A few years back I put together an aggressive plan to complete a particularly difficult 125-km ultramarathon that had been on my to-do list. My ingenious plan to get across the finish line within the 29-hour cut-off time was to complete 2 other ultramarathons of similar difficulty and elevation change in the 8 weeks preceding my 125, to get me adjusted to the pain and suffering.

It was a dumbass plan in hindsight, I admit. I even recruited a couple of friends to join me to serve as my support team. They would travel by car to various aid stations along the way and throughout the night in the mountains to mule some of the gear required to complete such an undertaking. My plan involved meticulously preparing bags for each aid station and developing a procedure for my team to work with me and my crazy emotions at various stages of the run. I went as far as to rehearse all the gripes, grievances, and self-doubt I was likely to convey to my team at each station and scripted how they should interact with me to follow the plan I put in place. In true entrepreneurial style, I treated this run as a project and prepared an awesome plan to achieve it, or so I thought.

I made it through the first two ultramarathons without too many scars, but by the time race day for my 125 came around, I was a shattered version of myself and the aggressive plan I put in place had me taping my body parts together. Trail running is not my bread and butter after all, and I lead a very busy life by any standard definition. Anyhow, I failed miserably in my 125 and tapped out a physically and mentally broken man a mere 8 hours into my run in the mountains. I was nauseous and unable to keep down water or food of any kind, and barely able to lift my left shoulder and use the trekking poles that are so valuable on these kinds of mountainous runs.

I was utterly devastated in the moment. Failure was not an option in my plan, and I had only once before conceded during a run. I had essentially persevered through whatever demonic shit was thrown my way in the past, but in this case I had 80 kilometers left and the rocky path ahead was going to be littered with my carcass. Not wanting to be bear food, I made the decision to quit. Me quitting was never part of the scenarios I’d rehearsed with my friends. They had clear instructions to follow if, for example, I didn’t look well at an aid station or I was nonsensical and spewing gibberish from my mouth but was adamant that I wanted to forge ahead. They were to engage in a rational discussion with me using a series of scripted questions to hopefully get me to see the light and acknowledge to myself that perhaps it was time to throw in the towel. But when I lifted my head after a particularly violent barfing episode that produced only bile and a few mouthfuls of soup at the first aid station and said “that’s it”, the look in their eyes was priceless as they sifted through the script looking for a response to a scenario that simply wasn’t there. I wasn’t supposed to be the one volunteering to quit.

But quit I did, and I never looked back with regret. Runners and entrepreneurs face failure all the time and there is no shame in this or reason to dwell. I’ve developed a pretty thick skin that allows me to dust myself off, learn lessons and turn the page on failures quickly with added knowledge and experience in my pocket. This is the key to my personal approach. Every failure is an opportunity to learn, and it is through adversity, failure, and learning that we become better versions of ourselves in all facets of life. There’s a lot to unpack in this story and probably a bunch of other things to delve into in future posts, but I can honestly say that I am a much better person in every way knowing that there is always a tomorrow.

Three weeks after my failed 125, I ran my fastest 42-km marathon in 5 years, and I followed that up by running an even faster marathon 4 weeks later. A mere 7 weeks after that I finished 29th overall and won my age group in a brutal marathon in the Nevada desert. Life always provides an opportunity for redemption. You simply need to get up off the mat and have the courage to claim it.

– Parc de la Gaspesie, Quebec