Mar/Apr 2012 - Level Renner

Lane 3 Commentary Olympic Trials
Dealing with Disappointment
The Marathon Olympic Trials
by Brett Ely
I recently watched the ESPN special
The Brady 6; it focuses on the 2000
NFL draft in which Tom Brady was selected
199 th , the sixth quarterback
picked. It’s a story of triumph, of the
underdog rising to favorite status
while the five ahead of him faltered or
floundered in mediocrity. But what
struck me wasn’t the happy ending for
our own #12. It was seeing Tom
Brady, the handsome multi-millionaire
with 3 Superbowl rings and supermodel
wife, still brought to tears remembering
the disappointment, hurt,
and rejection of those first 198 picks.
And it struck me in that moment: he
isn’t successful despite being pick
199, he’s successful because of it.
We’re driven by our disappointments,
and we carry them longer and deeper
than any victory.
Mine, too, was supposed to be a story
of triumph. It was outlined in my mind
before it ever unfolded: the smart,
patient runner flying under the radar,
then quietly destroying the field at the
Pan Am Games. The impressive turnaround
in twelve short weeks leading
to an even better marathon at the
Olympic Trials. The feeling that every
mile, every interval, every coolly calculated
decision were all leading to a
perfect, shining moment at the finish
line. But this isn’t that story. This is
reality. This is the marathon in all its
gut-wrenching glory.
Most of my past few years of running
have been focused on the 2012 U.S.
Olympic Team Trials. I had no delusions
of finishing in the top three, but
still, I felt like I had another level to
climb and was motivated to make that
jump. One big, exciting wrench was
thrown in my plans, though. I accepted
a spot on the US team for the Pan
American Games (October 2011 in
Guadalajara, Mexico), knowing that
I’d be attempting something I never
had: 4 marathons in 13 months. Nonetheless,
the plan was sound and I was
confident. Workouts came together
better than expected in the final
weeks before heading to Mexico. If
not for this persistent, nagging pain in
my hip, I might have believed I was
invincible.
But I wasn’t okay. I
was numb inside my
cocoon of forced
smiles.
But, I wasn’t. My hip stopped me at
20K in the Pan Am Games, led to several
missed weeks of running thereafter,
and continued to give me trouble
through the training segment leading
up to the Olympic Trials. I didn’t have
a moment upon returning from Mexico
to recover, to process, or to grieve.
I dove right back into training and
worked hard to stay positive as my
body continued to struggle. I believed
I could be better on January
14 th than any given day in training
leading up to the race. I had scripted
the comeback in my mind in vivid detail.
I wasn’t going to Houston to embrace
and enjoy the experience; I was
going to race like there was nothing
after.
By 12 miles into the trials marathon, I
was limping and it was clear to me
that my body still wasn’t where it
needed to be. I stopped just before 16
miles when I saw my husband on the
side of the road. I borrowed a jacket
and pants, wanting to assume the disguise
of a casual spectator. I cheered
like hell for my friends on the course.
I said all sorts of happy things to everyone
who tried to offer condolences.
I even managed to laugh when someone
came up after the race with an
exuberant “Great job!” followed by
“Oh, sorry…you’re not Jeannette…” I
kept this relentlessly positive attitude
all the way through my travels home,
to the point that my friends were kind
of baffled by how okay I seemed to be
considering the outcome. But I wasn’t
okay. I was numb inside my cocoon of
forced smiles.
It wasn’t until I arrived back home on
Monday that I had a chance to process
the previous few months. I looked at
my watch and saw it was still stuck on
the splits of my unfinished race. I
knew I needed to hit that reset button.
While it was the last thing I wanted to
do, I updated my training log with the
splits, the details, and the ultimate
outcome of the race. It wasn't until I
had those numbers and words out—
the logical conclusion to this emotionally
draining journey—that I finally
had a moment to grieve. I had
fought so hard to stay upbeat and to
find the silver linings that it was actually
refreshing to just acknowledge
the overwhelming storm cloud and let
myself be let down. In trying to put a
positive spin on things, I had missed
the importance of simply being able
to say that I wanted more, I wanted it
badly, and I didn’t get it done. It’s
heartbreaking to care so much, to
work so hard in obscurity, and to ultimately
feel let down. But it’s also
something every athlete at every level
has to deal with, and it’s something
that, in the end, drives us toward our
goals with renewed dedication and
fervor.
This was supposed to be a story of
triumph. It isn’t (at least not yet). But
it’s a story we all have, we all know,
and it’s what compels us to continue
lacing up our shoes and looking toward
the next training segment and a
future, better self.
Brett Ely will be back and stronger than ever.
You better watch out.
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