Head Tilt #79: Worst run. Best run.

"Fail early, fail often, but always fail forward." John C. Maxwell

"You may encounter many defeats, but you must not be defeated." Maya Angelou

Last weekend I failed. 

Big.

It was go-time and I was ready to run my best half marathon yet. 

I knew the goal. It was a stretch goal: Achievable but challenging. 

I mapped the course for months. I knew exactly what it would take to reach my ideal time and I plotted the steps. 

I trained. Hard. Long runs, tempo runs, HIIT runs, hill runs. I didn't miss a run. 

I LOVED EVERY MINUTE OF IT. Running has been my go-to movement since I was in college. I think of myself as a runner and, this year, after consistency, commitment, education, and grit, I thought of myself as an athlete.

I trained smart and I trained right. 

On race day I was READY. I ticked all the boxes of my "cheetah checklist" (the list I created to succeed). Nutrition, gear, attitude-- I was excited. I was optimistic. I was stoked. I was SET. It was practically in the bag. 

Until it wasn't.

After a strong start and a few happy, fast miles, I started to slog. 

My hamstring-- a seemingly chronic injury that I'd pampered with acupuncture, physical therapy, and care-- pulled the emergency brake. Adding to the issue, my light legs that I thought were made of feathers turned to lead, and every step felt clunky, awkward, and hard. 

WHAT. THE. F*!K.

The physical setback was real. I stopped and walked (walking in a race breaks all my personal rules) to reorient myself. 

Instead of recalibrating, I added insult to injury, salt to the wound,  pain to pain-- I berated myself. Harshly. 

My inner critic stole the mic and turned the volume all the way UP. 

"Loser!" "Embarrassment!" "Fake!" "Phony!"

The physical pain was fierce. The personal pain was worse. 

By mile 11, my brain and my legs told me I needed to get the heck off the course. I ripped off my bib number, stepped aside, and Google-mapped my way home. I was so ashamed. 

Head down, I hobbled along, alone. 

(The bright spot: as a consolation prize, I stopped at the Donut Bar on the way and grabbed a glazed Old-Fashioned and a Mimosa to go. ☀️)

The next day, after rest and perspective, I served up a big warm slice of humble pie and slowly started making sense of what happened. 

As disappointing as it was, the injury was eventually easy to understand-- even though I thought otherwise, my injured muscles just weren't down for a 13-mile run. 

However, the self-loathing that chimed in required a more thorough exploration,  unless I wanted to struggle this hard with future disappointments. 

Here's how I've made sense of everything since...

I realized that failure was almost inevitable because: 

1. I made perfection my only option. Next time, I'll still aim high, but I will allow room for disappointment. To paraphrase Steinbeck, Now that I don't have to be perfect, I can be good. 

2. I tied my identity to a very specific label. When my performance didn't match the label, I fell. I need to know that I am more than my descriptors. I am Michelle and at the end of the day, I'm okay no matter what. 

3. At a time when I needed self-compassion the most, I gave the mean-me the mic. Next time I'll grab another microphone and let the kind-me have a dialog with my harsh self-critic. What am I so scared of? What is at the base of the personal attack? What would I say to someone else experiencing a similar circumstance? Curiosity quells cruelty.    

A week later, my hamstring still hurts. I haven't run since, but I will run again. I've mapped specific ways to improve my physical game and my mental game. I have three more races on my calendar. I'm still disappointed with the recent race outcome and how I reacted to my defeat, but I'm mindfully making room for compassion. 

I am not defeated. I am failing forward. After all, failure can be a great teacher. I'm sitting front-row, ready to grow. If I apply what I learn, maybe my worst run will be my best run, after all. 

Early in the race: Happy hamstring, happy me.

 

Head Tilt #78: I'm scited (sacred and excited)

That's right-- I'm scited! 

Big race coming up in San Diego... (3/27)

Mentally I go through my checklist:

 ✅  Have I trained enough?  (I think so? I guess I could always train more.)

 ✅  Have I done enough hill work? (Hmmm... too late now if I haven't!)

 ✅  Did I plan my taper-week right?  (Sure! I love an excuse to take it slow and eat a few more carbs.)

 ✅  Do I have the right gear: socks, shoes, etc?  (Absolutely yes on this one!)

 ✅  Do I have my hydration tabs?  (Another yes)

 ✅  Do I have the right playlist?  (Still might add a song or two...)

I am ready! I am also scited.

Scited means the state of being scared and excited at the same time. It's a portmanteau created by the wonderful human, Glennon Doyle. 

And I am scited when I think about the race. 

I am excited about the thrill of racing. It's so much FUN! The amped energy of the racers is exhilarating! I am also eager to see what my body is capable of this year. 

I am scared that I didn't prepare enough after all. I am scared I won't finish in a time that I consider respectable. What if I bonk?! 

Here's the thing: Anxiety (being scared) is a state of negative arousal. Excitement is nearly the same exact experience physically, but it's a state of positive arousal. 

I first heard this from Tony Robbins at his Unleash the Power Within conference and it blew my mind. 🤯 Shortly after, I tested the idea. My son and I were in line for The Twilight Zone Hollywood Tower of Terror -- a 130ft elevator drop ride in Disney California Adventure. At the time, it was my son's favorite ride and my least favorite. It was so scary!!! Even my butterflies were biting their nails when I stood in that queue. 

I committed long ago never to be a sideline mom, so despite my anxiety, I agreed to ride it with him each time we visited the park. 

As we waited our turn, I started thinking about anxiety and excitement as the same thing, different perspective. 

I thought how fun it was to be with Brendan. I thought how safe I was (despite the ruse of a broken elevator) and what a thrill the ride was. I actually talked myself into a different state of mind.

Did I still have butterflies? Oh yeah! An entire parade of butterflies do-si-doed in my belly! 

But now I was much more excited and much less scared. 

I've used the same mind game with the anxiety I feel before a big presentation or interview. I can feel the butterflies, but I let them lift me. 

As for the race, my scared parts are real, but they aren't as loud as the excited parts. 

My mind is reading the pre-race jitters as information and then turning it into fuel. 

I might bonk (doubtful). I might not finish in the time I want (could happen), but I am dressing this particular parade of butterflies in the best damn outfits I can imagine. 

Now they are all doing high-kicks in unison while cheering me on. 

I think they'll help me fly come Sunday morning. 

On my mark.

Get set.

GO! 

Head Tilt #72: Hills are hard

University of California Santa Cruz: Campus of Hills! 

True story:

On the eve before my last half marathon, I made the mistake of reading past participants’ reviews of the 13.1-mile course. A few commented that it was surprisingly hilly. 

“Oh no!” I thought. “Hills are hard!” 

I worried. 

For a minute.

And then I remembered, "Hey! I train on hills!"

Hills ARE hard. And I love them. They test my commitment and my character.

On a recent Hill Day in my workout rotation, I couldn’t help but think of how running hills prepares me for so many other challenges in my life. 

1. First, I can’t run hills successfully without a strategy.

I’ve learned from the best coaches and athletes: I look up, not down– I focus on the top (but glance at the terrain every now and then!). My form matters. Smaller steps, lift those knees. I let my arms lead my legs– it’s a body party with every step! I lean in, but ever so slightly– I stay perpendicular to the slant. Every single time. ☀️

2. Next, hills remind me that after pain comes great pleasure.

My lungs burn, my muscles ache, and when I get to the top of the hill I am rewarded with the pride that comes with accomplishing hard things. Every single time. ☀️

3. Finally, running hills tests my mind, strengthening my resolve. Often a fleeting, but loud thought tells me to stop, quit, or give up. It’s a test of my grit. As long as I don't need to stop because of legitimate concern, I counter that chatter with one of my go-to hill power words: GO!, PUSH!, or CLIMB! Every single time. ☀️

 

I love hills. They are hard, but they build my strength, speed, and stamina. 

As in life, doing the hard stuff prepares me-- and all of us-- for so much more. 

☀️ The next training contract I am trying to get? I can’t succeed without a strategy. 

☀️ That pain of persistence and rejection as I forge my own path in the work world?  It’s often followed by the great pleasure of gaining a new client or learning a valuable lesson.

☀️ That self-doubt that sits next to me when things get tough? It is only quieted by my resolve to persist. 

I got this. You got this. We got this. ❤️

GO!

PUSH!

CLIMB!

Every single time. ☀️

Head Tilt #69: Start with your socks

Similar to when I was ten years old, I received a pair of toe socks for Christmas.

 

Toe socks!

I love them. 🥰

 

As a runner, I am often concerned with:

• my shoes (Mizuno)

• my running gear (Lulu, GapFit Breathe, Yogalicious)

• my hydration (Nuun)

• my route (ocean cliffs) and 

• my playlists (to match my mood and goals)

 

What I’ve learned through blisters and black toenails is that my socks are one of the most essential ingredients of a good run.

 

And it’s not just the socks themselves, it’s how I put them on.

 

If I hurriedly shove my feet in my socks and lace-up without a thought, I’m bound to feel discomfort around mile two or three. If I’m stubborn (often) and don’t stop to fix the misplaced seam, bunching or sliding, I pay for it later with pain.

 

My new toe socks, specifically made for runners, stay in place, are impossible to put on in a hurry, and keep my toes from hanging out together in the Blister Bar.

 

I love them so much and have already ordered four more pairs!

 

Beloved American basketball coach and Hall-of-Famer, John Wooden, knew all about the importance of socks. 

In a Newsweek interview years ago he said,

 

“I think it's the little things that really count. The first thing I would show our players at our first meeting was how to take a little extra time putting on their shoes and socks properly. The most important part of your equipment is your shoes and socks. You play on a hard floor. So you must have shoes that fit right. And you must not permit your socks to have wrinkles around the little toe--where you generally get blisters--or around the heels. It took just a few minutes, but I did show my players how I wanted them to do it.”

 

Can you imagine the players on that first day? They were undoubtedly amped to learn from the best! And Wooden told them how to put on their socks...

As with running and basketball, it is the attention to the little things in our lives that makes the big things possible.
 
So my question for you is,

What are the socks of your relationship/family, your work success, and your self-care?
 
What are the seemingly small but extremely important things that success requires?
 
🧦 The “socks” of my relationships/family are love and open communication.
🧦 The “socks” of my work success are autonomy and trust.
🧦 The “socks” of my self-care are sleep and running.

 

When these fundamentals are in place, success is that much closer.

 

What are your socks?

 

Is it time to order some more?

Head Tilt #61: The making of a super-fan

CoSo and me in February 2021– right after his "adoption." 

I've wanted to share this customer service story for a while now. 

But I've hesitated. It involves some rule-breaking and I didn't/don’t want to get the company or the employees who made it possible in trouble. Even though the organization might be revealed in the photo above or descriptions below, let's keep this between us.😉

Gather ‘round, it’s customer service storytime! 

During the pandemic, I ran. 

And I ran. 

And then I ran a bit more. 

Running kept me somewhat sane. 

Our little beach town was empty during Covid. No tourists visited. Locals kept to themselves. Everything was quiet. 

During that time I went on some of the best runs of my life. I ran the whole town. I found courses I knew of but had never explored. 

One of these paths took me past the amusement park in our city. It quickly became one of my favorite runs. A mile into it, I'd pass the arcade. In stark comparison to its normal joyful presence, the arcade was dark, silent, and empty. 

Clearly visible behind the locked, sliding glass entry doors were two large bags stuffed with game prizes. Teal and pink sharks smooshed together in these transparent plastic traps. Each held a slice of pizza or a donut. Some faced forward, some backward, some upside down. 

They represented a paused world. 😔

For months, no matter how fast or far I ran on that particular path, seeing those animated, happy faces gave me an instant boost of energy. I pretended that two of the sharks in particular cheered me on whenever I passed. 

Eventually, with no end to the pandemic in sight, I decided I needed to bring one of them home. 

I set my plan into motion by checking my connections on LinkedIn. I direct-messaged a leader in the company, but didn't hear back. Not to worry— I knew it was a long shot. At least it was a start. 

Next, I made a call to my good friend who had just retired from the company. I explained my story and asked her who I should call. First, as only a good friend can say, she let me know that she thought I was weird. Ha! No surprise there! 🤪 Then, she gave me a name and number. 

I was hopeful.

I called right away and presented my request.

Nope. He didn't have the authority to make that happen. 

He directed to another team member, though. 

I called that person and left a message. 

I didn't hear back for a while.

I began to feel discouraged. This was stupid. They had way more important things to do. They were strategizing ways to make their business survive and keep their employees on the payroll...and I was trying to rescue a stuffed animal. 😳

(Just reading that last line makes me laugh!)

Eventually, I tried the contact again and got through. I told her my Covid running story and how the arcade prize sharks had cheered me on and cheered me up during tough times. I asked if I could buy one. I knew this was a policy violation: Prizes were to be won, not purchased. The arcade was closed indefinitely though, and maybe the rules had changed. She said she would get back to me. 

And guess what? When she called me back the answer was 

YES!

Because of these unparalleled times, the company would make an exception. 🎉 🥳 🎢

We arranged the date, price, and pick-up spot. Just in case I had a choice, I mentioned which shark I wanted (pink with donut, thankyouverymuch). 

Only a few days later, I stepped foot on their property and left with three things: 

• my giant pink, donut-holding shark
• a big smile
• immeasurable customer satisfaction

I was so happy!

I named my shark CoSo for Covid Souvenir. 

He sits at my desk and still cheers me on! CoSo and his lookalike prize peers brightened my days during one of the most challenging times our world has ever faced. ☀️ I am grateful to have him home as a reminder. 

But wait!

This blog post is about customer service, not me and CoSo.

This is about what happened when an awesome company broke the rules for a customer during the pandemic.

By breaking those rules, they cemented my adoration, loyalty, and respect for their business. 

Since becoming the owner of CoSo:

• I look at the company even more favorably.
• I talk about the company with even more enthusiasm. 
• And though I was already a fan, now I am a super fan. 

That is service magic right there. ↑↑

In my customer service classes, I don't endorse breaking the rules. As a customer, I don't expect service providers to break the rules for me, either. 

Rules enable service consistency around processes, protocols, and fairness.

As service providers, most of the time we cannot and should not break the rules.

And in extraordinary circumstances, with the right intent and the appropriate approval, sometimes breaking the rules is the just the thing to do. 

What has a company done to make you a super-fan?

What have you done to create super-fans for your company?

More customer service lessons can be found here:

Challenging Customers 

HERO Service

Lessons from Disney: We Don't Have Bad Days

Lessons from Disney: Everything Speaks

CoSo made his blog debut here in this short post about Feedback