The Best Teachers

Shorten your learning curve by learning from the mistakes of others because they make for the best teachers. Start here.

When you do something for more than three decades, you’ll make enough mistakes to fill the Gulf of Mexico. It can be expected, considering that you’re a clueless newbie for the first several years of any sport. And as I head into my fourth decade of tackling long distances by foot, bike or swim stroke, I continue to screw up. Sometimes royally. Like when I left my flat kit in the garage during a long solo ride last fall. Or when I disregarded the warning signs about high bacterial levels in that lake and went swimming anyways. Or wore my road-running shoes for a trail run during the Minnesota Mud Season. 

Mistakes are like those rough nights in Vegas – we learn from them, but tend to not talk about them. Except for today. Here are some lessons I’ve learned the harder way and am willing to share so hopefully you can learn from my miscues. Remember, my mistakes are the best teachers for you.

TREES, SPRINKLERS AND LEMONADE

I knew the forecast was sweltering on that July day. And I still procrastinated my 16-mile run until late-morning. I took only one big water bottle, which was empty one quarter of the way through my loop. A quick refill as the sinister sun peaked overhead, and my route angled me back toward home. The cool water warmed quickly until it was like drinking bathwater.

In Colorado, in the windswept plains east of the Rockies, there is little protection from the high-altitude sun, and I was reminded of that, every stride. My big forehead was like an expansive solar panel, soaking in a very unhealthy amount of Vitamin D. Over the last five miles, I lumbered from tree to tree for protection, and sprinkler to sprinkler for more relief. My heartrate spiked every time I mustered even a modest running pace. When I finally arrived home, staggering up the driveway, I waved to my wife and son, enjoying the shade of our covered porch.

Their facial expressions rapidly metamorphosed to concern when they saw me and it took at least a gallon of iced lemonade before I felt semi-human again. 

LESSON LEARNED

The sun might be 93 million miles away, but she is still damn hot. Use sunblock. Bring plenty of water. And, in the heat of summer, beat the heat and get out early.  

MAKE SURE THERE’S ROOM AT THE INN

The Lake City 50 (now known as the San Juan Summer Solstice) takes place in a Mayberry-like mountain hamlet as isolated as it is stunning. How isolated is it? Click this map to find out.

So it’s not surprising that this tiny dot on the map has very few lodging options. Still, my friends and I rationalized that we would have no problem cruising into town late the night before the race and finding a room. After tooling around the pitch-dark dirt streets for a half hour, it was clear how flawed that optimism was. And so we pulled my dusty 4Runner into a tree-lined side-road, put the seats down and tried to get some sleep.

Oh, did I mention that we also shared that slumber party with a black Lab with the breath of death? That turned out to be a blessing, as we only shook awake the next morning when that pooch started barking at runners gathered for the Race Start. We scrambled to suit up, fill our bottles, and pin on our race numbers. The gun went off. Runners disappeared up the mountain. We gave pursuit. And so commenced what was an ugly, long day, as well as my slowest time of four finishes on that course. 

LESSON LEARNED

These endurance races are already tough and stressful enough. Control the controllables and plan ahead as much as you can. Lock in your lodging. Book your flights. And get your dog’s teeth cleaned. 

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ASK, ASK, ASK

When I was 22, I knew very little about outdoor gear. I grew up in the Midwest thinking Coleman gas lanterns and cotton flannels were the epitome of cutting-edge gear. So, when my brother and I traveled out to Colorado, and resolved to hike up a 14,000-foot peak, we didn’t think twice about the gear we’d need. It didn’t help that at that age one tends to think that they know everything. We figured it should be as easy as heading uphill, trail map in hand.

For fuel, it seemed some Snickers bars would do. For hydration, I put a plastic gallon jug of water in my Eddie Bauer backpack. A major mistake. That gallon jug sprung a big leak several miles from the trailhead and the nearest source of water. I had to chug as much as I could before it emptied out. We tagged the peak and started the four-hour descent out of both fuel and water. We staggered back to camp as the sun was going down, collapsing into our tents.

LESSON LEARNED

Sometimes ignorance is bliss and can work in your favor. Other times, you may succeed because of fool’s luck. But luck will run out, and we were lucky in this case. The lesson is to recognize when you’re in over your head, and check your ego at the door. Ask others for advice and help. 

A MOUNTAIN LION IN HEAT

On a mountain training run in early spring, I smiled as my feet silently glided through an inch of freshly fallen snow. The conifer forest was covered in ‘powdered sugar’ and the solitude whisked me far, far away. I enjoyed a brief scenic overlook before pointing my trail runners downhill toward home. A very short time later, I slipped on a patch of ice hidden under that blanket of snow, and fell to the ground just as my ankle snapped at an ugly angle against a rock.

After pulling myself upright, I watched the splintered bones of my ankle shift grotesquely under my skin and I knew I was in trouble. Fortunately, it was downhill to the main road, so I resolved to drag myself down, as if I was on a sled. Unfortunately, that slide was a long way. I would stop every few hundred yards and scream at the top of my lungs for help. It seemed futile, but after nearly a mile of this, in a stroke of complete luck, a stranger came walking up the trail toward me.

“Whoa,” he said, as he realized the seriousness of my injury. “I heard some screaming and thought it was a mountain lion in heat.” He became my savior and, hours later, I watched the canyon whisk by through the window of an ambulance while we headed to a hospital. 

LESSON LEARNED

Always let others know where you are for your runs, rides and even swims. If something happens, they’ll know where to find you when you don’t turn up at the expected time. Oh, and practice making sounds that mimic an interesting wild animal.

THE BEST TEACHERS

There are many more lessons that I’ve learned the challenging way. Like don’t leave your wetsuit slung over the back gate of your wife’s truck to dry (that suit is along some highway somewhere now). Never eat a big bowl of oatmeal and chase it with five coffees on your tempo run day. Maintain your equipment — your bike, wetsuit, shoes, and more. Because you don’t want that rusted binding on your snowshoes to pop out midway through a race. All true stories. 

Many of these mishaps boil down to one thing: don’t be any idiot. Or be an idiot, but be willing to  ask others for help and advice. Learn from other’s mistakes — or at least my mistakes!

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