Without failure, there would be no life lessons to be learned. We're supposed to learn from our mistakes. Even the minor mistakes that people make every day can be considered small failures. Those mistakes teach us how to learn, grow, and improve ourselves. Without failure, life would be boring. I'm not a philosopher and I don't know the meaning of life, but during my thirty-three years on this planet, I've developed a set of beliefs. Among them is the belief that life is about having ups and downs. Can you imagine living in a world with only success and no failure? What reason would we have for celebrating anything? If it weren't for failure, we wouldn't even understand the concept of success. We need the downs in our lives to celebrate the ups. Without failure, there would be no success. That goes for businesses, sports organizations, and everyone as individuals. Most successful organizations have as many failures as they do successes. Take SoftBank, for example. The investment conglomerate has taken billions of dollars in hits from failed investments, especially in recent years. Yet, their annual revenue has been rising year over year and reached nearly eighty-seven billion dollars in 2019. Think about how many games hockey teams lose season after season before winning the Stanley Cup. A very successful person who I really look up to once told me after one of my failures "At least you went for it. You have to take chances in life to succeed". Without failure, there would be no cool stories to tell. Think about how many great movies out there have plots based on overcoming failure (8 Mile, the Rocky movies, Anchorman, etc.). Not only does failure teach us valuable life lessons, but it can definitely lay the foundation for an entertaining story. So, if I hear someone say "failure is not an option" I don't buy into it for a second. It's complete rubbish.
Whoever the moron is that thought it would be a good idea to apply this silly expression to everyday life probably conceived the idea with the notion in mind that failure is the end of the road. If the CEO of a company is removed from her position by the company's board of directors, her career is destroyed. Or if a jazz musician gives a lousy performance because his saxophone is out of tune and his mouthpiece is squeaky, he'll pack up his instrument and never play it again. This is not the case. Failure is not the end of the road. In fact, in my mind, failing is a skill, and people can either be awesome or horrible at it. If you're horrible at it, you let it destroy your spirit, and before you know it you're pulling a Ron Burgundy, sitting in a bar with an unkempt beard, singing gibberish, and wandering around San Diego drinking milk on a hot summer day. But if you're awesome at it, you understand that life is 5% what happens to you and 95% how you react to it. You learn from your failure and overcome it through redemption. I've been through my fare share of failures in my life, and while I don't claim to be an expert at failing by any means, I've never allowed failure to kill my spirit.
The letters DNF mean only one thing to an ultrarunner; failure. The meaning of the term (Did Not Finish) is the only thing more daunting than the term itself. I've earned myself this status twice in my life as an ultrarunner. Interestingly enough, it was the same race both times, just in different years. My first DNF was at the 2017 Canyons 100K. It was my second ultramarathon, and I toed the starting line only eight months after completing my first 50K. The race proved to be substantially more difficult that I'd imagined. The first half went pretty well and I felt good, but I made a couple of major mistakes at the halfway point; I sat down for way to long, close to an hour. I had also eaten too much, and I had a big lump in my stomach by the time I got moving again. In addition to the mistakes I made at the midway point, my overall training had been deficient. By the time I hit mile forty-two, my quads couldn't contend with the downhill pressure anymore. I was in excruciating pain and I could barely shuffle twenty feet before I was forced to walk. I knew I had no chance in hell of making the cut off at the Rucky Chucky check point, six miles down the trail. When I finally arrived, sure enough, the volunteers reluctantly informed me that my race was over. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but I reminded myself that failure is not the end of the road. I wanted a rematch, so I trained harder and went back the following year. I had serious doubts about whether or not I could finish the race at the same point as I had fallen apart the year before, but this time, the outcome was different. I'll never forget that final climb up to Foresthill and the metal gate emerging in the darkness at the junction where the course leaves the trail for the final half mile stretch that is run on pavement. "You have eleven minutes to go a quarter of a mile!" the volunteer further down the road told me. A whole year's worth of frustration had suddenly melted away, and crossing the finish line was one of the most profound moments of my running career. My failure had become a success. When I DNF'ed at Canyons the second time in 2019, it was even more frustrating because I had finished the year before, and I made yet another major rookie mistake. Similar to 2017, I had a great first half, but despite the enormous winter we had in California that year, it was a hot day on race day, which was held in late April. I foolishly neglected to consume salt tablets, electrolytes, and salty snacks before the heat kicked in, and by the time I rolled into Rucky Chucky at mile forty-eight, I was dry heaving, suffering from heat related nausea, cramping up badly, and on the verge of puking. After drinking some soda and soup broth, I attempted to resume the race, but at the pace I was moving, it was a losing battle. I knew I wouldn't make the cutoff to the next aid station, so I made the painful decision to drop once again. This time I wanted blood. There was no way I was going to let this DNF define me as an ultrarunner, especially when I had finished the race the year before. To seek redemption, I signed up for the Bishop High Sierra 100K. This time I would take all of the proper steps to make sure my sodium levels were sufficient, and five weeks after my second DNF, I found myself running the final stretch of the Bishop High Sierra 100K shortly after the sun fell below the mountains on the horizon. I was so happy I was going to finish, I sang out loud to myself on the trail during that last mile, and crossed the finish line shortly before 9:30 PM.
My point is that when most people read or hear the word "failure" they flip the hell out. It seems we as people, are scared to death of failure and it shouldn't be that way. We should expect failure and welcome it. We cannot put constant pressure on ourselves to make everything turn out perfectly. That is just irrational and unrealistic. Perhaps if we remember the benefits of failure such as learning life lessons and creating more reasons to celebrate success, we can learn to be more accepting of it in our society. We don't live in a perfect world. Yes, we should absolutely always plan for success, but if things don't go as planned, it's important to try again and not let the ramifications of failure pound us into submission. And that, my friends, is why, yes, failure is ALWAYS an option.
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