What’s the first image in your head when you think “leader”? I know a lot of people will instantly think of big stages, flashy hype moments, and the electric energy of a great conference speech. And don’t get me wrong, those moments and those people can be effective and inspiring. 

But it’s really just a small sliver of what solid, lasting leadership is. In fact, I’d argue it rarely looks like that at all.

Some of the most trusted leaders I know aren't the loudest people in the room. They're not the ones commanding attention at every meeting or leaving people energized after every conversation.

Skipping meals seems like it could be a net win. Fewer calories in, same energy out — simple math, right? The logic made sense until I started paying attention to how my body and brain reacted to it. 

(Not well, if you were wondering.)

If you've ever tried to power through a long run after skipping breakfast, you know what’s coming: your legs feel heavy, your head goes foggy, and that creeping irritability that has nothing to do with the hill you're climbing and everything to do with the fact that your tank is on empty.

Skipping meals doesn't make you leaner or more disciplined. It just makes you less effective as an athlete and as a professional.

Winners never quit—right?

Oh, but also, know when to cut your losses.

We’ve all heard it repeated like gospel, and both can’t always be right. Is it better to stick it out and see, or make your exit when things start heading south? 

I’ve done both in my career and in my personal life, and not always the right way. Quitting things I should’ve stuck with and realizing too late that I should’ve walked away sooner. Most of us will get it wrong throughout our lives (I know I have), so it’s important that we high-achievers learn how to tell the difference.

I've been an athlete most of my life. Playing soccer through college, coaching for 25 years, running ultramarathons, logging four or five miles most days. With all that going on, I thought I understood my body pretty well.

Then I turned 40.

My body started telling me in no uncertain terms that I did not, in fact, have it all figured out.

Not all at once—that's not how it works. The signs were gradual at first: recovery took a little longer, my energy wasn't as automatic as it used to be. I'd eat the same way I always had and feel... off.