Dealing with Disappointment

As I mentioned in my post about the Rock 'n' Roll St Louis half marathon, I had a mediocre race that ended in a PR that I probably didn't deserve. But what if it were the other way around? What if I had trained my butt off, had perfect race conditions, fought for a super PR, and fell short? It wouldn't have been the first (or second or third or fourth...) time that I'd fallen short of a goal, and it happens to everyone sooner or later.

I met very few setbacks as a swimmer in middle school and high school. I did suffer from one potentially career-ending injury, but I did lots of rehab and made the tough (but correct) choice to skip half of a swim season. That same year, I had the goal of qualifying for the PIAA state championships as a high school freshman. I worked insanely hard for the second half of the season and I did end up qualifying for states. I met every major goal that I set for myself over the next few years. One time, I wanted to make it back to the finals in a big swim meet but missed the cut by one place...only to find out that a girl ahead of me had been disqualified (i.e. I was bumped up and did indeed swim in finals). A lot of my swimming went like that: part of my success was luck, and a larger part was just plain old hard work, killing myself in the pool and weight room every. damn. day. (like those Nike ads, except, you know, real).

In college, my all-consuming goal was to be an All-American. To be an All-American, you have to go to the NCAA National Championships and place in the top 16 in an event. I had a great freshman year and provisionally qualified for NCAAs, which means that my time was below the consideration cut but fell short of being fast enough to be invited to the meet. I was disappointed, but I knew I had three years to improve.

And then the same thing happened sophomore year.

And then the same thing happened junior year.

And then, my senior year, I had a shot. My relay snuck into NCAAs as the last invited team, and I was stoked. I had a crazy-talented group of ladies on my relay, I was swimming best times (aka PRs in runner-speak) without even tapering, and I ready to cap off my senior year with one of those storybook comebacks that are in every inspiration sports movie ever made. I was about to star in my own version of Miracle.

Training for nationals was awful. I felt like I was swimming through jello, and I was sluggish at every practice. I wasn't too concerned, because I knew it would all work out in the end. It always did.

We got to the meet, swam our race, and JUST missed placing high enough to be All-Americans.

I've never been someone to cry after a race, or talk about life being "unfair," or throw hissy fits in general, so I'm ashamed to say that I had about 5 minutes of insane corner-of-the-locker-room bawling before I was able to get it together. Everything felt OMG-SO-UNFAIR, and I was too immature in those emotional post-race moments to remember to behave like a human being.

I'm not proud of how broken-up I was over that one bad race. I had everything in the world to be thankful for, and I lost perspective for a little while. I felt insane, immature, and ashamed as soon as I came to my senses. My coaches and teammates asked me how I was doing, and I was able to look them in the eyes and tell them that I was truly disappointed, but life goes on. I was thankful to have had a chance after four years of failure. I was thankful for the fact that I had a healthy body that let me swim at all. I had both a "real" family and a swimmer family that I loved to death. I had food to eat and water to drink and a place to sleep at night. Thinking about all of the truly wonderful and important things in my life made me feel so small and selfish for worrying about something as comparatively insignificant as being an All-American. That's not to say that being an All-American isn't an amazing accomplishment - it is a HUGE deal - but I'm disappointed that I let it consume my life to the extent that it did.

It's been a while since NCAAs, and I've thought a lot about how the experience changed me. I still feel sorry for myself sometimes, and that's ridiculous. Why? Because my exclusion from the NCAA podium wasn't at all unfair. I had thought - mistakenly - that my hard work meant that I was owed something by the universe. But really, what made me more deserving than anyone else? Absolutely nothing. Whether the girls on the other teams had worker harder, trained smarter, or just had a better race by chance, they had all beaten me. Fair and square.

I don't know why it took me 21 years to learn this, but sometimes you will truly work as hard as you can and you will fall short of your goals. It happens. It sucks. And that doesn't mean that "waaahhh life is unfair," it just means that you have to get up from the floor, dust yourself off, and face your work/training/life with renewed determination and grit. Make yourself stronger instead of complaining about what went wrong. I did a terrible job of that at NCAAs, but I can guarantee you that every failure since then has been different. I'd encourage you to take a similar attitude - work hard, set big goals, don't be afraid to fail, and then work harder. At the same time, be thankful for the amazing things in your life that have nothing to do with work or sports. With an attitude like this, even your failures will be more graceful and inspiring than the successes of many, many other people.

And to end on a high note: Luckily, the girls on my relay team had qualified in other events in which they DID make All-American. They were (and remain to be) incredible, and are some of the most decorated athletes in the history of our school. Those ladies take hard work to a whole new level, and they still motivate me on a daily basis. I'll tell you more about them someday so you can be hella-inspired too :)