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Twenty-five years ago, I started WORKHOUSE with more heart than sense. Today, I ran the Rocky Race in Philadelphia — my first in over a decade, in the city where I learned to believe impossible things before breakfast.
My feet are troubled. The years have their say. But standing at that starting line, I understood something Rocky Balboa knew all along: the finish line isn’t the point. The distance is. Every uphill mile reminded me of what entrepreneurship actually costs. Not the sanitized LinkedIn version — the real one. The one where you’re alone at 3 AM, where the numbers don’t work, where your body says stop and something deeper says *not yet*. Where belief isn’t a motivational poster but a decision you’ve make in the dark, over and over, when no one’s watching. I wore bib 1032. Ran with “Gonna Fly Now” in my ears and twenty-five years of falls and climbs in my legs. I’m not remotely close to an Italian Stallion — I’m more Mick these days. But maybe that’s the whole lesson: we all become Mick eventually, if we’re lucky enough to stay in the ring that long. The collegiate streets of Philadelphia held me differently this time. Less certainty, more scars. But something else too — a harder-earned faith that you can do anything for thirty minutes. That you can do it uphill. That the work is the reward, and the distance is the destination. We don’t run to win. We run to prove we still can. We build companies not to arrive, but to become who the journey demands we become. Eyes forward. Never on the finish line. The distance is everything. hashtag#Entrepreneurship hashtag#Leadership hashtag#Resilience hashtag#SmallBusiness hashtag#EntrepreneurLife hashtag#NeverGiveUp hashtag#Philadelphia hashtag#25Years hashtag#Motivation hashtag#PersonalGrowth
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THE HOUSE THAT WORK BUILT. Archives
December 2025
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