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| Objects in photo are more overheated than they appear. |
"Good judgment comes from experience, and experience comes from bad judgment."
-Mark Twain
I am a failure.
I will say that again, for emphasis, then ask you to think about the San Diego 100 in relationship to it.
I, Jimmy Freeman, am a failure. I have failed as a coach, I've failed as pacer/crew, and I failed as an Aid Station Captain. In some cases, I even failed to be a good friend (to many).
*pregnant pause*
Notice this: the moment I say (well, in this case write/type) the word failure, it brings up all sorts of thoughts and emotions for you. It's a super-charged word (especially in our society). You'll immediately feel a tendency to debate me ("No Jimmy, you are wrong, I have many reasons to prove you are indeed a success in these areas and here's why...") and some of you may agree with me wholeheartedly (which begs the question, why are you even reading this blog? Then again, maybe you heard through the grapevine that I was acknowledging my failure as a human and you wanted some emotional validation).
Consider that I don't sustain a normal relationship to the word/experience of failure. Me and failure are way outside-the-box. I love to fail. Failing means I'm challenging myself to the point that failure is a possibility. Many people avoid failure, and in turn fail to have epic life experiences because they keep themselves in a very tight box in life, relationships and athletic endeavors. So, those who fail (to complete a goal) have my deepest respect.
Now for what I intended to say. Know that I say the following while dealing with considerable concern (see: fear) for what may prove to be an unpopular opinion, as I'm taking aim at some general commentary I have heard for the last 2 days.
San Diego 100 2013 will be long remembered for many, many reasons. First and foremost, it was one of the lowest finishing rates in years. At a race that typically sees 65-70%+ finish, more than half DNF'd (178-starters, 96 DNF's 54%, 82 finishers 46%). Some may suggest "heat caused the high number of DNF's" and to each of them I would say bluntly and directly, "negative, dear friend, the heat had little to do with it". Think of it like this: if I showed up to a 100-mile race in the snow without a jacket, DNF'd from hypothermia, and cited the cold as the reason I didn't finish, while that would be an accurate statement, it would fail to reflect the full scope of what happened. A great many people failed yesterday, not because they weren't fit enough, not because they came from cold areas of the country or didn't heat train enough, and most certainly not because of the record heat for that race.
Life, and especially running 100-mile races, is all about adjusting to adversity. We can rarely anticipate what unique challenges life will throw our way, and how successful we are is relative not to the specific challenges we face, but how we face those challenges.
As the Aid Captain of the hottest section of the course in it's hottest year (on record) for this race, I saw people in all stages of disarray, dealing with those challenges in many different ways. As I examine the splits, and as I recall the many conversations with more than 50-athletes either 31 or 36 miles into that race, I was surprised to learn more than half the people in the race were drinking less fluid than I'd drink on a 60-degree day in the mountains, replacing less electrolytes than I might in a cold 30-degree mountain race, and most certainly not getting enough calories for the body functions to perform at an optimal level. Every mistake in a 100-miler, whether from lack of experience or pure strategic/tactical error (for example, having a great hydration/calorie/electrolyte strategy and failing to follow it), each of those mistakes is exacerbated by extreme distance and tough conditions. I saw very few adjustments being made to pacing plans and fluid/electrolyte/calorie strategies until much of the damage had been done. The heat was unusual, but not unprecedented for the area, it was just coincidental that it happened the exact day of the race.
Another major aspect of success (in life and racing) is attitude. What was common among San Diego 100-mile finishers was an unflappable attitude. While some were lamenting the heat, most of the 80-ish people who crossed the finish line made mid-race adjustments, put their heads down and did the work. I didn't hear a single complaint from a finisher about the heat. "Everyone had to race in the same conditions" was about the closest I got to an acknowledgement of those conditions from a finisher (and I talked to dozens of finishers).
Not everyone who DNF'd "did something horribly wrong" and likewise not a single person who finished "did everything right", so don't misinterpret what I'm saying here. 100-mile mountain running is at best, a messy activity filled with small and large (and sometimes horrifically ugly) mistakes, falling apart and putting ourselves back together (as quick as possible). Heat, altitude, mountains, distance are all separate challenges to be respected, equally, if one wants to be successful in this category of extreme endurance sports. Also, another little disclaimer below about how you should interpret my commentary here (thanks to Robert Harris for an awesome reminder of one of my favorite quotes)...
"It is not the [aid captain] who counts; not the [coach] who points out how the strong [runner] stumbles, or where the [100 miler] could have [run it] better. The credit belongs to the [runner] who is actually in the [race], whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to [finish the race]; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends him[/her]self in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if [s]he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his[/her] place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat."
-Theodore Roosevelt (w/slight JDF 100-mile
variation)
No matter how this weekend went for you, no matter what reasons had it be a tough day for you, ultimately, I'm impressed by anyone who attempts to do something so silly and profoundly challenging in the first place. Mad props and serious respect to the 178 of you who started, no matter where you ended up by Sunday morning!
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| David Villa-yotes on b-day run (following Frank) completing his 1st hundo |
The most moving story of the day that I know of (and one of the most impressive I've ever seen/heard of) was the race of Tina Ure, who walked with a guy (to protect his identity I'll call him Brian) for the better part of 3-hours, then sat with him for a long while at our checkpoint. Brian was having severe heat issues and was brought to the care of medical personnel where they treated him for over an hour. Tina didn't leave his side until his condition greatly improved and we notified her of course closure in a compassionate, but 'last call for alcohol' sorta way. She started doing the math on the splits to stay ahead of cutoff times and I could tell she was about to run herself straight into the ground. After we talked about the cutoffs, she was pleased to hear she was a full hour off in her calculations. She ran the rest of the race like she ignored my suggestion that she take it easy and not run like a bat-outta-hell (even though she was indeed running outta hell). At Mile 36, she was 15-min post "closing time" and she finished the race in 29-hours, 1-minute with nearly 3-hours to spare. Super, duper, uber mad props to you Tina. I'd be lying if I said I won't be using your compassionate performance as inspiration in a future race when I'm struggling.
