Reframing Failure.
Me on my final push to Canmore, AB on the 2017 AR700 where I would scratch.
Photo by Jamie King
I’ve been thinking a lot about failure lately. Failure is defined as a lack of success or the inability to meet an expectation or to reach a predetermined goal.
I was watching my 8 year old son’s growing frustration one day while we were playing a video game together. I tired to calm him down and explained to him that, the next time we played the game, I bet he would be better. He’s just learning and the only way to get better is to keep trying, or to put it another way, to keep failing. Now he’s better than me at this game and I have to admit, I’m a little frustrated by that!! I’m over it though.
I can remember when I first started mountain biking back in the 90’s. Cleaning climbs were a big thing back in the day. We’d go and find the steepest climb we could possibly do without looping out and try over and over again to conquer the challenge. In my teens, I remember going to a grass roots event in Ontario with a group of friends and watching them compete on a hill climb. Funny how things change as now athletes are hurling themselves off of cliffs, instead of climbing up them.
Hill climbing is a skill, it’s not just grabbing a low gear and grinding it out, it’s weight and power distribution, balance, where you look, the position of your head, the tread pattern or your tire, tire pressure, adapting to changes in terrain, surface traction, etc. Until you fail and fail again, you’ll never learn all the nuances involved. As an avid mountain biker I can attest to failing over and over again, crashing, going over the bars, looping out onto my back, falling off of high skinny logs, smashing my nuts into the stem. Now cycling has become almost autonomic. In many cases, certain skills are so innate that almost no thought is required. Also, as a 51 year old athlete, I have decided to forgo the stunts and leave that to the youngin’s. Tricks are for kids, as the saying goes.
The skills we have to learn aren’t just related to sports or video games. There are skills required in all aspects of our life. Being a good husband, father, brother, son, friend, communicator. This exhaustible list goes on and on. If you look back on your life to reflect on some impactful event that you didn’t succeed at, you’ll see what I mean and just how these failures can set us up for fear and anxiety later in life and how, if we don’t learn from our failures, we will repeat these patterns over and over again.
We need to reframe failure and not attach ourselves to it. We need to set reasonable expectations and always have plan B’s. For instance, in a big endurance effort, we look at the route and plan accordingly. We scour the distances between towns, map out resupply locations and their hours of operation. We set expectations about how long it will take to get from here to there. We may even plan what we’re going to eat when we get there, wherever there is. This has to be a loose plan. There has to be some margin of error so when a certain goal isn’t reached, it can be reframed as part of the adventure. This can be the difference between throwing in the towel or just taking a deep breath of acceptance and moving on.
The problem is that we can read too much into failure. Too often, we tie it to our sense of self-worth, self-esteem, and self-acceptance. By preparing ourselves for the what ifs, you’re reframing the effort and giving yourself some breathing room. Anything can happen. A resupply taking longer than planned, a mechanical, weather, wildlife, fatigue. Perhaps you loiter to rest and recover or talk to a fellow athlete. All of these things can set you back or rather delay your effort, to use more positive language.
After the first 165km of the Tour Divide, when I arrived at Crossing Creek and the notorious Koko Claims Pass, I hesitated. I felt the desire to move forward, but I knew there was a long long way to go on the Divide. Should I burn a few more matches and keep riding, or should I ignore the voices in my head and rest. I decided to stop and camp. That was a trip, as usually I would push through the night and zombie pedal through the next day, likely at a slower pace than If I were to have rested.
I did have a plan. I planned to ride to Fernie but knew as an off the couch athlete, who has been struggling with injury since the racing I had done the summer before, this didn’t seem to be setting myself up for success. Sure if this were a shorter event, I could have pushed through, skipped sleep and just pay the price later, but I know my body. I have learned to listen and block the ego out.
Did I fail to reach my day one goal? On my very first day of the Divide, did I give up too soon and quit, for lack of a better word. I don’t think I did. For me, personally, it was a victory. I awoke early the next day, refreshed and still mobile, with a full tank of gas for Koko, the Wall and to get to Fernie feeling great and ready for more.
For me it was a growth opportunity. It was certainly a test of will which ended up being the foundation onto which I would build upon for a successful completion of what is supposed to be the most difficult bike race in the world.
This experience would happen again and again over the next 27 days. One of the the most challenging parts of riding the Divide, was sitting at a Subway filled with other riders all discussing what was going to happen as soon as the last crumb of their Foot Long Pro was consumed. Yes, they have an FL Pro in the states. Double the meat! I watched riders stand and hastily chug the last few mouthfuls of soda ready to saddle up and ride. Meanwhile, my mind was exploding with contradiction. Should I go? Yeah, maybe I should go… But I haven’t washed my chamois for days. Plus I already got a room. I could get a refund right? Could I? Man that bed is going to feel so good. Looks like a storm is brewing! I’ll stay. Should I stay?
Watching the riders ride away was hard. One part of me felt like a failure, the other knew deep down that this was the right decision for me and would enable me to ride further and faster the next day. Often times, I would catch those riders over the next day or so anyway, so really, all the mental energy consumed worrying about what other people thought about my decision was moot.
But I digress. Despite not finishing in my goal time of 21 days, which after day one seemed unreasonable for me, did I fail? No. I won the personal challenge of reframing the adventure for the person for whom it matters the most. Myself. When I returned home after the Divide, I felt ultimately successful. I finished the route on my rookie year. While people were getting hauled out of Canada with Hypothermia, I persevered. I made calculated decisions that best fit my ultimate goal, which was to finish the damn thing. By stepping back and reframing my adventure I was able to learn lessons that I would take into the event the next time.
Wait… The next time?
