The Letter I Wrote My Son Before Running 100 Miles

I was crying at mile 20.

After months of preparation—changing my entire diet, restructuring my schedule, even running 50 miles alone on New Year's Eve—I found myself sobbing on a dirt trail in Huntsville, Texas, convinced I couldn't finish what I'd started.

The 100-mile race I'd trained for wasn't anything like I'd expected. Instead of the smooth paths I'd practiced on, this course wound through old cypress trees with roots that seemed to grab at my feet like fists. Every few steps, I'd trip and have to catch myself, locking up muscles I didn't even know I had.

By the end of the first 20-mile loop—with four more to go—I felt worse than I had after running 50 miles through Dallas. "There is no way I can do this four more times," I thought.

But then I saw my son Jack.

Before the race, I'd written letters to my family and friends who came to support me. The one to Jack said something like this:

When I saw him at that 20-mile marker, something shifted. This wasn't just about me finishing a race anymore. This was about showing my son that we can do hard things, that we don't give up when life gets difficult.

Every time I ran alongside another racer and they asked, "Why are you doing this?" I'd share that purpose. And every single time, I'd feel this surge of energy rise up from somewhere deep inside. I'd stand up a little straighter, find strength I didn't know I had.

That's the power of vision with emotional connection.

When I think about vision, I picture it like taking flight—rising above your life to see the bigger picture. Looking backward at what has given you energy and what has drained you. Looking forward at who you want to become and what you want to be known for.

It's like the Christmas Carol story—past, present, and future all informing each other.

Most of us are so caught up in the day-to-day that we never take that step back to ask: "If I keep doing what I'm doing today, am I going to become the person I want to be?"

But here's what I've learned: the more vivid and emotional your vision of that future, the more you can endure in the present.

One of my favorite examples comes from an area director of sales I used to work with. She had this wild idea to close down two public streets in downtown Louisville and host a community dinner right there in the middle of the city.

Most people would have thought she was crazy. But because her vision was so compelling—so different and interesting—people wanted to be part of it. She didn't have to do everything herself. The vision gathered people around it.

That's when I realized something important: it's not a compelling vision if no one else gets to come along.

Edwin Friedman, a rabbi who worked with organizations and families, used to give the same advice for solving any group problem. He'd find the strongest person in the room and tell them they needed to find their "I Have a Dream" speech.

When you stand up straight with a vision that excites you, others don't just follow—they're empowered to find their own compelling vision too.

Taking that flight above your life doesn't require a mountaintop retreat. It just requires honest reflection on a few key questions:

These questions aren't meant to have final answers. They're meant to keep you seeking, to serve as roots that ground you and give you strength to serve others.

This vision—this emotional connection to your future—is what gets you through "the struggle and drudge of daily work." It's what helps you stand up straighter when things get difficult.

Here's why this matters so much for those of us in hospitality: your team can sense whether you're just going through the motions or whether you're connected to something deeper.

When you have a vision that genuinely excites you—when you can articulate not just what you're doing but why it matters to you personally—that becomes contagious.

People want to be part of something meaningful.

But it has to start with you. You can't give what you don't have.

Take some time this week to fly above your life. Look backward, look forward, and ask yourself:

Am I learning and growing to become the person I want to be? Am I doing that to the best of my ability right now?

Your answers might surprise you—and they might just change everything.

Take care,

Josh