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Some of the earliest moments that shaped how I deal with risk, failure, and responsibility didn’t happen under instruction or supervision. They happened in the margins. Quiet streets. Long afternoons. The kind of boredom that forces kids to invent something, whether it’s smart or not. This was one of those days. I don’t remember exactly how old I was, but it was sometime in the very early 1990s. I remember the street more than anything. Our neighborhood street wasn’t special.

Blake Low gasps for air during BUD/S Log PT. Late fall on the beaches of Coronado feels colder than people expect. The wind comes in off the Pacific and cuts straight through you. The sand is icy. The ocean looks like steel. It was one of those mornings. A gray sky, cold wind, and the kind of quiet that makes your stomach twist because you know suffering is coming. We were already sore from the day before. Legs heavy from miles of running. Shoulders hammered from countless

... it was the moment that set the tone for how I’ve handled fear, pressure, leadership, risk, and resilience ever since. This is that story.