Cancer research has a tendency to focus on the cancer cell itself. That makes sense. The cancer cell is the problem. But it isn’t acting alone. Once triple-negative breast cancer spreads to organs like the lung or liver, those cancer cells begin interacting with immune cells and other surrounding cells. Some of those cells may fight the cancer. Others can help it survive, grow, and establish metastatic tumors.

We give leaders too much credit for having ideas. The image is usually the same: somebody at the top sees what everybody else missed, announces the brilliant solution, and the organization follows. That happens occasionally. Most of the really interesting ideas I’ve seen happen differently. One person knows something. Another person knows something completely different.

Government funding has an essential place in scientific research. It supports enormous amounts of work, creates infrastructure, and keeps entire fields moving. NIH and other public agencies can fund at a scale private philanthropy simply cannot match. But large public funding systems also have constraints. They have to be accountable. They rely on established criteria, formal review processes, fixed funding cycles, and layers of oversight. There are good reasons for all of

Road Atlanta was a pretty good picture of our season. We came into the weekend still trying to get a better handle on the Mustangs, find more speed, and give the No. 64 one last shot at the Bronze Championship. And for most of the weekend, it looked like we had finally put a lot of those pieces together.

Some of the biggest financial problems in healthcare do not begin with anything dramatic. They begin with a code entered incorrectly, an assumption built into a formula, a definition interpreted a certain way, or a number that keeps getting carried forward because nobody has stopped to ask whether it is still right. That is what makes administrative mistakes dangerous. On their own, they can look small.

Indianapolis gave us one of those weekends where the pace was there, the cars were improving, and the results still did not quite match the opportunity.

One of the easiest ways to get bad information as a leader is to punish the person who gives you information you do not like. You may never announce that disagreement is unwelcome. You probably will not put it in an employee handbook. But people are remarkably good at figuring out what happens when someone challenges the boss. Maybe the person gets cut out of the next meeting. Maybe their idea is dismissed before they finish explaining it.

Last week, I stood at the Embassy of Japan in Washington, D.C. talking to researchers about something most of them were never really trained to do: Raise money. That sounds strange when you say it out loud. We spend years teaching researchers how to understand disease, design studies, analyze data, publish papers, and defend their science. Then, increasingly, we turn around and say:

We have gotten very comfortable asking one question about almost everything: What is the return on investment? In business, that is usually a reasonable question. In medical research, it can become a limiting one. Some of the most important scientific work does not begin with a product, a treatment, or a clear path to revenue. It begins with a question about how something works, why a biological process behaves the way it does, or what researchers still do not understa

Virginia International Raceway started with a lot of promise. Both cars were fast in practice, and the team seemed to be getting the setups where they needed to be. The No. 46 qualified P5. The No. 64 qualified P28 overall and P2 in Bronze. We had two good cars and two good opportunities. Then racing happened.

There is a version of leadership that looks impressive from the outside. The leader is everywhere. Every decision comes through them. Every problem gets escalated to them. They know every detail, answer every question, and somehow keep the whole thing moving. People usually call that dedication.

Healthcare reimbursement formulas can look like administrative details buried in spreadsheets and regulations. Until one of them is wrong. In 2006, I discovered an error in the way Medicare calculated payment rates for hospitals across the country. It was understating payments by roughly $1 billion per year. What followed was years of appeals and litigation involving hundreds of hospitals before the matter was ultimately resolved.

Road America finally gave the No. 46 car the result it had been working toward all season. The No. 64 had a more difficult afternoon. We arrived at Road America encouraged by the progress we had made with both cars. The handling was improving, the setups were beginning to transfer more effectively between the 46 and the 64, and for the first time this year, we felt like we were developing a clearer direction across the team.

When people think about philanthropy, they often think about the moment a grant is awarded. The announcement is made. The funding is secured. Photos are taken. Everyone celebrates. Then what? That question doesn't get nearly enough attention. In biomedical research, a grant is rarely the finish line. More often, it's the starting point. Discoveries don't happen on a predictable schedule, and meaningful scientific progress almost never fits neatly into a two- or three-ye

Heading into Canadian Tire Motorsport Park (CTMP), we knew we had work to do. The setup wasn't exactly where we wanted it to be when the weekend began, but by qualifying we felt like we had made meaningful progress, particularly with the No. 46 Ford Mustang. The No. 64, however, was facing a very different challenge after losing nearly an entire practice session to mechanical issues.

Agreement feels good. It makes meetings shorter. Decisions move faster. Nobody leaves the room irritated. If you are the person in charge, a team that agrees with you can make you feel pretty smart. That should probably make you nervous. I have spent enough time in business, healthcare research, and racing to know that disagreement is often where the useful work starts.

We went into Watkins Glen feeling optimistic. Team TGM had tested at Watkins Glen a few weeks earlier, so we arrived with recent experience and a reasonable sense of what we thought the cars would need. Testing is valuable because it gives you time to work through setups, gather data, and arrive at race weekend with fewer unknowns. At least, that is the idea.

Healthcare is rarely out of the headlines. One day, the conversation centers on rising costs. The next, it’s physician shortages, access to care, insurance reform, or the latest medical breakthrough. Each issue deserves attention because every one affects patients in meaningful ways. But amid all of these discussions, I think we sometimes lose sight of a more fundamental question.

When people think about medical breakthroughs, they often think about the discovery itself. A new therapy. A promising clinical trial. A scientific advancement that changes the way we understand disease. What often gets overlooked is where those breakthroughs begin. They usually start with people. Specifically, researchers willing to spend years asking difficult questions, testing ideas, and pursuing answers that may not come easily.

When people look at race results, they usually see the finishing position. What they do not see are the dozens of decisions, adjustments, setbacks, and variables that shape those results long before the checkered flag falls. That was certainly true for Team TGM at Mid-Ohio. We arrived with high expectations for both cars after a productive test session the week before. We believed we had a strong handle on the setup and felt prepared for the weekend ahead.