I've never let fear of failure hold me back from trying new things. I know that if I put my mind to something, that I will accomplish it. I might be scared, but that means it was a good goal. That's what my first marathon was all about, setting a scary goal and accomplishing it.
When I was 23 I was starting to consider myself a "runner". I had run a lot of half marathons and realized that it was time to conquer a full marathon. I picked a race, a training plan, and got going. I did not miss a SINGLE training run. I ran 6 days a week, hit every single mile on my long runs, got a lot faster, and more confident in my running. My sister and I headed down to Portland with my family, Isaac, and two of my best friends. I woke up on race day scared but ready. I had put in the time, done the work, and was injury free.
That morning was rainy and a little chilly. I had been running at 5am everyday, so I wore what I'd typically wear on those runs. This was my first mistake - I overdressed. I should have worn at least one less layer.
We started running. I noticed some fatigue in my shoulders around mile 3 and shook it off as nerves. I was sweating pretty heavily, but it was raining, so I figured that would help counteract my body temp and I didn't want to ruin mine and my sister's matching outfits for the race and take off a layer. Back then, I didn't really understand endurance nutrition. I ran to not get fat - why would I eat while I was running? I packed only about 200 calories for the race and figured I would eat a couple Gu's along the way (100cal each). During Ironman, I learned that I need to take in calories every 30-45 minutes, which I certainly did not do during my first marathon.
By mile 13, I was exhausted. I lied and told my sister that I needed to stop to pee so I could get a bit of a break. I did not even have enough liquid in my system to pee anything. This was my second mistake - not recognizing how dehydrated I was. I was dizzy, but I was NOT going to stop running. By mile 20, it became clear that I wasn't going to be able to keep up with my sister. I asked her to go ahead and I'd meet her at the finish line. I slowed down my pace, but had a hard time keeping focus. My world was spinning, but I kept going, I knew I could do this. Somewhere after mile 22 I blacked out. The next thing I knew, I woke up in an ambulance. They asked me if I knew what day it was, what month, what year. I couldn't answer. Did I know where I was? No. It was terrifying. They took me to the hospital. I peed in a cup - my pee was brown. Apparently, my kidneys had started to fail from dehydration. I could have cared less about what was wrong with my body. I was so ashamed. People had come to watch me finish my first marathon. And I had failed. I had told everyone I knew I was doing the marathon, and I couldn't even finish it. I wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out.
After being hooked up to an IV for a few hours at the hospital and a lot of tears, they sent me packing (after I promised to go see a doctor once I got back home to make sure I was recovering and there wasn't a bigger issue, there wasn't). The next day I stayed home from work, too embarrassed to face my co-workers who sent me off to Portland with such enthusiasm and good wishes.
I had a lot of defeating thoughts go through my mind after that race. I thought that this whole ordeal just meant that I wasn't actually a runner. I wasn't cut out for it, I wasn't good enough to be a marathoner. My body wasn't made for it. I thought about throwing away my running shoes. I was done. I was NOT a runner after all.
The next day we left for Maui. I don't know how long I would have been in that funk if we hadn't left for that trip to help distract me from the shame. Out of sheer habit, I packed running shoes, just in case we went hiking or something. After a marathon, you rest up for a few days to recover. By the end of that week, daydreaming about running along the beach, I laced back up. I was scared. I ran with a heavy heart still full of this thought that I was a total failure. During that pivotal run, it occurred to me that maybe I wasn't a failure after all. Maybe the biggest failure would be NOT lacing back up. Not trying again. Quitting the only thing that at that point in life had made total sense to me. Running was how I worked through my problems, found my strength, found confidence. Why would I quit something that gave me so much? I decided I would try again 6 months later. And I did. And I finished. I wore the shirt of the marathon I didn't finish and got redemption, in my book.
I know so many of us fear failure. It's scary to sign up for races that seem impossible. What if I can't do it? What if it's too hard? All I have to say is that I encountered what I thought would be the worst thing that could happen. Failing. I HAVE A DNF (did not finish). It happened. I can't say I'm happy about it, but I got over it and got better because of it. Why waste your life not doing things because, what if we can't do it? Why would you NOT start something because you're too scared you can't finish? Fucking ridiculous. Go big. Don't waste your life away playing it safe. You'll end up with far more regrets than failing.
“Our greatest glory is not in never falling but in rising every time we fall.” – Confucius
When I was 23 I was starting to consider myself a "runner". I had run a lot of half marathons and realized that it was time to conquer a full marathon. I picked a race, a training plan, and got going. I did not miss a SINGLE training run. I ran 6 days a week, hit every single mile on my long runs, got a lot faster, and more confident in my running. My sister and I headed down to Portland with my family, Isaac, and two of my best friends. I woke up on race day scared but ready. I had put in the time, done the work, and was injury free.
That morning was rainy and a little chilly. I had been running at 5am everyday, so I wore what I'd typically wear on those runs. This was my first mistake - I overdressed. I should have worn at least one less layer.
We started running. I noticed some fatigue in my shoulders around mile 3 and shook it off as nerves. I was sweating pretty heavily, but it was raining, so I figured that would help counteract my body temp and I didn't want to ruin mine and my sister's matching outfits for the race and take off a layer. Back then, I didn't really understand endurance nutrition. I ran to not get fat - why would I eat while I was running? I packed only about 200 calories for the race and figured I would eat a couple Gu's along the way (100cal each). During Ironman, I learned that I need to take in calories every 30-45 minutes, which I certainly did not do during my first marathon.
By mile 13, I was exhausted. I lied and told my sister that I needed to stop to pee so I could get a bit of a break. I did not even have enough liquid in my system to pee anything. This was my second mistake - not recognizing how dehydrated I was. I was dizzy, but I was NOT going to stop running. By mile 20, it became clear that I wasn't going to be able to keep up with my sister. I asked her to go ahead and I'd meet her at the finish line. I slowed down my pace, but had a hard time keeping focus. My world was spinning, but I kept going, I knew I could do this. Somewhere after mile 22 I blacked out. The next thing I knew, I woke up in an ambulance. They asked me if I knew what day it was, what month, what year. I couldn't answer. Did I know where I was? No. It was terrifying. They took me to the hospital. I peed in a cup - my pee was brown. Apparently, my kidneys had started to fail from dehydration. I could have cared less about what was wrong with my body. I was so ashamed. People had come to watch me finish my first marathon. And I had failed. I had told everyone I knew I was doing the marathon, and I couldn't even finish it. I wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out.
After being hooked up to an IV for a few hours at the hospital and a lot of tears, they sent me packing (after I promised to go see a doctor once I got back home to make sure I was recovering and there wasn't a bigger issue, there wasn't). The next day I stayed home from work, too embarrassed to face my co-workers who sent me off to Portland with such enthusiasm and good wishes.
I had a lot of defeating thoughts go through my mind after that race. I thought that this whole ordeal just meant that I wasn't actually a runner. I wasn't cut out for it, I wasn't good enough to be a marathoner. My body wasn't made for it. I thought about throwing away my running shoes. I was done. I was NOT a runner after all.
The next day we left for Maui. I don't know how long I would have been in that funk if we hadn't left for that trip to help distract me from the shame. Out of sheer habit, I packed running shoes, just in case we went hiking or something. After a marathon, you rest up for a few days to recover. By the end of that week, daydreaming about running along the beach, I laced back up. I was scared. I ran with a heavy heart still full of this thought that I was a total failure. During that pivotal run, it occurred to me that maybe I wasn't a failure after all. Maybe the biggest failure would be NOT lacing back up. Not trying again. Quitting the only thing that at that point in life had made total sense to me. Running was how I worked through my problems, found my strength, found confidence. Why would I quit something that gave me so much? I decided I would try again 6 months later. And I did. And I finished. I wore the shirt of the marathon I didn't finish and got redemption, in my book.
I know so many of us fear failure. It's scary to sign up for races that seem impossible. What if I can't do it? What if it's too hard? All I have to say is that I encountered what I thought would be the worst thing that could happen. Failing. I HAVE A DNF (did not finish). It happened. I can't say I'm happy about it, but I got over it and got better because of it. Why waste your life not doing things because, what if we can't do it? Why would you NOT start something because you're too scared you can't finish? Fucking ridiculous. Go big. Don't waste your life away playing it safe. You'll end up with far more regrets than failing.
“Our greatest glory is not in never falling but in rising every time we fall.” – Confucius
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