Robbie Otal Tells his Journey

High School: Starting Point

I entered high school just 5’5” and 130 pounds—hardly the build of a thrower. Still, something drew me to the ring. Part of it was my dad, who had competed in college back in India. But deeper than that, I was fascinated by the idea that raw power wasn’t enough—that with the right mix of strength, precision, and discipline, someone like me could compete with the giants.

At first, reality hit hard. My ambitions were big, but my body wasn’t. Despite my technical skill, I was constantly out-thrown by kids who towered over me. As a freshman I managed 124’6” in the discus—a distance I was proud of at the time, since it nearly matched my weight. That season I met Mike Torie, a professional thrower who became my lifelong coach. He saw something in my technique but was honest: if I wanted to take this seriously, I had to get much stronger.

For months I wrestled with doubt. I didn’t know if I’d ever be big enough to matter in this sport. But by the end of freshman year, I realized something important: the very fact that the odds were stacked against me made the pursuit more meaningful. If I could figure out a way forward in spite of it all, I’d prove to myself that I could take on anything.

And that summer, my life changed.

High School: The Come-Up

I became obsessed with transformation. My days turned into a relentless cycle: five eggs at dawn, throwing sessions, a Subway Philly cheesesteak, a nap, lifting, another cheesesteak, a protein shake, then sleep. My classmates mocked me. Teachers disapproved. But I discovered a truth that still defines me: conviction matters more than approval.

The results came fast. I grew to 5’9” and threw 160 feet—a 36-foot improvement that convinced me I could will myself to improve at anything. That same conviction carried into academics. I got my books three months early, read them twice, and turned a 2.5 GPA into a 4.0. By junior year, I stood over six feet tall, weighed 230 pounds, and had stretched my throw to 182 feet. I scored high on the SAT, opening doors I once thought closed.

UCLA, my dream school, passed on me. It hurt, but I didn’t fold. Instead, I reached out to Stanford and Princeton. Stanford wasn’t possible because of my rocky freshman grades, but Coach Fred Samara at Princeton connected with my story. He had struggled early too, and he saw in me what I was trying to build in myself: grit. On my visit, I fell in love with Princeton’s culture of intelligence, toughness, and character. By senior year, I was throwing 209 feet, clearing 200 feet in eight separate meets, and committing to a school that felt like destiny.

Princeton

Princeton was another trial by fire. I had never seen snow before, and my first winter left me injured, sick, and questioning myself. Academics stretched me to the edge. My freshman results were underwhelming at best. My sophomore year wasn’t much better—I bulked up to 280 pounds chasing power, but it only slowed me down. Watching a freshman throw further than me at the HEPS was a tough result to bear. 

But failure forced me to evolve. The approach that carried me through high school—obsession, more is better—had reached its limit. I had to change, or I’d break. I leaned out, rebuilt my athleticism, and just as I was ready for a breakthrough, COVID hit. At first it felt like devastation. In reality, it was the opening I needed.

I moved to Athens, Georgia, lived with my girlfriend, trained like never before, and worked remotely at a private equity firm through Princeton’s alumni network. That season I hit 60m for the first time, and when I returned to campus, I pushed the school record to 62.77m. Nationals didn’t go my way, but I had something better: proof that I was back on track. With an extra year of eligibility, I headed to Duke, hungry.

Duke

At Duke, my hunger got the best of me. I overtrained, got injured, and pushed my body past its limit. But even then, I made the U.S. Championships final, finishing 8th. For the first time, I felt like I was standing at the edge of something bigger.

Post-Collegiate

After graduation, I joined Deloitte Consulting. I wanted a launchpad for my career, a place with peers who were driven and ambitious. At the same time, I refused to walk away from throwing. Balancing both was brutal. I failed to make the Olympic Trials final, felt isolated, and came close to quitting for good.

But then I went home. Back with my parents. Back with Mike Torie. And something clicked. Mike reminded me who I was—not just the Princeton record-holder, not just the consultant at a global firm, but the same 5’5” kid who didn’t care what the odds were and refused quit. Within months, my fire was back.

By 2025, I was hitting 60m again, then 62.77m in Fresno. And then, in the chaos of food poisoning, missed flights, and zero sleep, I threw 68.41m at Ramona—a mark that put me in a different conversation entirely.

Even setbacks—like a disappointing 6th at U.S. Championships—couldn’t shake the momentum. Today, I’m building two parallel careers: as a world-class thrower and as a consultant with ambitions of being a fortune 500 CEO. To me, these aren’t competing paths—they are the same pursuit of excellence expressed in different arenas.

My vision is bold: to become one of the best discus throwers in the world while rising as a leader in business. I want to prove that greatness isn’t confined to one domain—that discipline, conviction, and resilience can elevate you anywhere. People may call it ambitious, even impossible. But then again, people once said the same about a 5’5”, 130-pound kid with no size, no pedigree, and no reason to believe he’d ever throw far.