There are gifts we have that we take for granted every day. We have an opportunity, and we don't seize it. We see this opportunity, and we know it's ours for the taking, but we let it slip away. I'm not sure why we do this, but for me I think I feared success. I feared greatness. I was afraid to be amazing. They say that everything that goes up must come down. I didn't want to go up to my highest heights because I didn't want to be knocked down. What I didn't realize at the time is that you don't have to be knocked down. You can do your time, run your course, and then choose to come down and retire when it's time. I didn't want to feel any pain of gain. I didn't want to do the hard work that comes with greatness. I was comfortable coasting and doing just enough to get by. But we don't get results when we're comfortable. Comfort is for the sleeping. If you want to sleep through life, then get comfortable; but if you want to be great in this life, then you'll have to stretch yourself.

Sometimes when your gift is your means to a better end, you have to become passionate about your gift even if you aren't. Your gift comes freely, but at times it may be a burden until you've found your purpose. It may even be a little painful until you've found your purpose. You'll have to sacrifice a lot before you get some time to relax and enjoy the fruits of your labor. When I was in college, my dad would often call me and always say, “Son, if you sacrifice the next four years of your life, it will never be the same.” I had no clue what he meant by sacrifice. At this point his advice was too little too late. Sacrifice has to be instilled at a young age, and you have to know the pain of sacrifice in order to appreciate it. You have to be accustomed to sacrifice. It has to be engrained in you and become second nature. If you're not comfortable being uncomfortable, then sacrifice will scare you. I was scared to understand what he meant by sacrifice, so I told myself that I was already sacrificing. I told myself that going to practice every day was a sacrifice. I told myself that going in the weight room was a sacrifice. I told myself that getting up at 6 a.m. everyday to eat breakfast was a sacrifice, but I was lying to myself. I was lying to myself because I was only giving 50 to 70 percent at practice. I was only giving 50 to 70 percent in the gym. I was going to breakfast because it was mandatory. If I wasn't made to do it, I wasn't doing it. I was staying up late every night. I was eating badly every day. I was chasing the ladies every day. I was partying on the weekends. I wasn't focused. I was coasting by.

Have you ever coasted? Have you ever gotten off track? Have you ever done just enough to get by? That's what I was doing. I was doing just enough to get by. I think my dad understood that I was close to realizing the dream. I think he knew that I was good enough to make it if I would dedicate myself. He had heard about the chances of success from some reliable sources, I'm guessing. I knew guys in the NFL who played D2 and D3 football. I realized that you truly could make it from anywhere. I thought success would come easy for me though. I thought that it would be easy like it had always been. I was taking success for granted. I had to do more, but I wasn't willing to do more. Now I realize what my father meant by sacrifice is that I should abstain from sex and women. He meant that I should go to bed at a decent hour. He meant that I should put in extra work in the weight room and extra work on the practice field. I didn't want to think about that at the time. I wanted it to be easy, and I wanted to make it look easy. I wanted to look cool. I wanted to make it look effortless the way I had always done—but I couldn't get by with so little effort at that level. If I was skimping at a D2 school, I don't know how I would have made it at a D1 school. In a way, I feel like I could have done better at a D1 school, because I would have been challenged. It was still easy for me on the field at the smaller school. In every scrimmage I was averaging 8 yards a carry. That was a lot, and it felt easy. I was averaging that without using my offensive line properly. I would beat the pulling blocker to the hole, so I was facing defenders one on one much of the time and blowing past them. But I also didn't stretch well. I was making the defense look silly with almost-cold muscles. I was taking shortcuts, and I was soon to get cut short.

In my freshman season I was red-shirted. That meant I would have a free year that year and would still be able to play four more years. So my hope was that I could graduate with a master's degree instead of just a bachelor's degree, and it would be fully paid for. But I was cutting corners and not taking it seriously enough. One day in practice I pulled my hamstring. That was a result of never stretching properly. I came back from that hamstring injury, and then I pulled my other hamstring.

I remember that when I came back from the first injury, I was put on the scout team. That's where the red-shirt and academically ineligible players played. One day I was on the scout team kickoff-return unit. They kicked the ball off to me, and I darted up the field, saw a seam and hit it, and took off for a touchdown. It was a full field return. The coach screamed and yelled at the kickoff team. He was cursing and enraged. Then they kicked off again, and I caught the ball, saw a seam, hit it, and took off for another touchdown. I returned two kicks in a row on what was seen as the best defense in the conference. Then the coach screamed and yelled again. I know it was bittersweet for him because I was torching his kickoff team, but he also had to have some joy knowing that I would be eligible the next season. So they kicked off a third time, and this time I caught the ball and saw my seam again, but when I took off, my hamstring popped. This was a trickle-down effect—I tore my first hamstring because I didn't stretch properly, then I came back and tore my other hamstring because I didn't stretch properly. When I got to the field that day, I was late to practice. I think I was late because I overslept on my afternoon nap, but I really can't remember. The scout team were doing kickoff drills, and the coach told me to get out there immediately. I hadn't stretched yet. So it was somewhat remarkable because I hadn't stretched and I ran back two kicks, but then it was sad that I still hadn't learned my lesson from the first hamstring tear.

Things kept going downhill from there. I wanted the instant gratification. I didn't want to wait my turn or to trust the process the way we are supposed to. I got lazy, and I started taking dives on the field. If I saw a puddle of mud during a rainy practice, I'd slip in it and pretend that I pulled my hamstring. I wanted the easy route. I didn't love the grind. I tried to cheat the grind. But the interesting thing about the grind is that you can't cheat it. It knows exactly what you've put in, and you can only get out what you've put in. I didn't realize that back then. I tweeted that quote a couple years ago though, and it went viral; now I see my life lesson all over the web. It's funny how life works.

I kept cheating the grind, and I kept being penalized. I finally got through that first year of college and still had my scholarship intact. I put in a little work over the summer, and I came back the next year ready to play. I became eligible to play my second year in college, and I was ready. Our team had another running back from California, and he was pretty good. He wasn't better than me, I didn't think, but he was older and bigger than me. My coach respected seniority for the most part, and he loved big running backs. So he played him over me and made me the second-string back. I got to play in one game in the fourth quarter and got 62 yards. I think I had five carries. I remember many fans telling me after the game that they didn't know I was so fast and good. It was still kind of easy for me. I was physically healthy all that season, but I wasn't healthy mentally. I was more focused on the ladies. I was up late and still chasing the ladies and love.

When the starting running back went down in the second or third game of the season, it was my turn. I was ready for it physically, but my mind wasn't where it had been when I was really good. I went into the game, and everyone was excited to see me on a turf field. I was kind of excited, but I decided to not get nervous, so I blocked out all thoughts about the game. I was very mellow and nonchalant. I failed to realize that it was my nerves that had fueled me all my life. So I went into the game so mellow that I wasn't focused. My first two carries were fumbles. Fumbling the ball two times back to back was like suicide in the coach's eyes. I wasn't ready for my moment, and it was the next man's opportunity. I still ended up getting back in the game and finishing with 40 yards on eight carries, so 5 yards a carry wasn't too bad, but it would be my last opportunity as a starter. My coach moved on to the other athlete on the team because there were only two of us who ran at that level. The other guy was actually a really small receiver the coach turned into a running back. He was lightning fast and could hit open holes with a full head of steam and gain a lot of yards. That was good enough for the coach, so I was back to picking up garbage time in the fourth quarters.

I started to break down mentally, and I guess I got what I'd asked for by my actions. I started becoming a cancer on the team. I started to do locker room politicking and carrying on. I was cutting corners and chasing the ladies. I was going downhill fast. On top of not being focused, more distractions started coming my way. One day as I was walking in the ice cold winter, I looked down and saw a little baggie. I picked it up; it was a $10 bag of weed. I didn't smoke at all and had no desire to. But I did know about weed because my cousins and some of my friends smoked it. I also had a lot of family and friends who sold weed. So I showed the baggie to one of my teammates who I knew smoked. He looked at it and asked me how much I wanted for it. Not having a clue what to sell it for, I told him he could just have it because it was my last one. I had now become a drug dealer. A very petty one, but still, I was a kingpin in my mind. Then I had to find a way to keep up this image because this cool guy on the team was impressed that I had been selling drugs under his nose even though he knew nothing about it. The word started to spread, and now I was back into the shine. I couldn't shine on the field, so at least I was shining off the field. It's crazy to me when I look back and see all the time I wasted running from greatness.

I remember going home over Christmas break, I believe it was, and talking to my cousin. This is my cousin I mentioned earlier in the book who had called me for advice about publishing his own book. Well, back then he was still in the street life. I called him and told him that I needed to talk to him. He came over in this old-school car with some candy paint and like 26-inch rims. I was thinking to myself like, wow this is the life. He has a mouth full of gold teeth, wearing gold chains, bracelets, and rings, and at that time a fleet of amazing cars. He was making option number three on my birth path look very attractive. I was in college getting an education, so I was on my way to being overworked and underpaid like my parents. I was playing football in college, so I was also attempting to become the next Tracy McGrady. So now all I needed to do was to try my hand at option number three, which was to be a drug dealer, like my some of my cousins.

When I talked to my cousin, he told me that he wouldn't advise me to sell drugs, but he also knew he couldn't stop me from doing what I wanted to do. I gave him a sob story about not having any money and how I wanted to put a little money in my pockets while in college. He told me that he wished he had the opportunity that I had, and he didn't understand why I'd want to sell drugs when I was in college playing football and good enough to make it to the NFL. He was blown away, and he thought I was lost and crazy. Here I had an opportunity that he would kill a man for, and I was choosing to take a major risk in my life. He said I was being stupid. But what I didn't realize then is that I had the heart of an entrepreneur. I was going about it the wrong way, but the fact that I was willing to take such a big risk was a sign that I had something in me that could pay dividends if I channeled that in a different direction.

My cousin told me to think about it a couple days and then let him know if I was sure. I called him back after a day or two and told him I was sure. He told me to come over, and he gave me half an ounce. I'm not even sure that was enough for me to go to jail if I had been caught with it. I drove from Florida to West Virginia, and I broke it down and sold the weed. This made me a little bit of money and gave me a little more street cred. I don't know why I wanted street cred on a Christian college campus. I was a product of my environment, and I was settling right into the stereotype. The football coach took the boy out of the hood but not the hood out of the boy. I was choosing to be like guys I saw while growing up, but I wasn't raised like that. My parents didn't sell drugs or use them. My dad raised me by reading the Bible and praying every day. I was in church every time the doors were open. My dad pastored his own church for seven years of my life from the age of 14 to 21. I was searching for myself. I was lost and didn't want any help being found. I was living beneath my gifts and taking my gifts for granted. It makes me mad typing this just to know that I squandered an opportunity trying to be cool.

I went back home for the summer and wasn't really selling drugs because everyone knew me at home. They knew I wasn't cut out for that life. I had a little weed here and there, and I showed my friends. They were shocked that I had it. I think I actually ended up letting my friends smoke it. I never smoked and I never tried it, not even one puff. I never even rolled anything, lit anything, or anything of the sort. I'd seen the effects of drugs and alcohol growing up, so I wasn't going to use those things. But I'd never seen anyone go to prison for drugs, so I was crazy enough to try to sell them. I had uncles who were drug addicts and aunts who were alcoholics. That kept me sober. My cousins, on the other hand, were living the high life with their drug money. They sold everything, but they only gave me the weed to sell. I couldn't touch anything white, and frankly I didn't want to. At that time, I was playing around in the streets. I wasn't serious. I didn't count the cost. I wasn't thinking about the fact that you could get hurt or go to jail. I never had enough on me to go to jail, but it was still a dumb idea.

I got caught up looking like I was successful, but really I wasn't. I think we sometimes do that in everyday legal lifestyles too. People can get caught up trying to look successful, but actually are empty on the inside. We spend money trying to impress others instead of saving money to impress ourselves. We dress a certain way, drive a certain car, with the hope that it will get us better treatment from others. It's a miserable and painful life to live if you ever get caught up in it.

I was there and I was lost. All this talent and it was going to waste. My athletic talent could have opened doors for me and provided a totally different platform. I could have been like Tim Tebow at least. He hasn't become a star in the NFL, but just because of his hard work and dedication he at least got the opportunity to impact lives. I look at Steph Curry, and I see the hard work he's put in and the platform he's gained and how he's touching millions from his platform. I honestly have to say that in my respective sport and position, I was more naturally gifted than those guys are, but they sacrificed and put in the work. Every year when the NFL Scouting Combine happens, I look at the numbers that the guys put up, and I compare them to mine from college—mine were better than a lot of running backs going in the draft. I didn't just have numbers, but also I had the talent. I knew a guy who played D2 and went on to play 7 years in the NFL. He sacrificed. I could have done the same thing had I wanted it bad enough. I was taking it for granted because I was afraid to be amazing.

I went back to college for my third year, and I had put in some work over the summer. My body was nicer, and I was ready to play. Once I got there and realized that I was in the same position and that coach didn't like me anymore than he did the year before, I got back into the same rut. I started to sell drugs to the smokers again. It wasn't anything major, but it was just something to get me a little street cred and keep my name relevant on the campus, because I was embarrassed that I wasn't getting any playing time. I was the best all-around athlete on the team, but I was on the bench. The other athlete was a step faster than me, but I benched 200 percent of my body weight and had nearly a 40-inch vertical. I was one of five players on a full scholarship out of 95 players, but yet I was riding the bench. The coach called me into his office to tell me he needed to take some of my money away. I told him he couldn't do that because I only came to the school because he offered a full scholarship. He told me that he didn't care how good I was, he wanted to see 100 percent every practice, and he didn't see that from me. He didn't like the fact that I wasn't fully committed and didn't go as hard as I should have. I couldn't blame him, but I just didn't think he could do anything about it. Little did I know, I was sadly mistaken. One day I was walking out to practice with a bruised hip. When I stepped onto the field, he yelled and told me to get off the field and that I would never wear the Bobcat jersey again. I was floored. I didn't know how to take it. My stomach sank to my feet, but I tried to keep a straight face. Eleven years later, it still hurts me to think about it. I ruined my opportunity. I took my gifts for granted. I took my opportunity for granted. So many people wanted the chance that I was given, and I let it slip away. I had worked all my life and had my parents sacrificing for me only to get to that point and fumble the ball. I tried to appeal the coach's decision with the school, but they decided in the coach's favor. I wrote an eight-letter appeal, and they still decided in his favor. They offered me $14,000 to come back the next year, but I wasn't going to go to a school 1,000 miles from home just for an education. I was only that far from home for football.

I was crushed. I was embarrassed. I hated my coach back then. I wished that he would have talked to me more and told me exactly what he wanted from me. I wished I had another warning. If I had known that would be the penalty, I think I would have gotten my act together. I say that now, but I'm not sure what could have reached me back then. I hated him then, but I thank him now. Had he not kicked me off the team I probably would have gone to prison in West Virginia just for being young and stupid. I was on a road leading to destruction. I had all the gifts and talents that one person could need, but I didn't use them properly. I was trying to coast. I was trying to be cool and fit in, not realizing that I was born to stand out. I realize now that we can't be afraid to be great.

We can't be afraid to be amazing. We have to be willing to give it our all. We have to be willing to sacrifice and accept the rewards of sacrifice. We have to prepare to succeed and be willing to accept all that comes with success. We can't shrink in the face of adversity or in the face of opportunity. We have to seize every moment and be glad for it. I didn't do my part. I let my team down. I let my coach down. I let my parents down. I let myself down. I could cry, but I don't think I ever did. Or maybe I did and I've forgotten it by now. I know some people were laughing at me when I was kicked off of the team. My false confidence became cockiness, and I rubbed some people the wrong way. I was fronting and pretending to be something that I wasn't. I didn't know what mattered most. It's the grind that matters most, not the shine. I didn't know that. I wanted the rewards without the work. I wanted the prize without the process. I messed up a great opportunity, and it sent me on a detour that cost me years of my life.

Maybe it was necessary. Maybe I wouldn't be the man I am today without those experiences. Maybe, but I'm not sure that I'd do it the same way if I had the opportunity to do it over again. I wouldn't recommend it to anyone. I wouldn't say, “Make those mistakes because look where I am today.” I'd say, “Be grateful for your opportunity and don't let the moment pass you by. Give your all and max out your gifts. Do everything you can to be the best you can and don't settle for mediocrity. Don't try to fit in when you can stand out by just being yourself. Don't pretend to be someone you're not and miss out on who you can become. We only live once, and we have to live life to the fullest of our potential.”

I not only watched myself but I also watched others squander opportunities. There are people who have natural gifts and resources but are choosing to coast. I know some people who have the resources to get all the training and mentorship and start any company their heart desires, but they're sitting on their hands and letting life pass them by. They're partying and drinking the days away. There are others who don't have the resources, but they have the gifts; but instead of utilizing the gifts, they're chasing vanity just like I was. They are chasing a fantasy instead of a dream. A fantasy is rooted in pleasure. A dream is rooted in purpose. There are people who have natural gifts that can make them hundreds of thousands of dollars and some even millions, but instead of jumping on the opportunities, they're letting it slip away. They think it'll be there for as long as they want it to be. They think they've arrived and that they don't have to continue to sacrifice. They don't see that their end is near. They can't see that the window of opportunity is closing, and it'll be closed before they expect it to be. They think they will have the liberty of walking away from it when they are ready. They don't realize that it will be taken from them right before their very eyes. I saw it happen to me. I've seen it happen to others. If you have a gift, you better use it or you will lose it. You better buckle down and lock in. Treat it like you're running out of time and get everything out of your gift while you can. Today I wish I had 48 hours in a day. I wish I had three brains, four more arms, two more ears, one more mouth, and a lot more money to build more business. But I had to realize that I have enough right here and right now, and I have to use it to the best of my abilities. I realize now that I have to maximize my gifts and maximize my efforts. I can't shrink, and I can't live small.

I'm creating daily now, and I'm making up for lost time. If you're still breathing, then you still have time to get on track and to get your gifts out of you. You still have time to change your life. You still have time to turn things around and to start building like never before. Sure, you've made some mistakes. Sure, you've cut some corners. Sure, you've taken some of your sunrises and sunsets for granted, but you still have time to get it right. You can't sit idle. You can't settle for good enough. You can't get complacent with what you've done and where you are. You have more life left in you. You have more that you can produce. You have more time that you can utilize. Don't take your gifts for granted!