This Is Fatherhood. This Is Leadership. This Is Me.

​You are showing up.

You are working for something you believe in — for your family, your employees, and your city.

That’s not failure. That’s fatherhood in its rawest, most courageous form.

That’s a message I’ve been telling myself a lot lately — see especially this week, and this day, Father’s Day. I keep trying to make sense of what it means to lead a business, be present for my family, and carry the weight of both at the same time.

I’ve been navigating one of the harder seasons of my career. I’m stretched thin, I don’t have all the answers, and it’s wearing on me.

This isn’t just a business struggle — it’s the outcome of trying to fix things and supporting others, saying yes too often, and believing in people and ideas, even when the timing isn’t right. I lead with hope, sometimes to a fault.

A Dream Worth Believing In
When I took full ownership of 605 Running Company last October, I wasn’t just taking over a store — I was doubling down on a dream.

A dream to build something that lasts.

Something that matters.

Something that becomes part of the fabric of Sioux Falls.
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I’ve always believed 605 Running Company could be a generational business — the kind of place kids grow up visiting with their parents and eventually bring their own kids back to. A place that doesn’t just sell shoes, but builds community. That helps shape the city we love. The kind of business our city is famous for developing. 

That’s a big dream. And I’ve chased it with everything I have.

We’ve created a welcoming award winning space, supported local races and nonprofits, and built a true running ecosystem in Sioux Falls. Not for glory or profit — but because it was the right thing to do. Because this city deserves businesses that care. That stay. That show up.

But building something that lasts is hard. Especially when you’re small. Especially when you care. And especially when you’re doing it in a landscape that rarely rewards doing the right thing.

The Cost That Doesn’t Show Up on the Ledger
This year has required sacrifices that go beyond numbers.

I've had to make difficult decisions that weren’t part of my family’s plan. I’ve invested time, energy, and yes, money — sometimes at the expense of weekends, dinners, and peace of mind. I’ve missed moments I can’t get back. And lately, I’ve felt that guilt more acutely than ever.

It’s a particular kind of heartbreak: knowing that in trying to build something for your family, you risk being pulled away from them. In order to keep building you risk the future for the present. It is the risk that wears me down.

And some days, that guilt feels louder than the wins.

But I’m learning. And more importantly, I’m finally asking for help.

Letting Go of the Lone Wolf Mentality
For too long, I believed I had to figure everything out on my own. That grit would get me there. That asking for help was weakness.

It’s not.

I’ve taken steps I wish I’d taken sooner:

• I’ve reached out to our bank to build a more honest and collaborative relationship.
• I've worked with our vendors to better support our business and community.
• I’ve sought professional support with our accounting and legal matters.
• I’ve connected with peers in the run specialty industry — folks who’ve lived through the same highs and lows and made it out stronger.
• And I’ve started speaking more openly with friends, mentors, and colleagues instead of carrying it all alone.

Because here’s what I know now: you can’t build something sustainable without support.

Not as a business owner. Not as a parent. Not as a human being.

What I Want to Say — to You, to Myself, to Anyone Struggling
If you’re carrying something heavy right now — stress, uncertainty, burnout, fear — please hear this:

You are allowed to ask for help. Saying you’re not okay doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human. It makes you brave.

I’ve spent years trying to be the strong one, the steady one, the one with the plan. But the truth is, real strength has nothing to do with having it all together.

It’s about showing up anyway.

It’s about adjusting the dream without giving up on it.

It’s about choosing connection over isolation — again and again.

The Dream Still Lives
I still believe in this business. I still believe in this city. I still believe in the people who’ve walked through our doors and the stories we’ve helped tell through shoes, races, and relationships.

We’ve made huge changes: offering better pay, exploring benefits we never had before, and reaching out for partnership in places we never thought to ask. We’ve adapted. We’ve evolved. We’ve led with heart.

But I won’t pretend it hasn’t taken a toll.

So if this message reaches someone else who feels like they’re at the edge — know this: you’re not alone. Whether you’re a parent, a founder, a manager, or someone just trying to make it through another week — I see you.

And I’m right there with you.

Thank you for being part of this journey. Thank you for believing in what we’re trying to build. I’m still here. I’m still fighting for the dream. And I’m not done yet.
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— Greg Koch

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