Failure

Nothing motivates me like complete and utter failure. That has been the driving force for every breakthrough performance I've ever had as a runner, and probably for every major attempt at improving myself in the rest of life as well.

As a high school runner, a teammate and I were ranked 1-2 going into the state cross country meet. Both of us ended up stumbling in somewhere around 40th place. I was unable to run for 9 months after that, due to a mono-like illness. The anger I felt about that trumped all other emotions...I set out to prove myself on the collegiate scene, choosing to attend national powerhouse Stanford University.

It was a long and bumpy road back to decent racing. Finally, by my last two years at Stanford, I had broken through to the level where I wanted to be...almost. I ended up being narrowly left off the team to compete at the NCAA Division I National meet two years in a row. We were national champions one of those years.

Some people take these set-backs as a sign that maybe it wasn't meant to be, that they should move on and focus on something else. I am stubborn to a fault, however. So for better or worse, I set out upon the path time and again, aiming to correct the errors I have made. I come back and try again, hoping to do things better next time.

I've been thinking about this recently due to my body's meltdown at the recent Boston Marathon. I started out on that cool, breezy morning in Hopkinton believing that a PR day was possible (2:17 is my best), but knew from fairly early that my legs were not going to cooperate on this particular day. My plantar fasciitis was flaring up badly, but more fundamentally, my legs just didn't have it. I had likely crammed in a bit too much hard running too close to the marathon, and had gone in without an adequate taper. This is not the first time I've made that mistake, but it's the first time in several years. Suffering through a marathon on trashed legs is not something that is easily forgotten, but apparently I need to re-learn the lesson every few years.

So I came through half in 1:09, already slowing down, and by then I knew that I would need to re-set my goals. By 16 miles, the sole aim was to finish, so that I could go back to the marathon training class that I teach with my head held high and my credibility intact. I suppose I beat my body up more than necessary, but I just don't believe in dropping out of races unless major injury occurs. Not that I've never done dropped out...I can remember doing so twice in track 5ks due to GI issues and once in a marathon, when I went into the race in a terribly over-trained state.

Dealing with failure has become much easier over the years. Sure, I still get frustrated, but it's not the deep, visceral rage that kept me up at night when I was younger. For one thing, running is just running. There's more to life. And for another, there's always the next challenge...the next race, the next phase of life, the next opportunity that arises. So I focus on those things rather than beating myself up over the past.

So what's next? We'll see...