Andrew. They’d played briefly once, and Len had saved his number. “I cold texted him,” Len says. “‘Hey, we met once, I don’t know if you remember me... I’m trying to get serious about pickleball, would you be down to drill sometime?’”

Andrew was in. No ego. No gatekeeping. He set it all up.

Next, Len messaged Kelsey.

“I still have the video on my phone,” he laughs. “When she replied, I literally jumped and screamed. I was hyped.”

Over winter break 2023, Len ramped up to full throttle. He trained with Kelsey almost every morning—arriving at Lifetime Sky by 6 a.m., drilling hard for hours, recovering in compression chairs, then hitting again at night. “My alarm was 4:45 a.m.,” he says. “I was doing two-a-days, sometimes three.”

The volume and intensity paid off. Eventually, Kelsey and Andrew needed an extra player for a pro group session—and Len got the invite.

“I freaked out,” he says. “It was like another tryout.”

But this time, he passed.

He played well, earned more invites, and slowly became a fixture. The sacred circle wasn’t locked anymore. He had pushed the door open.

Defining the year

By early 2024, Len wasn’t just training—he was plotting. He opened his Notes app and laid out a tournament roadmap for the year, one goal per milestone.

January: Win a 5.0 draw.

March or April: Qualify for a pro main draw.

May: Win a match in the APP New York main draw.

It was ambitious, but Len didn’t believe in playing it safe. “I always hit my first goal too early,” he says. “So the second one has to be stupidly high.”

His season was supposed to start at APP Punta Gorda. But he didn’t have a partner.

Then Eric Forsythe—an OG pro who’d been on tour for years—reached out. He needed someone.

“It felt like a huge opportunity,” he says. “I was super grateful.”

And then he bombed.

“I completely shit the bed,” Len says. “Worst tournament I’ve ever played in any sport.”

He wasn’t ready for outdoor play—he’d only drilled indoors in New York. Florida’s humidity, wind, and erratic weather exposed every gap in his game. “It was just horrible. Everything went wrong.”

Still, Len didn’t spiral. “I treated it like a bump in the road. I learned a lot from it.” He studied the conditions. Adjusted his training. And kept going.

The road to pro was near

In April, he switched to a PPA tournament, partnering with Robbie for the main draw. They lost in the first round—but it was close: 11–8, 11–9 in the third.

“That match cemented something for me,” Len says. “I realized I wasn’t that far off. I wasn’t even a year in, and I was holding my own.”

Not everything clicked right away. In North Carolina, allergies wrecked him. “My whole face puffed up. I was blowing my nose after every point,” he says. “I almost had to go to the hospital.”

Still, he fought through it.

And then came May. APP New York. His home turf. His original proving ground.

Len and Robbie survived a tough qualifying bracket, then drew Eric Forsythe in the first round of the main draw—the same player who’d given Len his shot in January.

This time, they won.

They reached the Round of 16 before falling in a tight third game. But the result didn’t matter. The moment did. “We weren’t even on center court,” he says, “but the APP media team left center to film us. That’s how big the crowd was.”

Len had set the goal months earlier: qualify for a pro main draw and win a match in New York.

He did both.

“I remember telling people back in October that I wanted to play pro,” he says. “Everyone laughed. But I’ve always believed—if people aren’t laughing at your goals, they’re not big enough.”

The leap

By the end of July 2024, the joke stopped being a joke.

For months, Len had been casually tossing around the idea of going full-time. “Maybe I’ll just go pro,” he’d say, half-smiling, half-testing the words out loud. He was still enrolled at Cornell, still studying business and finance, still riding five-hour buses every weekend to drill in New York. But the scales were tipping.

On paper, he was a first-semester junior—right in the thick of recruiting season. Superdays. Finance interviews. Resume reviews. But mentally, he was already gone. “I was half-assing both school and pickleball,” Len says. “And I hated it.”

That fall, he made the call: he would take a leave of absence from Cornell. Not to take a break. To go all in.

“School will always be there,” he says. “Pickleball won’t.”

It wasn’t an impulsive decision. Len quietly worked through every scenario—advisors, class credits, housing, finances. Cornell’s policy gave him five years to return. He’d done the math.

And he kept it quiet. “Maybe 10 people knew. Laura knew. A few close friends. That’s it.”

His parents didn’t. Not until one random day in late September, when his dad pulled him aside after playing together at Lifetime Fitness and asked out of nowhere: Are you going to fully send this or what?

Len was floored. “I hadn’t said a word to him. It came out of nowhere.”

He decided to sit both parents down at home. His mom, understandably, panicked. “She thought I was sick again,” Len says. “She thought I was hiding something.”

So he explained. Every detail. Why this wasn’t impulsive. Why he’d thought it through. How exhausted he was, commuting every weekend. How bad the bus rides were. How badly he wanted this.

“I wasn’t asking for permission,” he says. “I was just letting them know.”

To his surprise, they listened. They didn’t love it. But they listened. “I think what gave them confidence was that I had a plan,” Len says.

They agreed to help cover his rent. Everything else—training, travel, food—he’d earn himself. “I coached six, seven days a week that winter at Lifetime,” he says. “I saved everything.”

Austin or bust!

Once the decision was made, Len knew he had to leave New York. The city had taken him far—but the ceiling was too low now. He needed higher-level players, outdoor courts, and structure. 

Arizona had a few people he knew—Caden Nemoff, Augie Ge—but it didn’t feel right. Austin, though? That had potential.

There was just one connection there: Jack Munro. The two had only met a few times. Interactions were mostly limited to Instagram. But Jack had just won APP New York, and Len remembered something he’d said that stuck with him.

“He came up to me after one of my matches and said, ‘I don’t say this to a lot of people, but I really like your game,’” Len says. “At that time, I was just getting into the pro scene. That meant a lot.”

So Len shot his shot.

“I DM’d him and said, ‘Hey, can we hop on a call? I need to be straight with you. I’m thinking about taking a leave from school. I’m considering moving to Austin. I don’t know anyone there except you. Would you be down to train and make content together?’”

Jack didn’t hesitate. “He was super down. He said, ‘I’ve been looking for someone my age to grind with and hold each other accountable.’”

Then came the kicker: “I’ve got a free room. Come stay with me.”

That sealed it. Len didn’t even think about Arizona again. Austin was it.

By January 2025, he was gone. The New York chapter closed.

Trial by wind

Moving to Austin felt like hitting the reset button.

New city, new training partners, new pace. But just like New York, the doors didn’t open automatically. “Even here, you have to earn your spot,” Len says. “You still have to try out for groups.”

One of his first big tests came fast: a session with Zane Navratil.

“I completely shat the bed,” Len says, blunt as ever. “I just played horribly.”

The pro level wasn’t just higher—it was more stable. “Everyone here knows how to adjust. They can play in the wind, in heat, indoors, outdoors. My game just wasn’t there yet.”

The Florida tournaments kept proving that. “It’s the worst place to learn outdoors,” he says. “Super windy, crazy humid, random rain delays. Not fun.”

And in between all the physical misery, there were insights—big ones. Watching top teams like Jack Munro and Will Howells, Len noticed something. “They were the only team still playing their normal game,” he says. “Everyone else let the wind change their whole style.”

That stuck with him. It wasn’t just about playing better. It was about playing your game better—regardless of conditions.

Lessons in humility

Not every weekend was a win. There were losses. Embarrassing ones. “Some days I’d walk off the court and think, ‘Was this the right move?’” he says. “But then I’d zoom out. I’ve been playing for less than two years.”

He’s self-aware enough to know when he’s being too hard on himself. “Sometimes I just need to chill. It’s human to want to blame conditions. But I’ve learned to ask: What did I not prepare for? What do I need to fix?”

His style—fast-paced, aggressive—isn’t always built for gusty outdoor conditions. But that’s the point of being in Austin: to build the tools to adapt. “If I want to be more than a one-dimensional player, I have to learn to adjust.”

That’s what this year is about.

Not proving anything to anyone else. Just sharpening everything—for the next shot.

Len Yang and Jack Munro take Gold in 2025 US Open

Since I spoke with Len, Len and his partner Jamie Wei took the mixed doubles gold medal at the Expo Bridge Cup in Chengdu, China. He also took home the men’s doubles gold medal with Thomas Yu. Shortly after, Len and Jack Munro won Gold in Men’s Pro Double match, even beating Andre Agassi and Anna Leigh Waters in Agassi’s pro debut.
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And for Len, this is just where the story begins.