Failure + Failure + Failure = Success

The title of this post is based on something similar I read online today.

I hope it’s true.

I think it’s fair to say that my race season this year was disappointing. I failed to finish either of the 100-milers I started, and even though I got past 100 miles at the Tahoe 200, I had to stop not much farther on. None of this fit the script I’d written for the year.

A promising tuneup for Tahoe with a strong performance at the First State Trail 50K in May.

And yet…

Isn’t that why I run ultras in the first place? Because scripts go out the window the minute I cross the starting line? Because it’s a test of who I am, and what my limits are?

Yes to all of the above, so therefore…

And so I was musing how to write this wrap-up post for the year when I came across an article on Medium. Its subject is someone’s Near-Death Experience (NDE) which, although it can feel like that sometimes during an ultra, is really unrelated. And yet the article ended with these thoughts:

The best way to learn anything is by making mistakes without causing irreparable harm.

If it seems like there are so many things you should have done better, then be sure that you did a good job so far in your life. That sounds like the opposite of what the success industry tells you about life.

But everything you see around you was perfected because of the failed trials of generations that came before us. If they didn’t try and try again, we, their descendants, would not have benefited from breakthroughs.

Truth.

I think I had gotten to the point where I was taking finishing ultras for granted, even my 100-milers. In reality, every 100+ mile event I’ve been in has been really, really hard, and at times it took a near-miracle to get my butt across the finish line.

And I wouldn’t have finished any of them without what I learned from my early DNFs, and from reading stories from other runners who came up short, but got up and tried again.

So what now? What have I learned from my three DNFs this year?

The biggest lesson is one I already knew. No ultramarathon comes with a guarantee, except that adversity will find you. And when it does, you’d better be prepared. Simple, right? Except I’d gone so long without a DNF I figured they were in the past for me.

Know what that’s called?

Hubris.

And it never works out well.

Rocky Raccoon? Thought I was ready (see photo from the night before). Confident to putting my secondary goal of a sub-24 hour finish ahead of my primary goal of just to finish. The result was a series of mistakes (not shown) that cost me that finish. Self-sabotage at its finest.

Ozark Foothills? Thought I was ready. Only to find out my rain gear wasn’t up to conditions. 50 miles in cold, steady rain and a flooded course was still an accomplishment, but not what I’d come there for.

This is before it got bad.

And yet by the Tahoe 200, I’d fixed my mental focus and gear issues. Neither of those took me out of the race at mile 114. My DNF was due entirely to a physical issue I just could not fix. Perhaps without those earlier failures, I wouldn’t have gotten even that far.

My fabulous crew, who got me as far as I did. From left: me, Morgan, Robin, and Cole. Not pictured but equally awesome: Nathaniel.

I did finish the year on a higher note. Running the Black Bear Trail 50K in New Hampshire in August turned out to be just what I needed. A real challenge that nearly broke me halfway in. And yet I powered through and finished.