There Is No Competition

I couldn’t get enough air to bring the relief I desperately needed. My pulse was redlining. My legs burned so intensely I couldn’t tell if standing still was better or worse. I had no clue how I was going to get through the next rep, but I knew calling it quits wasn’t an option.

The sun had finally broken the horizon as I stood at the bottom of the hill, drenched in sweat. It was hot, but not nearly as hot as it would be in a few hours. 

In the summer months, I usually ran in the early mornings before the rest of the world was up and at it. Occasionally, a friend would ask to join me - and I’d always welcome the company - but only a select few ever came back for more. I was unbothered. The place I was going didn’t have room for passengers and I was okay with that. In fact, that was the whole point. To make it to the next level, I had to do things that others wouldn't.

I’d have to run harder.

I’d have to run longer.

And run more often.

I was willing to pay the cost, but how would I know when I’d done enough?

When my friends came out to train with me, I could see how much gas they had left in the tank. I saw their legs get heavier with each rep and eventually the lactic acid buildup would become too much to bear. That moment gives most people permission to stop. We’d gone hard. No one would question it. I could walk back down the hill feeling good about the work.

Not so fast.

That’s the bait most people take. They want to be better than the people around them and forget who they’re really competing with. I didn’t want to be the best among my friends, or even the best at my school. If I wanted to compete with the best in the country - with the best in the world -  couldn't pace myself against my peers.
I had to run my own race.

Somewhere out there, in a small town with no stoplights, there was another kid like me still running. Someone with nothing to lose. Someone who wouldn’t stop just because it hurt. I didn’t know if he was real. He had no name, no face, no voice. But I knew this - if I stopped, he wouldn’t. One day, we’d meet. At a camp. A combine. Or our film would land on the same coach’s desk. And when that day came, I wanted to know I’d emptied the tank.

I took a breath, shook out my legs, and attacked the hill for another rep.

The Insight

It took me a long time to understand what I was really training for on that hill.

At the time, I thought I was preparing for a scholarship. For a roster spot. For a chance to prove myself at the next level. But what I was actually learning was how easy it is to cap your potential by watching the wrong people.

Most of us don’t quit because we can’t go on. We quit because the people around us do. We let someone else’s pace become permission to slow down. We use proximity as a measuring stick. And without realizing it, we trade long-term possibility for short-term comfort.

The hardest part about running your own race isn’t the effort. It’s the isolation. It’s being willing to push when no one else is pushing. To keep going when there’s no applause, no comparison, and no confirmation that you’re on the right track.

But if you want outcomes that are uncommon, you can’t train by common standards.

The moment I stopped competing with the people beside me, everything changed. My focus shifted from comparison to commitment. From keeping up to getting better.

That hill taught me a lesson I’ve carried far beyond sport: the ceiling on your life is rarely set by talent. It’s set by who you choose to measure yourself against.

The Framework

Run Your Own Race is a reminder that progress should be measured forward, not sideways.

The people around you may be talented, hardworking, and well-intentioned, but if they are where you are, and you don’t want to stay there, they cannot be your standard.

Running your own race requires three things:

1. Find Your Lane

Your lane is defined by where you want to go, not where you currently are. Look ahead, not around. Identify the level you’re aiming for (the role, the lifestyle, the standard) and study what that requires. Not what’s common. Not what’s convenient. What’s necessary. If you don’t choose your lane intentionally, you’ll drift into someone else’s.

2. Set Your Pace

Your pace shouldn’t be dictated by how others feel today. Some days, your pace will look excessive. On others, it will feel lonely. That’s normal. Growth isn’t synchronized. The question isn’t whether others are tired. It’s whether you’re prepared for what’s ahead.

Consistency beats intensity when no one is watching.

3. Commit

Running your own race means accepting that progress is uneven and often invisible.

There will be stretches where it feels like nothing is happening. No feedback. No recognition. No reassurance. That’s where most people start looking sideways for validation.

Don’t.

Distance exposes discipline. And over time, it creates separation that can’t be faked or rushed. When you stop competing with peers and start committing to a path, something shifts. Your energy becomes more focused. Your decisions get clearer. Your effort pays off.

Find your lane.
Set your pace.
Run your race.

The finish line doesn’t care who you kept up with. It only cares whether you arrived ready.

The Standard

The fastest way to cap your potential is to pace yourself against your peers. Look ahead, not around. Find your lane, set your pace, and run your own race.