Why I Read Shoe Dog
When I first heard about Shoe Dog by Phil Knight, I was intrigued. I’ve always had a soft spot for entrepreneurial stories—especially those that go beyond the surface and really dive into the grit, uncertainty, and loneliness that come with building something from nothing. As someone who built a business from a few thousand dollars into a multi-million-dollar enterprise, I was curious to see how the co-founder of Nike made his journey.
But this book wasn’t just about comparing paths or successes. I read Shoe Dog because I needed a reminder—while incarcerated—that building something meaningful doesn’t happen overnight, and that setbacks, whether in business or in life, can become part of a greater narrative if we respond with the right mindset.
Phil Knight didn’t have a master plan. He had a crazy idea—to import Japanese running shoes—and the willingness to run after it. That hit home for me. When I started Discount Hydroponics, I didn’t have a formal education in retail, marketing, or product manufacturing. I had curiosity, a drive to create, and the willingness to teach myself. Phil Knight’s story reminded me that sometimes, that’s enough to get started.
What I Learned From Reading This Book
What struck me most about Shoe Dog was how honest and vulnerable it was. Phil Knight doesn’t paint himself as a business genius or superhero. He shows you his anxiety, his self-doubt, and the weight of responsibility that comes from leading a team and building a brand. In that way, it was one of the most human business books I’ve read.
I learned a lot about perseverance—not the flashy, motivational poster kind, but the kind that shows up when the bank is about to pull your credit line, when your suppliers threaten to walk, and when your own team doesn’t know if you’ll survive another month. I lived that. I remember maxing out credit cards, working 18-hour days, taking customer service calls on my personal phone. Reading Shoe Dog brought me back to those days, and it reminded me how much of entrepreneurship is about staying calm in chaos and choosing to believe in your vision even when no one else does.
I also appreciated the way Knight described his evolution as a leader. In the early days, he didn’t have all the answers. He wasn’t a polished executive. But he listened. He trusted his team. He created a culture where people cared about the mission. That’s something I tried to do in my own business, even if I didn’t always get it right.
There was also a lesson in humility. Nike wasn’t born an empire. It almost collapsed more than once. Knight had to sue the federal government. He was betrayed by his partners at times. But he kept showing up. And that persistence—the willingness to fight through problems instead of around them—is a theme I want to carry into the next chapter of my life.
How the Book Will Contribute to My Life Upon Release
Shoe Dog came to me at the right time. Being in prison strips away your identity, especially for someone like me, who spent his adult life as a builder, an entrepreneur, a problem-solver. You can start to question your worth, your relevance, even your purpose. This book reminded me that setbacks don’t erase your story—they deepen it.
When I get out, I don’t know yet what business I’ll build or what role I’ll play. But I do know that I’ll be approaching it with a different kind of fuel. Not the hunger to prove myself—but the drive to create something that matters, something that lasts. I want to build with integrity, with intention, and with the wisdom I’ve gained through both success and failure.
Phil Knight’s journey showed me that legacy isn’t about logos or product lines. It’s about impact. And if I can use my experience—my wins, my losses, even this prison term—to help others grow, to mentor people like DeShawn, or to create educational resources that reach people society has written off, then maybe I’ll leave something meaningful behind.
Shoe Dog didn’t give me a step-by-step business guide. It gave me something better: perspective, validation, and a renewed sense of purpose. For that, I’m grateful.
