When last we spoke, I was in the midst of a pseudo midlife crisis at 56, unsure what to do in the face of the situation I was in and the choices in front of me. I decided at that time that I was going to proceed with the original plan, which was to run a 100-mile (160-km) race in Ancaster, Ontario on May 25 that had been on my schedule for a year, despite the prevailing noise and uncertainty surrounding my knee.

I should also mention that I had my first appointment with the second specialist two days before my run and, after expressing my future lifestyle desires and discussing the pros and cons of the various options in front of me, we collectively decided that the best course of action for me was to have surgery to repair my knee, followed by 3-4 months of relative inactivity. The surgery would occur in the upcoming weeks.

So what kind of idiot decides one day to have surgery on a damaged knee and then goes out two days later and tries to run a 160-km ultramarathon? I am…sigh…that idiot.

Now in my defence and for full transparency, I had no dreams of finishing the race. I just longed to feel the same pre-race preparations, excitement, and anxieties one last time before going under the knife and to compete regardless of the outcome. I also knew I was going to beat myself up all weekend if I quit and didn’t participate, and the self-loathing was going to be far worse than any pain and stiffness in my knee, so I packed up the car and drove 7 hours to Ancaster. One of my best friends, Jeff, who lives in nearby Toronto, agreed to meet me at the race site and set up camp and see me through the weekend. The weather looked beautiful and sunny for the duration, and at very least we’d be drinking beer in the sun like yard apes at our campsite when (and not if) I failed in my run.

My race strategy was simple and consisted of 3 Steps:

1. Start at the very back of the pack
2. Go slow and see what happens
3. Quit (decisively) when it’s time to bail out

Step 1 was achieved to perfection, as you can see from the photo. I slithered through the crowd prior to the start of the race and reached the back of the pack. There were no expectations from this position. I was just an old, broken man hoping to go as far as he could without further damaging himself.

Step 2 happened organically with my physical limitations and anxieties about further damaging myself resulting in a very cautious pace, and I finished the first 20-km loop on this challenging course in about 2 hours and 50 minutes, which was a full 40 minutes behind my first-lap pace from 2023 when I completed the 100-km race. To make matters worse, it had been raining torrentially since the start of the race and the trails became very muddy, further diminishing my confidence and increasing the risk of a spill. Despite this and the growing stiffness in my knee, I decided to attempt to complete a second 20-km loop.

It had been five months since my last competitive run, which is an eternity for me and the hectic race schedule I’ve kept for years. It had also been a long while since I enjoyed a run so freely and I often caught myself smiling and laughing and being so thankful to be able to do the things I do. The truth was that I was finally at peace with the things to come, so when the adult in the room finally woke up towards the end of my second loop and enacted Step 3 after well over 6 hours of running and over 40 kilometers of completed distance, there was no tragedy or funeral. I came here to compete, to experience, to enjoy, to do the best that I could given the circumstances surrounding my condition and, ultimately, I came here to fail. And I did all of the above, and in failure I feel like I succeeded immeasurably.

My views on failure are well documented, and I believe that failure is an essential component of personal and professional development. Failure also serves as fuel for the fire of ambition. Predictably, and fully aligned with my competitive nature, this failure has left a slight bitter taste in my mouth that will serve as added motivation to get me through my surgery and recovery and rehabilitation and hopefully to get back on the trails with a clean bill of health in the very near future. This old and weathered Phoenix must first crumble to be reborn from the ashes, and I’m eager to go under the knife and to get on with the next steps.

And wow, those post-failure beers were enjoyable.