The Only Way to Fail is to not Try
I’m 22, in a new city, and I have no friends.
I moved to Syracuse because of my participation in a post-grad year-of-service program. I fell in love with the city, my housemates, and my job. After our one year of service, my housemates all moved on to different cities, programs, and jobs. I was now in a new apartment and everyone I knew... gone. I was terrified, lonely, and depressed. On one particular Saturday where I was feeling extraordinarily listless and lost, I had the bright idea to run a half marathon.
To give you context, I’m not an athlete nor a runner. I wasn’t built for physical activity. My body said I could run if being chased but I like lots of pizza. But on that Saturday, I needed to do something. I needed a goal, something to train for, something to accomplish and be proud of. I googled races near me and found the Syracuse Half. I signed up immediately. I had four months before the race and I had time to train. I didn’t tell a soul I was running or training. I was so afraid of what they thought or would say. Too afraid to face anyone, I kept my plans to myself.
The next day, I put on some old tennis shoes and ran up and down my street. It was awful and hard and everything hurt. But I did it. I was so proud. I wish I could say my training took off and I was climbing my mileage week to week but the truth is that was the only time I ran before my half marathon. I don’t have any good excuses for why I didn’t train but I have plenty of bad ones: the weather wasn’t 60 and overcast, my shoes didn’t match my outfit, I hadn’t gotten my full eight hours of sleep. I was unmotivated, and afraid of failing.
The day of the race came and I was dressed to run the 2016 Syracuse Half Marathon. I wasn’t trained, it was snowing so hard I looked more like a snowman than a runner, but nonetheless, I lined up, bib pinned on, tightened my laces, and said to myself “I will finish this.”
I ran, walked, shuffled, cried some, really anything I could do to keep moving forward. I was running alone and one of the only runners left on the course, my legs screamed at me to stop, my whole body felt heavy. 3 hours and 36 minutes later I finished. I hobbled to the car, texted family and friends what I had just accomplished. They were thrilled and like myself beaming with pride.
In the following days, I recovered with the tried and true method of Big Macs, rest, and stretching. I chatted with a friend, and they asked me why I didn’t tell anyone. They wanted to be part of my big day and sad that they didn’t have an opportunity to cheer me on and support me. The truth… I didn’t tell anyone about my endeavor or the training leading up to it because I was scared. Scared I would fail, or not finish, and knew I couldn’t face anyone if I had. It was heartbreakingly true - the thought of not finishing or being picked up on the course or just quitting because it was too hard - I couldn’t stand it. I got some great words of encouragement that day. My friend told me the only way I could ever fail is if I didn’t try.
To this day that piece of advice is still one of the most valuable pieces of advice I have ever been given. I couldn’t fail because I was trying. It was a freeing thought to know that if I finished, quit, was picked up by a sweeper or any of the other hundreds of outcomes that were possible, that it was okay. I had gone out, gave it my best shot and as long as I tried I couldn’t fail.
Don’t worry I learned my lesson. I learned the value of training, and have participated in Fleet Feet’s No Boundaries, Distance, and FFXT training programs. I have become a better runner and athlete, completed marathons, and even became an ultrarunner. Failure can be paralyzing and it can be an oppressive weight to bear, but if we remember that failure is fleeting as long as we continue to try… Try to be better versions of ourselves as people, runners, and athletes.
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