Following The Fastball

Thanksgiving in La Romana sounds like it should be a dream.

Seven days in the Dominican Republic. Warm weather. Time off. A break from real life.

In reality?

It looked like this:

Hilton Garden Inn. No beach access. Same meal every day; chicken, rice, avocado, and the best plantain chips you’ll ever have.

And somehow… it all started to feel exactly the same.

What feels like Groundhog Day is actually just the life of a starting pitcher in the Dominican Republic.

——

November 2026, I flew down to spend Thanksgiving with Justin.

The past few years, baseball schedules have made holidays… flexible. We haven’t really had the luxury of being home for Thanksgiving, so instead, I go wherever he is.

It’s one of the harder parts of the baseball life is missing time with family during the moments that are supposed to be reserved for them.

At some point, we stopped trying to force holidays into one specific weekend. Instead, we’ve learned to make any time with family feel like a holiday.

Thankfully, they get it.

They understand the travel, the unpredictability, and the reality of what this life looks like.

When I landed in Punta Cana, Justin told me the team had sent a driver named Dario.

I stepped outside and immediately got hit with a wall of humidity. The kind that makes you regret every layer you wore on the flight out of Boston.

Dragging my suitcase through crowds of vacationers, people headed to all-inclusive resorts and beachside cocktails, I was peeling off layers as I went, trying to spot my name in a sea of signs.

And then I saw it:

Mikayla Courtney.

At the time, it wasn’t even officially my last name yet… but it felt like a preview.

The drive to La Romana took about 45 minutes.

By the time I got there, Justin had already been in it for a few weeks… and you could tell.

Not tired, not overwhelmed… just stuck in the rhythm of it all. That repetitive, same-day-over-and-over kind of feeling.

Because for a starting pitcher in the DR, the schedule is… different. He didn’t have to go to every game. Most days looked like: morning shuttle to the field, train, and then back to the hotel by noon.

And then?

Nothing.

Every once in a while, on off days, the guys would pay a driver to take them to a nearby resort they used to house the team at, Casa de Campo. We went once during the trip for Thanksgiving dinner. Sat by the water, ordered a steak, slowed down for a minute. It almost felt like what Thanksgiving is supposed to feel like.

The rest of the week?

Pool. Book. Presidente in hand.

Repeat.

Work had been so busy before the trip that I didn’t realize how badly I needed to just… stop. And this forced stillness even in a Hilton Garden Inn with no beach access ended up being exactly that.

A reset.

One of the last nights, I went to watch Justin pitch for the Toros. The driver picked me up and dropped me off at the stadium in downtown La Romana. It was dark. Crowded. And immediately a little intimidating.

I don’t speak Spanish, and I was there alone finding my seat in general admission, holding onto a cold Presidente like it gave me some sense of direction.

The energy was different than Mexico. Louder. More chaotic. More raw.

Fans shouting constantly, fully invested in every moment. Baseball in the Dominican is deeply rooted and there’s history there, pride, identity.

You could feel it.

But sitting there alone, in a packed stadium, I couldn’t fully relax into it.

There’s a difference between observing the energy… and feeling completely comfortable inside of it.

After the game, I made my way through the dark to find the team driver. When I got there, he told me to get in the car and wait. It wasn’t safe to stand outside. So I sat there, doors locked, waiting for Justin listening to the noise of the stadium slowly fade as the night emptied out.

—-

Thanksgiving in La Romana wasn’t what you’d picture.

It wasn’t beach clubs and big dinners and perfect sunsets.

It was routine. Repetition. Quiet moments mixed with unfamiliar ones.

But that’s baseball life.

Sometimes it’s five-star dinners.

Sometimes it’s low quality hotels.

And sometimes…

it’s a week in the Dominican Republic that feels exactly the same, every single day until you realize that’s kind of the point.