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with intent to win. I saw this running idea as a way of separating myself from the average wrestler—of doing just a little bit more than was expected of me.
    We lived out in the country, a good distance from school; but “it’s pretty far” was about as scientific as I got with my planning. I knew it took my mom fifteen or twenty minutes to drive to school but that was about as far as my research went.
    When the appointed day arrived for me to embark on my journey, I made arrangements to have my backpack dropped off at school. I told my parents I would not be taking the bus.
    So far, so good.
    Since I didn’t know the number of miles I would be running, I didn’t have a good idea of how long it would take me to get to my destination. I had built this day up in my mind as epic—the day I would do something nobody else would even attempt—and the enormity of the feat led me to set my alarm for four-thirty. I wanted to make sure I left myself enough time, sure, but it was more than that: Something like this called for true sacrifice, not only in the running but in the amount of pain I would inflict on myself by getting up at this ungodly hour.
    I got out of bed as soon as the alarm rang and headed outside to test the weather. The predawn winter air was brisk, so I dressed accordingly. Long johns, sweatpants, thermal long-sleeved undershirt, and sweatshirt, and capped it off—literally—with a beanie.
    At four forty-five, I was out the door and running down the dirt driveway, ready for my big adventure. I was probably less than half a mile into the run when I realized I was seriously overdressed. Rivulets of sweat trickled down my back and beads began forming on my forehead.
    Off came the sweatshirt, which I tied around my waist.
    A few strides later I yanked the beanie off my head and crammed it into the pocket of my sweatpants.
    I was in excellent shape for a sophomore in high school, and before long I found myself in a good running groove. Despite being weighed down by the extra clothes, I was on a good pace.
    Too good, as it turned out.
    My “long run” turned out to be nine miles, and my lack of planning caused me to arrive at school more than two hours before my first class, half undressed, clothes tied around my waist, stuffed into my pockets, and crumpled up in my hands.
    It was not even six o’clock in the morning, and I was at school. I probably could have run back home, taken a shower, and still caught the bus.
    This was an exaggerated case of poor planning. I didn’t use any tools to calculate how long the run was, or the amount of time it would take for me to complete it. When I tested the morning weather and found it chilly, I didn’t account for the heat my body would generate while running for more than an hour.
    The run taught me a lesson: Passion without a plan is incomplete. It’s great to be motivated and want to do more, but you want to be smart in your pursuit.
    As I got older and wiser, I came to see this story as a parable of preparation. There are plenty of people out there with goals, people who desperately want to achieve something great. They have the passion to put those goals into motion. They aren’t afraid to work for it. But too many people fall into the trap I call “Stumbling vs. Planning.” My run to school was the perfect example of stumbling. I thought I had it planned, but my passion had blinded me to the importance of planning. I was stumbling, forced to make sense of it as I went along. To put your passion to work, you have to plan it out. There are going to be twists along the way, as we’ve seen in chapters 2 and 3 about persistence and creativity. But if you approach your passion with a realistic plan, you’ll put yourself in a far better position to succeed—and succeed quickly. The less time you spend fixing problems after the fact, like wondering what you’re going to do with the two hours