An acquaintance recently asked me, "Hey, why do you love running?" My response was, "I don’t. I love having run." It might sound like a flippant remark, but it’s the honest truth; the act of running itself still feels like a form of legalized torture.

For the past 20 years, I've had a love-hate relationship with running. There are moments when I bathe in the euphoric haze of a post-run high, contrasted with times when my frail ankles scream in agony from the relentless pounding on the pavement. This relationship has been anything but steady.

During a recent run, I spotted a group of people dressed in black, jogging along the river at night. They moved like a pack of light-footed ninjas in their stylish running shoes, and their smiles suggested they were having a great time -- or least a better time than me. For a fleeting moment, the thought of joining a running club crossed my mind, but I quickly dismissed it, convincing myself that I would only slow them down. Even worse, I feared they might leave me behind altogether. I prefer to run alone, largely because it takes me an eternity to lace up my running shoes and finally hit the pavement. By the time I’m up and running, I often realize that my labored pace is often outpaced by speed walkers striding confidently past me.

As a working professional, navigating the current financial landscape feels like walking a tightrope over a void. The economic pressures are real and immense -- budgets are shrinking, investors are more cautious and the margin for error has never been smaller. In an industry driven by creativity, you find yourself balancing between bold ideas and financial restraint, constantly asking: “Can we afford to take this risk?” But in the midst of this uncertainty, I’ve found that the biggest asset isn’t just resilience -- it’s vulnerability.

Traditionally, a producer's greatest virtue was the ability to project strength and stability, often seen as the cornerstone and prerequisite of successful leadership. Investors, collaborators and talent alike looked to producers for reassurance that despite what challenges arose, they would be handled with confidence and decisiveness.

The image of the unwavering lone wolf became emblematic of the producer's role, as they were expected to be the steady hand guiding the ship through even the most turbulent seas.

It’s easy to fall into the trap of projecting strength and control, especially in a competitive field like ours. But I’ve come to realize that there’s immense value in sharing our challenges openly. Opening up to other producers about my own concerns has been a turning point. As I attempt to let go of the need to always have the answers, I discovered that others around me were grappling with the same anxieties. In those conversations, I found solidarity, new ideas and sometimes even solutions I hadn’t considered. In this climate, vulnerability isn’t a weakness; it’s a bridge to collaboration and collective problem-solving.

Just as I dismissed the voices of my better angels to join a running club, we producers often let our instincts for self-reliance keep us from seeking support when we need it. We’re conditioned to believe that we must go it alone, bearing the weight of every decision. But I think it’s time we embrace the wisdom that those runners by the river have already discovered. As the old saying goes, "If you want to go fast, go alone; but if you want to go far, go together.” In other words, the real distance is covered when we move together, not when we struggle alone.

Thomas Suh is the founder and managing director of Systeme D Entertainment, a film, media and entertainment company that specializes in content acquisition, management and production for film and television. “Room Tone,” the title of Suh’s column series, refers to the ambient sound of a space in which filming takes place. Thomas Suh can be reached at [email protected] -- Ed.