Go Like Hell

A new year, shifting gears, and putting your foot on the gas

One of my all-time favorite movie scenes is from Ford vs Ferrari: the Daytona race.

The scene starts with Ken Miles (Christian Bale) racing against his Ford teammate Walt Hansgen for the right to race in the legendary Le Mans. Ken is neck and neck with Walt, and he tells Carroll Shelby (Matt Damon), his coach, manager, and sponsor, that he can go faster than the prescribed speed limit they set: 7,000 RPMs. Shelby says no — he decides it’s not worth the risk of having the car fall apart.

But as the race unfolds, Walt starts pulling ahead, and eventually has a commanding lead coming into the final few laps. Shelby sees the other Ford team start celebrating.

Realizing that he and Ken are about to lose, Shelby silently turns and goes over to a chalkboard. He stoically writes a message and then walks over to the racetrack to hold the board up to Ken as he drives by.

Ken sees the sign, and then everything changes.

But before I finish that thought, let me first tell you about getting my driver’s license at LegoLand.

Zoom Zoom

Legos were my favorite toy growing up, and perhaps no family vacation commanded my excitement more than my first trip to LegoLand.

As you can expect, there were many highlights, but the unequivocally best part was getting my driver’s license.

Even though I was 5 years old, I remember the overwhelming joy I felt getting into what was effectively a Lego-themed go kart, and then proceeding to drive around the track.

Kids love cars. As I write this out, I wonder if there’s any research devoted to why — maybe there doesn’t need to be though. Perhaps it’s as simple as the fact that cars are big, loud, and powerful. They command your attention. And as a child, it’s a good example of humanity’s control of our creations. We made these things, and they carry us from point A to B. It’s easy to feel a sense of wonder about it all.

I am by no means a car aficionado. But even so this LegoLand joyride stands out all these years later. And I think it’s because of what cars teach us about ourselves.

In a highly complex world, cars — and races specifically — stand out for their simplicity. Drive around this track 10 times. If you do it first, you win. And if you ain’t first, you’re last.

Where else in life are the lines between success and failure so clear?

That’s why I love the movie scene referenced above — you can get so much from Ford vs. Ferrari even if you’re not a fan of racecars.

My father had a bright red Miata convertible growing up. I loved driving towards the Arizona sunsets with the top down. I barely watched nor understood most television, but I was always ready to yell “Zoom Zoom!” whenever a Mazda commercial came on.

Zoom Zoom is a universal language. Here’s how it translates to the rest of life.

Race Cars, Chaos, and Control

Races aren’t about driving at top speed the entire time. You have to follow the track, handle turns, shift gears up and down, and hit the pit stop every now and then.

Races seem simple, but if you’ve watched Drive to Survive or any other racing show, you quickly realize there’s a deep level of detail covering everything from the physical mechanics to the race strategy. The pit crew matters just as much as the driver’s reflexes.

Driving is all about maintaining control. That’s what Driver’s Ed teaches us. Races are the complete opposite of that. They ask: How fast can you go? Can you beat everyone else?

Everyone loves speed — but if you’ve ever had the misfortune of trying to steer a car after hitting a patch of ice, you know how easily speed can cause chaos. Speed is the opposite of control.

Races give you speed and ask you to maintain control. And then they put other drivers right next to you who are also fighting their own cars for control. Suddenly a simple drive around a track gets incredibly more challenging and complicated.

Which is why race car drivers change their speed throughout a race. Sometimes you need to go all out on the gas, other times you need to pump the pedal (or the brakes).

The best drivers feel the race — they feel the car’s inertia, they hear the engine, they smell the asphalt, they see their speed — and they combine all of that together into a vivid living model of the car they’re driving in. And they do the same for all the other cars driving around them.

They take in all these inputs and they find a balance. The one that lets them flirt on the edge of chaos and control.

Far easier said than done, plus that doesn’t include all the differences F1 teams have (funding, talent, technology, etc.).

Racing is inherently unfair — drivers aren’t even given the same starting point at the beginning of the race! But even if they start at the same spot, what matters is what happens on the track.

Which is why racing is a beautiful metaphor for how life works.

Shifting Gears

The reason I’m writing about racing is because last year I started a new race. I knew I’d be eager to sprint out of the gate, and that I needed to hold myself back a bit.

So writing took a backseat. But I wanted to get back at it at some point, the key was figuring out when.

One of the most important responsibilities of this new job is figuring out how to operate at an elite level, and how to do it in a sustainable manner. This matters because it’s how we better help and support the founders we’re partnering with.

Finding this balance is an iterative process. There have been multiple times where I felt like I had my footing and I was ready to step on the gas, but I’ve purposely held myself back. Some people get uncomfortable doing this because it sounds like you’re not giving your full effort, but that’s not the right framing. You still work extremely hard, but you’re inherently limiting what you’re spending time on. You’re focusing on the essentials first and foremost.

Eventually, you build up your bandwidth to the point where you know you’re leaving some extra effort on the table. Which brings us back to Ford vs Ferrari.

Go Like Hell

Sometimes there are moments in life when you know you have more in the proverbial tank, and you’re itching to use it. In these instances, you get an opportunity to unleash yourself and let loose on the reins. Maybe this is in a workout, on a sports field, or in a startup.

The Ford vs Ferrari scene at the opening of the piece is the perfect example: Ken Miles knew he could push harder. And Shelby said no. But once Shelby realized they were going to lose the race, he decided they had nothing to lose. So he held up a sign for Miles to let him know he changed his mind: 

“7,000+ Go Like Hell”

As Miles sees the sign, he smiles, exclaims “all right!”, and goes on to win in epic fashion.

Even the movie’s soundtrack amplifies the moment — the song isn’t called Daytona, it’s named after the race that Miles goes on to after winning it: Le Mans 66

I don’t know why they named it that, but my mental reasoning is simple. This moment is how he gets to where he wants to go.

There’s something to be said about holding back, knowing you can do more, and waiting for that right moment to change gears and go after it with renewed vigor. Having that extra fervor is an invigorating feeling.

Miles was told when to change gears. He still had to do all the work, but he was given the green light to go like hell. We rarely have that same benefit. But we do have our instincts. And as you may recall, Ken told Shelby early in the race he could go faster. He knew what the limits were, and he was ready to push them.

Sometimes things line up perfectly, and when you see the signs, you should trust yourself and go for it. Otherwise you’ll never know.

Road Wide Open

Near the end of the movie, Shelby talks about the magic of hitting 7,000 RPMs.

In a literal sense, he’s talking about cars, but he’s really talking about life.

People are a lot like cars. We all have our limits where we push so hard that we can't push ourselves anymore. We can break down and fail — just like a racecar.

When you're going through life, you have to constantly work to find that limit, your proverbial 7,000 RPMs, where you're pushing right on the edge and balancing the line between greatness and destruction.

It takes years to tune your instincts to know what that line is. But when you get there, you find a personal balance where you’re working and living in unison, and everything else seemingly disappears. 

The machine becomes weightless, just disappears… You feel it coming, it creeps up on you close to your ear, asks a question — the only question that matters: Who are you?

I found that line in college because I went past it and broke down. But I figured out how to get back on the race track, and now I’m a better driver. My threshold is also higher, which means I have a new limit I’m working with.

Over the past 6+ months I’ve been careful to make sure that I didn’t get too close to the new line. But now I’m ready.

Once you find your line, everything changes. You’ll know when to shift gears. The world slows down, and the road becomes wide open. 

This is what I’m thinking about as we emerge from last year’s finish line. 

2023 is a new year, and it’s also the continuation of the race we’re all participating in. It’s the next lap around the sun.

Last year reminded us that we’re never guaranteed any more, and in turn I spent the holidays calibrating so I can get the most out of myself from this lap (and every future one).

We only have so much time; we don’t really know when our personal checkered flag will waive. So in the first few weeks of this year, I encourage you to think about how you’re doing — whether you need to slow down, speed up, or get a tune up. This type of reflecting helps you identify the distance between where you think your limits lie, and where they actually are.

Once you do, then you can go about the rest of the race. You can shift gears, and with a road wide open — go like hell.

That’s what Ken Miles did. And that’s what I’m about to do.

Hopefully after charging up over the holidays, you can too.