Failure is Feedback!

I have been “racing” for five years. I use the term “racing” loosely. I started walking, then running, then participating in triathlons after deciding during the Covid lockdown days of commuting from the couch to the dining room, that I needed to get out and do something. But I’m slow. I finish in the bottom half, at best. Yesterday was the first time, though, that I DNF’d a race. It was a 10-mile run through a mainly downhill or flat, shady and scenic route along the river. It was lovely. And my knee decided that she was only willing to give me five miles- no more. I tried to coax a slow jog, even a shuffle. Nope. We were done. So I walked until I found someone who could help me get back to my car so I could drive home- no medal or celebratory banana in hand. 

I failed. Until now, even if I was nearly last, I had finished. But this time I failed to finish. I keep a poster in my office or classroom- wherever I’m working- that says, “Failure is feedback.” So I asked myself, “What did I learn from this failure?” I wonder, at this point, if anyone is saying, “No! You didn’t fail! You got out there and did it!” It’s ok. I had a goal to run 10 miles, and I did not. I failed. If can’t claim that failure, I don’t get the benefit of the learning. So I ask, what did I learn? I learned that, while downhills are fun, they are hard on the knees. And my knees come from a long line of knees that have not lasted the life of the human they belong to. So, I learned that I need to strengthen the muscles around my knees much more intentionally than I have been doing. Great. What else? 

Did I learn not to bite off more than I can chew? Nope. I’ve got two other big races coming up this season. Alright. What else then? Did I learn to push through and get to the end? Also, nope. I was certain that if I kept trying, that I would truly blow out my knee, and I’d be done for the rest of the season. And, I didn’t have either the time nor the bandwidth to walk the other five miles. Fine. So, what else did I learn? 

What else? That’s the coaching question that we don’t always give time for. When we’re trying to get someone to plumb the depths of their own resources, we too often settle for the response, “That’s all I can think of.” It’s more comfortable than allowing for the extended moment of silence. But what lies on the other side of that silence what what we’ve been waiting for. The real answer to the question, “What did I learn from this failure?” 

I’m not sure I’ve figured out yet my real learning from that DNF. So I keep asking, “What else?”