Breaking Barriers, 84-Year-Old Nanas, and The Way of Excellence
On a very cool moment.
Hi y’all! The Way of Excellence has been out in the world for three months now. It’s been an incredible run and I am grateful to everyone who has read and shared it. It’s always neat when a book is out in the wild and starts to take on a life of its own.
Which brings me to what happened this past weekend.
On Sunday, April 26, Sabastian Sawe became the first person ever to run a marathon in under two hours—1:59:30 in London.
The following morning, I woke up to this message from his coach, Claudio Berardelli:
It’s extraordinary to see the book being read by (and helping) people at the highest levels of their crafts. All the credit goes to Sabastian and Claudio, who did the work. It’s a truly groundbreaking and inspiring performance. If my ideas and words played even the tiniest part, well, that’s so cool.
What’s also so cool is another message I got later that day:
There’s something about the timing of these messages hitting me in such close succession. To be honest, it actually makes me pretty proud. (It’s not often I feel this way, but I’m working on it.)
I wrote the book to argue that the pursuit of genuine, heartfelt excellence is the ultimate human endeavor—and to show people of all ages, crafts, and skills that getting on the path is one of the most satisfying and fulfilling things there is.
That the book is inspiring and being used by the greatest athletes on the planet and also 84-year-old Nanas is everything I’d hoped for.
If you haven’t already, please get the book. I promise it will help. It’s currently $7 off here. If Claudio and Sabastian don’t inspire you to order a copy, maybe Nana will.
It’s funny how book agents and gatekeepers always want authors to focus on a specific or niche audience, yet the books that sell are often those with broad appeal.
The 84-year-old nana example is exactly why “excellence” should not be reduced to elite performance. There is a deeper version of excellence that looks like staying engaged with life, continuing to practice, and refusing to let age become a story of disappearance. That kind of consistency is its own rebellion.