AIM HIGHER

There's a certain kind of phenomenon that happens when you accomplish something you once thought was impossible for yourself.

You always knew, technically, it was possible. You saw other people do it. You heard the stories. You understood the theory. But deep down, it felt distant, like something meant for "those people" and not necessarily for you.

Then it happens.

You cross the finish line. You stand at the summit. You achieve the thing. And there’s this brief, electric moment of suspension and disbelief where your mind can't quite catch up to your body.

You did it.

But that moment is only the surface.

This winter, while most people stayed warm and comfortable, I lived something different. I was expanding my gym, leasing new space, launching open gym memberships, and working from 6AM to 8PM most days. Then I'd train late into the night. On weekends, with whatever scraps of time I could steal, I'd drive 30 minutes to Chillicothe to trail run for three, sometimes four hours—back-to-back days.

During the week, it was a brutal mix of trail runs and speed workouts, grinding through frozen mornings and pitch-black nights, preparing for the 74-mile Georgia Death Race. And then, somehow, recovering just enough to line up for the Boston Marathon three weeks later.

There was no crowd. No applause. No perfect Instagram moments. Just me. A long winter. The coldest winter we'd had in years with the constant questioning: Why are you doing this? Does it even matter?

Just me, the frozen ground, and my own stubborn heart saying, "I'm not done."

No reason, except for the most important one: because I believed it was possible.

And somehow, it all paid off. I ran 16 hours and 53 minutes in Georgia (my third Georgia Death Race and my personal best.) Three weeks later, I set another personal best at the Boston Marathon, finishing in 2 hours and 42 minutes.

After all the noise had settled and the race was behind me, there was a moment. Small, quiet, and heavy. One that I kept to myself. When I posted my Boston finish on Facebook, I typed a simple line: "I gave it all my heart." And somewhere between the keystrokes, a few tears surfaced.

Not just for the race. Not just for the medal. But for everything behind it. The early mornings no one saw, the hours of doubt, the whispered fights with myself to keep moving. It came out in that moment, raw and real.

Because it was never just about the races.

It was about a heart that needed somewhere to pour itself, and a soul that needed to prove it still had something left to give.

I gave it all my heart because my heart needed something to pour into. And it worked.

All at once, you can see the totality of what it took to get there. The months, the years, the quiet sacrifices no one applauded. Every painful rep, every early morning, every lonely decision to keep going when quitting would have been easier.

It was worth it. And it was beyond what I could have ever imagined.

But there's something deeper that happens, too.

You start to wonder: what else is possible? If this thing that once felt so far away is now real, your reality, what other limits have you falsely accepted? Where else have you been playing small without even realizing it?

In that moment, you don’t just feel satisfied.

You feel called.

To more. To better. To higher.

You realize that the biggest lie you ever believed was that your potential was fixed. That you were only "meant" for so much. That you were only "allowed" to dream so big.

But now?

You Aim Higher.

And once you see the truth, that the horizon is just the starting line, you can never unsee it.

Aim Higher. Always.

Because you were made for it.