Today's post comes from one of our owners - Adam Condit - originally posted at adamcondit.com as a race report from the Waldo 100k Trail Race in Oregon.

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Why Failure Matters (2024 Waldo 100k)

Failure is inevitable & incredibly valuable ...

Transparency with failure is essential ...

Your failures are not the end of who you are ...

It was just the most awful race I’d ever started. I wanted to seriously drop for the last 40 miles. Full leg cramps, stomach-emptying barfing, dizziness, much walking / hiking, it seemed like a disaster from ~ mile 20 to the end (mile 62). But I came away thankful it happened. Yes, I said thankful. Humble pie never tastes good, but it can be nourishing; and trust me, I had a triple portion that day. Feelings of embarrassment & imposter syndrome setting in. Tears. Upset we made the long trip for it all to just blow up in front of the whole family. But it was at mile 45, when all my cards were on the table – exhausted, depleted, cramping, seriously doubting myself if I could make the last (largest) 2500’ climb, and slumped in a chair sipping Coke – where I had a bit of clarity of why we were all there …

They were all there to see dad fail. And failing I was … I walked in hours past the split times they expected to see me. This wasn’t the runner they’ve come to know setting records or winning other races. And I was there to show them that failure isn’t the end. In fleeting moments of clarity, I tried to explain I was sorry this was taking too long but we still have a great day and reasons to celebrate. Despite all the difficulty, we are still so blessed. Running through the woods is kind of silly compared to other hardships in our world, yes? Some aren’t able to run even 10 miles or 1 mile or run at all. My own father showed me how to ride bikes in the mountains and ran his first marathon 6 years ago at age 64, but currently can do neither. Some aren’t able to travel or enjoy these beautiful mountains with loved ones. I don’t know if I was speaking coherently or if it made sense, but I tried to express the beauty we still have in our pain and I was trying to believe it myself. With a shoe change and dry clothes I labored on with my super-pacer Joe and a mile down the road I actually started to believe what I had said …

Perspective can be everything. If you would have told me I can hike & run another 5 hours in the middle of the gorgeous Willamette National Forrest with an old college buddy, I would take that deal ten times out of ten. Some miles came easier and we plotted on with talks of growing older, 90’s pop music, the good ‘ol days, deep truths of our current world, frivolous college jokes, and everything in between. There were also miles of silence, suffering, more puking, rain and wind pounding us as we rose above the treeline. I was with Joe again, a cherished trail buddy that helped me in my pain 10 years ago at Western States.

I was also with dad. He’s in memory care. He’s declined. He’s no longer able to come watch. He’s pushing through hard things and would give everything to be in the mountains again, so how could I truly ask to be taken off the mountain with a DNF (did not finish)? I cherish the long suffering miles out there as I was still “in control” of my pain to a certain extent when so many in this life aren’t. And my suffering did end. We came across the last few miles and I could run again as my brain finally allowed my body to go knowing it would all be over soon. The most beautiful single track of the day with the sun poking through the evergreens. A gift. Those last miles will be in my heart forever. Kids raising their arms as I came in sight of the finish. I held on to three extra gummy bears the last 7 miles as a small token of “thanks for staying out here too many hours” … I gave them to the kids after we crossed the finishline and their eyes lit up as if they had won ten million dollars. Unencumbered pure joy as the sun started to set. This is the good stuff. The narrow way, the rocky trail, the pain that comes with the joy set before us. The package deal of pain and joy is where God meets us and where Jesus showed us His true self. Living for simple comforts can be fleeting, thin, and shallow whereas the paradox of painful joy is deep and where I love to be. That’s why I keep going back to the mountains despite not being as good at these longer events as the shorter. As much as the body gets crushed, my spirit was filled as I hobbled to the car. After a burrito and small talk, the best I could put it to Joe and the family was … “it was such an awful and terrible race, but still a great day”.

2 big takeaways / actions / applications:

Transparency in failure. Show your kids, friends, family, employees, co-workers your failures. It’s humbling but necessary to build trust. I often want my kids to see me as superman and for everybody to “just behave”, but I think my best parenting moments are when something’s gone wrong and I’m able to talk in terms of my own failures, struggle and missing the mark. I sometimes want them to just “be more patient”, but it’s when I’m able to say, “you know you need to have more patience, but you also know dad is working on patience / anger / frustration too, yes? I know this fight because I’ve fought it longer than you.” … or the inevitable … “I’ve failed you in these (specific) ways and I need to say I’m sorry. I need your forgiveness for … “. Modeling growth through failure speaks to the heart and builds trust whereas outlining rules simply speaks to our behaviors. Behavior modification is not the goal. Grace, love, and compassion despite our failure is the goal because that's the good gospel of Jesus.
Failures aren’t the end, it’s what we do next. After we were done with the disastrous race-day, we got up the next morning and had the time of our lives at Crater Lake National Park. I was in heaven. A new “happy place” for me with beauty and joy once again. We moved on with our lives so quickly that I kind of forgot I had an awful race or any race at all. This failure didn’t define me and the rest of vacation was incredible. Euphoric. Much needed. I used to sulk for days or weeks after a terrible race in high school or college (which usually meant running ~30 seconds slower than expected) … I’m so proud to say I finished a healthy 5+ hours later than expected and still look back at Oregon thinking “what a blast we had!!!” and “that race was kinda weird, oh well, let’s move on”

What Happened? What’s Next?

Speaking of moving on … what actually happened and what’s next? For the running geeks out there that care if this was nutritional, mental, stress, fitness, training … I’m still evaluating what led to this, but my first inclinations (and Joe’s) have to do more with the nervous system as a primary culprit. After sleeping 45 minutes one night in the airport with travel delays, “normal travel” stress, elevation, fire smoke, a double dose of work-life stress, a new nutrition plan, and more, I think my brain and nervous system kind of freaked out when it realized we were doing a mountain ultra again. My brain literally tried to stop me many times (cramps & rejecting nutrition), but everything was “runnable” on parts of the course when my brain was happy & tempered. After every big trial and terrible ultra I’ve run, I’ve actually had an incredible success story later that month or year. What’s next? I’m not sure yet and not rushing back into training. After more thinking and praying, instead of walking away from ultras, I can already feel a hunger for something longer which is a good sign.

Randomness

Thanks again for all the support and for reaching this point if you’ve gotten this far. Below are some of my favorite quick memories along the trail. I never want to forget them as each day / race is different, so I’ll write them down…

Josh Garrels “Home” was the song stuck in my head on the drive to the start with my wife.
Spilling my first package of UCAN mix everywhere in the bathroom at the startline :/
Great easy miles in the dark / headlamps with the “quiet” of 5-6 runners plodding together
AS captain and crew at The Twins AS both times … joy seeing them at the finish and how surprised they were when I told them I actually finished. “Wait, you did?” hahaha
See kids and wife at each aid station – invaluable for the spirit.
Joe and I shared a can of Coke at each AS … Nerble!
Joe reminded me past 50 miles “this is the part of the ultra where you just have to treat your body like a toddler … it doesn’t want to do it, but it will. There, you have your snacks and bottle, now get to the car!” … “LIFE’S NOT FAIR! THIS IS BULL**IT!” … we had some great laughs
The hike up Maiden Peak we talked of the gift and gratitude that we each both had, somehow got into a helpful discourse on politics, and talked much of grit and delayed gratification as the rain and puking started back up.
Joe had all the classic pacer mini talks “you can drop at the NEXT aid station” … “just keep remembering you chose to be here” … “I’m going to the finish no matter what. 4 hours, 8 hours, I don’t care. You may as well come with me and just finish this ********* thing!” … “yeah, my hands are swollen too … my right hip is tighter than my left too.” … he knew when to call me on my whining and when to let the real grief breathe a bit. A pro on the course (runner up at this race in years past!) and personal world-class PT / masseuse, I had the best support out there bar none. Yes, I laid on the gravel road with a towel at one point while he stretched me ??
The last miles. A gift of sun, trees, smooth trail, and running in with Joe and the kids. Incredibly life-giving for me to have this memory with Scott Wolfe announcing on the mic and director Craig Thornly handing over the coolest looking running hat I’ve ever seen. It’s mostly green, my wife’s favorite color, and salmon / orange, my favorite color. It was in my possession for about 5 seconds before I gave it to my Alicia – the smallest token of appreciation for putting up with my walk through the woods as she managed the driving / crewing / kids all day.