Success is never final, failure is never fatal. It's courage that
counts – John Wooden
My father keeps an article on his desk at work about a
championship baseball game from his senior year of high school. In the article, it mentions my father as
having missed the final catch due to losing the ball in the sun, and thus,
losing the game. It has always saddened me that he has kept this article in
view for forty some years. Perhaps, he believes it to be a motivator. Whatever
the reason, it is crazy for him to believe that this solitary moment of
perceived failure matters or in any
way defines him.
My dad has had so many successes
in his life beyond a failed catch in a baseball game. He worked his ass off from humble beginnings
to put himself through law school. He made the frightening decision to go out
on his own and build a law firm when no one believed he could. He’s worked long days and weekends every day
since to make that risk work and support his family. I wish my dad would give
himself more credit for these successes. But mostly, I wish he would recognize
that the moments that have really made him who he is today are the moments that
have fallen before and after his perceived failures
and successes.
Instead of that article, I wish my father would keep a list
on his desk outlining his moments of dedication and courage leading up to and after
his peaks and valleys. The list should include the moment he and my mother found
out that their second child had Down Syndrome and would undoubtedly face
multiple obstacles in her life. More specifically, it should include the moment
after when he courageously told my mom it would be “OK” and fought together
with her every day after to make sure it was.
Recently, I have also fallen into the trap of defining
myself by my successes and failures. Specifically, I have been
running from my perceived failures on
an exhaustive mission to turn them into successes.
The year has brought its share of tough circumstances and I have been fueling
my journey with fear. Unfortunately, fear is not a sustainable fuel, and I have
stalled along the road on more than one occasion.
No doubt, my journey to finish 100 miles this year has also
at times been driven by a fear of failure.
A DNF and multiple DNS’s due to injuries tended to blind my purpose and weighed
on my mind like a metaphorical article chronicling my own “lost in the sun”
moments. My reason for finishing became just that, to finish. A buckle at the finish line would mean success and failure simply wasn’t an option.
I prepared tirelessly for the upcoming challenge of reaching
my coveted 100 mile finish line. I logged heavy mileage weeks, sometimes
running three times a day with weekly mileage reaching upwards of 120 miles. I exhausted myself with more challenging runs
than I had ever attempted before which were often accompanied by brutal heat
and never ending climbs. When I was injured and unable to run, I logged mind
numbing hours at the gym doing what my body would allow so that I would not
lose my fitness. I spent time visualizing
the race and what the success of a
finish line would look like. But despite all my preparation, I had doubts about
my ability to finish. I had failed in
my attempt before, so I could conceivably fail
again. I talked myself in circles, teetering between forced confidence and
fear.
I was a mess.
Race week quickly arrived. I walked around with a pit of
worry in the middle of my stomach, unable to focus on anything but my fears
about finishing. Not helping were the weather reports that were predicting highs
of 97 for the weekend. I manically refreshed the weather page over and over
again as if that might change the circumstances and bring better forecasts.
In another bid to
exercise some control over the circumstances of my race, I began to
uncharacteristically study the elevation profile and map details as if I was
cramming for some kind of final. Typically someone who prefers to “meet the
challenges as they come,” I became consumed with worry as I reviewed every
nasty climb, descent and in- between over and over again.
Then a phone call...
My mother called during my mid-week-meltdown to fill me in
on a conference she had attended regarding my beautiful sister with Down
Syndrome that I mentioned above. There had been recent research that found that
the gene for Alzheimer’s was located on the 23rd chromosome where
Down Syndrome occurs, and that it was not a question of if, but when my sister
would start to show the symptoms. Adding to the troubling news was that fact
that Alzheimer’s in persons with Down Syndrome typically occurred much earlier
than in the average person; sometimes as early as 30.
My sister is 30.
I felt anger. Anger at the fact that someone who had already
dealt with so much was being presented with yet another obstacle! And anger
with mom for being so calm and forthright as she delivered such tough news. Didn’t
she understand how upsetting this was to ME?!
Couldn’t she have waited another week to tell ME when the madness of this race had finished?!
I called my father to vent.
He listened empathetically, and then responded with the kind of head
checking response that I so desperately needed.
“It stinks,” he said,
“but we can’t change the reality of our circumstances. What we can do, is provide
your sister with the best life possible and deal with the challenges as they
come.” “And,” he added, “we are lucky to have your mom, who is courageous
enough to meet these challenges head on, instead of avoiding them out of fear.”
He was right. We can’t always change our circumstances, but
we can always choose to meet our challenges with courage. My mom had always been courageous
in fighting for my sister; never cowering from an obstacle and never
complaining about the circumstances. My dad had always been courageous in
working through every challenge with my mom and keeping paramount the goal of
making my sister happy in the moment. And, of course, my sister had always been
the picture of courage; meeting every
road block with grace and the kind of joy that comes in knowing that life is
about more than wins and losses.
It was time for me to
start being courageous.
Armed with a new attitude, I tried to let go of my fears of failure and walked to the start line of
my 100 mile journey. Of course, there were still the typical nerves you
experience when meeting your goliath, but I felt a renewed sense of hopeful confidence
in my ability to navigate the challenging terrain ahead by staying true to
myself and channeling the courage exhibited
by my sister, mother and father.
The horn sounded and the race I had been preparing for since
early January, finally commenced. The first ten miles with five thousand feet
of climbing were expectedly tough, but with fresh legs and the decision to
start slowly, they were manageable. The next eighteen miles of downhill helped
me coast into the first major aid station at twenty eight relatively unscathed.
The race until this point had been fairly smooth, but I
found myself feeling somewhat irritable and I wasn’t sure why. Maybe I wasn’t fueling enough, but, more likely,
I had not completely abandoned some of my worries about failure. While I didn’t realize it at the time, doubt was starting
to circle my mind like the wasp that had quietly hunted me in the first 10
miles, waiting for a vulnerable moment to implant its painful stinger.
The next ten miles were much tougher than I imagined. A
heavy dose of climbing paired with a heavy dose of heat slowly beat me down
until I was both physically and emotionally nauseous. About five miles into the
climb and as I ran out of water, I was stung with a major case of doubt. As I
battled the urge to throw up, I questioned whether I could finish the race. It
was still so early, and I was already feeling terrible so how could I possibly
continue? I entertained the idea of pulling the plug at mile thirty nine and
abandoning this crazy dream of running a hundred miles through a blazing hot
forest. I comforted myself by reasoning that I would simply drag myself the
remaining miles to thirty nine and be done with this madness. With four miles
to go to my quitting location, I did what I could to calm my stomach issues. I
took a ginger pill and was able to finally replenish my water. Slowly the
desire to throw up the last thirty seven miles of cliff blocks and waffle
stingers subsided, and as I cruised into mile thirty nine, hope reemerged.
I was feeling better as I met my crew at thirty nine, and
after ingesting three bottles of coconut water, I started to feel better than
better; I started to feel GOOD. I was shocked at my own turnaround, and
cautiously departed the aid station, fearful that this feeling could turn again
at any moment. But mile after mile, I continued to feel stronger, and slowly I
began to realize what I should have never doubted.
I was capable of finishing
this race.
It was ironic that as the light of day melted into darkness,
I found renewed clarity, my purpose no longer “lost in the sun.” I had survived
an unforeseen rough patch, and while I knew that there could be more ahead, I
was not going to allow my head to go back to that dark place of doubt. Moving
forward, I would face all challenges with the confidence that comes with
courage and, if I did that, I would be OK; finish line or not. And, maybe, I
had been stronger and more courageous than I had given myself credit for all
along. After all, I had not quit in my attempts to realize this dream after any
of my setbacks. I had always dusted myself off and tried again with a renewed
intensity. I had simply lost sight of
the “why” at times and worried too much about the repeat possibility of failure.
But failure is only
fatal if you let it be.
The rest of the race was free from the heavy chains of worry
and doubt as I enjoyed every step of the remaining 60 miles. I shared amazing
conversations with friends and strangers, enjoyed stars I had never seen before
in the smog of Los Angeles, climbed unafraid in the dark of night completely
ALONE for several hours, pushed myself up a steep climb at mile 85 with astonishing
energy, and watched the sunrise from seven thousand feet.
At 10:00 a.m., I
crossed the finish line.
Like life, 100 miles is a long journey. There are
circumstances you can’t control: the grade of the hill, the unexpected injury, or
the angle and intensity of the sun. All
you can do is prepare to the best of your ability and meet the challenges head
on as they happen along the way. You may succeed
or you may fail in reaching the
finish line, but the important thing to remember is that neither one is “final”
or “fatal,” it’s “courage that counts.”
And, maybe, the real finish line isn’t the one with the medal
after all. Maybe the real finish line is the place where you break down, break
through, and discover that you are much stronger than you ever realized.
Later that afternoon,
I received my buckle and gave it to my father. I didn’t need it. I had found what I needed
along the way, and he had helped me get there.
I let go of my "lost in the sun" moments. I hope my father does too.
I hope he takes down
that article.
Maybe he will replace it with the buckle…
