(This story appeared a few days ago on www.RunTriMag.com - at this link: LINK  )

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. 

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!

(This story appeared this month on www.RunTriMag.com - at this link: LINK . I had a blast reflecting on my journey and was surprised by how many readers could relate to it.)

Trading Mountains for Multisport: The Triathlon Experience

An Ultrarunner’s Journey of trading Mountain 100 Milers to Multisport and Midwest Triathlons

Here is a secret: most ultramarathoners, at some point during or shortly after a 100-mile race, consider quitting the sport. And that was the thought that I had as I managed an 18-minute-mile shuffle toward an eventual fifth finish of the 2021 Hardrock 100 Mile Endurance Run. The words “Never Again” kept coming to mind.

In every previous 100-miler (this was my 16th), I’d had some similar thoughts – normally during my darker moments, like when I was hunched over a granite boulder, kicking yet another rock or clawing up one more relentless climb. But the white surrender flag would turn green a few days after finishing and I’d find myself clicking the “Register” button for another 100 a few months later.

This time was different, and both my body and mind agreed. I was not convinced that my 50-year-old body could outlast the demands of training up for another 100 – and, honestly, after a lengthy career with some modest success, I was prepared for a change.

The notion of trading in those 100 mile mountain races for multisport began to ring louder in my mind.

All In

The change I was looking for did come in the form of multisport. And I’m exactly the sort of “All In” idiot who does not merely dip his toe into the water to taste test something. I jumped all the way in, and signed up for a full IRONMAN Triathlon the following year. 

“This will be a nice “break” from tackling tough 100s,” I delusionally thought as I entered my credit card info. Man, was I mistaken?! 

The morning of IRONMAN Wisconsin, standing half naked in my hotel room and puffy-eyed from a restless night, I peered outside into the pre-dawn darkness. Sheets of rain streamed down with the ferocity of an Atlantic Nor’easter. I tried to convince myself that the deluge would pass, despite the weather forecast that called for all-day buckets and unseasonably cool temps in the 50s.

Before the Race Start, I checked my bike into transition as the rain pummeled my jacket and bare legs. I let some air out of my tires. Pffffffffft! I had overheard some guys say it’s safer to run lower psi in dangerous, wet conditions. Still hours before the race and I was already soaked and chilled to the bone.

When I was considering the concept of trading in multisport from the mountains….this wasn’t what I envisioned.

Warm Water

As the race began on the shores of Lake Monona in downtown Madison, I actually summoned some optimism for the first time that morning. It turned out, the water temperature was a good twenty degrees warmer than the air, and rain doesn’t matter if you’re in a lake. It was the most comfortable that I would be all day, and I cherished the two-lap swim, despite getting kicked and punched amidst the 1000+ other athletes.

I exited the water. Some guy held a soggy poster: “Smile if you peed during the swim.”

Yes, I smiled.

Moments later, I sat inside at “T1” (the first transition in a triathlon). I was amped from a good swim, and chowed down some calories as I suited up for the bike leg. I looked around and soaked in the nervous excitement of the moment. The other athletes around me seemed to share my trepidation and concern for the road cycling conditions awaiting us.

As in all things, the best way forward is straight ahead  So I zipped up my rain shell and headed out into the still-pouring rain, ignoring the shiver already settling into my legs.

Just Keep Pedaling

The 112-mile bike leg was the single most difficult bike ride that I have done in my life. Make no bones about it: the IRONMAN Wisconsin bike course is brutal, with its punchy, steep hills and technical turns. But layer on a late November Day in early September, and this seven-hour ride was pure trench warfare. Wet like a drowned rat from Mile One, I prayed that my bike tires would not slide out from under me on every turn.

I kept my gaze 20 yards ahead of my front tire. “Just keep pedaling,” was my mantra, silently spoken with every stroke.  A good friend of mine, also on the bike course, focused on just making it to the next mile marker, the whole time.

I learned later that many riders fell on the bike segment, and still others succumbed to hypothermia in the remote hills west of town. The rain continued, and so did I. And soon I rolled into “T2” (the second transition in a triathlon), sliding to a halt and dismounting with a hopeful grin.

Inside the transition, the huddled athletic masses had thousand-mile stares. One guy was shivering so bad that he could not tie his shoes. People were begging for extra or dry clothes. I had seen these looks before. They would happen in the mountains of a 100 miler but I was not expecting to see them when I traded in those days for this multisport experience.

I realized I had to get out of there before my body called it a day. I put on my shoes and headed to the run course.

Bag Of Tricks

I tried to run. Really I did.

I was counting on the run being my return to glory on this very long day. Running is what I do. I’ve run further than the marathon distance more than 50 times in my life. So a “mere” 26.2 mile run should have been automatic. 

But running is never effortless. It’s why we do it. It’s hard. And it’s especially hard after nine hours of swimming, cycling, and battling to stay warm. 

My run began as a jog, then down-shifted to a shuffle, and finally slowed to a walk during the first ten miles. I reached deep into my bag of tricks and tried everything to tease out a pace faster than 20 minutes per mile. 

That faked smile? It temporarily delivered a running pace. 

High-fiving those cheering kids on the streets of downtown Madison? Their energy propelled me through some quicker quarter mile stretches, too.

I fought to stay positive and cheered on other runners as well. We were a band of brothers and sisters out there. Our grunts toward each other were caveman-like, monosyllabic commiserating over the brutally difficult day behind us and still ahead of us.

In the blur of time passing, the day turned to night. Generators hummed, powering flood lights on the more desolate parts of the run course. 

I even tried a Red Bull, breaking the Golden Rule to never try anything new on Race Day. And I learned the hard way why that is a Golden Rule. I will spare you the details.

And the rain continued. In my stumbling stupor, I may have seen a bearded man building an Ark. 

And yet I inch-wormed closer to the finish.

Red Carpet Treatment

These audacious endurance events, whether 100-milers or long course triathlons, grind us down to whispers of ourselves, until all that’s left is a raw core of who we truly are. With one mile to go, I emerged from the darkness of the run course to the lights of Madison’s State Street. More spectators waited here, encouraging me to muster some sinew of muscle twitch.

The domed Madison Capitol building glowed overhead as I fought so hard to run. My body rebelled like a tempestuous teenager, arguing in favor of a walk. We compromised on a slow trot.

My feet monotonously slapped against the puddled pavement. You know that sound. Step then Slap. Take another step and hear the slap. It seemed to be never ending.

And then silence. The slapping stopped. I looked down at my soggy shoes. My feet were no longer on pavement, but on cushy red carpet. These are the final steps toward the arched finish line of IRONMAN.

Two Words

I reflected for these precious few seconds on the journey that brought me to this carpet. It started long before today, way back in the Colorado mountains during that Hardrock 100. I yearned for a new challenge. And I found it.

And, even though my body was soaked and chilled to the bone on this unforgiving day, I did not even think those words, “Never Again.”

Instead, I summoned two different words to answer the question of whether I would tackle another IRONMAN: “Hell Yeah”

Endurance Coach Garett Graubins is a long-time ultramarathoner with 16 100-miler finishes, including Top 10s at the Leadville 100 and Hardrock 100. He is also a competitive triathlete and has completed four IRONMAN triathlons. In 2024, he began coaching aspiring marathoners, ultramarathoners and triathletes. "It was time to give back and I've been excited to help others to achieve endurance feats that they never thought possible," says Garett. He lives in Victoria, MN, a training utopia surrounded by forested trails, scenic farm roads, and pristine lakes.

The days often blur by, as we’re ever-focused on our To-Do lists. Getting stuff done. Quantity over quantity all too often.

Now, as the countdown of days to the new year can be counted on one hand, I’ll grant myself many extra pauses for reflection and introspection.

Often on my runs, I’m laser-beamed straight ahead, my thoughts lost on the current podcast or one of many other concerns. The trees, street signs, and peripheral objects cease to exist most of the time, as I blur by, distracted.

Except for park benches. These nearly always catch my eye or at least make me slow my pace enough to see if there’s a plaque on them.  It's remarkable to me how one's life and imprint can be summarized on a 4" x 10" engraved rectangle of metal. It’s my quiet homage to a person I never knew, yet clearly had a profound effect on others. Or there may be a quote that delivers me inspiration for the remainder of my miles.

I took note of nearly every one of them on a recent run in Minneapolis, circling two lakes, Bda Maka Ska (yeah. I can’t pronounce it either) and Lake of the Isles. 

These moments of pause remind us to stop and reflect, to pay respect and ask ourselves how we would like to be remembered.

On one bench, To honor Rosemarie Ann Dolan: Center of So Much.

And I think about those who are the center of my own being.

A quarter mile further, a salute to Robert Anderson. Forever Loved and Missed. 

I am the captain of my soul …

Am I the captain of my own soul? Or do I surrender that steering wheel to others too easily? 

Further along, a remembrance of James Gilroy. It’s as if we wished upon a star and all our dreams come true.

Am I working to make dreams become a reality? My own dreams and those of others?

At a beautiful lake overlook, a reverent nod to Richard Worthing.

Your footprint up and left. You are missed.

I wonder how this man left an imprint on others. Was it with his kindness? His mentorship? His unconditional love? I'm supremely confident that was not the car he drove or size of his house. 

Around a curve, a bench dedicated to Mary Riley “Sweet Mary”. Rest a moment as you take life one step and one day at a time.

Mid-stride, I silently thank Sweet Mary for the reminder to stop and smell the flowers. 

Soon thereafter, I admire the message in honor of Amara Moon Bracken. Faith over Fear.

I decide that I would be grateful to be remembered like Melanie Gainsley.

A lover of life.

Or, as another bench suggests, to be remembered like: Mama D’Agostino.

She fed the hungry and helped the poor.

And I ponder whether I am selfless enough in my own life.

I pick up the pace and the cadence of passing benches quickens. 

Gary Fink

Sit … Relax … Enjoy the View …

Don’t Let This Moment Pass You By …

“Carpe Diem,” I whisper to myself. 

John  McGillivary

John was a good, good man.

How everybody, man or woman, wants to be remembered. 

I smile at the play on words as I trot past a bench for Bob & Joann Olson. It’s been a good run.

And another one for Bob and Joann, just a few feet away. Bob & Joann Olson. Lake Lovers.

A quote from somebody who apparently enjoyed pedaling more than running. Eric Ficzeri. How I cherished to ride these trails.

Then a plaque in honor of David Llewellyn Thomas. Thanks for Stopping By!

And, as I turn off the main trail to head back the car, I reflect on the fact that we’re here for a relatively short time in our spirit's larger journey, and should maximize every second of it. And strive to leave impressions that last well beyond our short physical sojourn on Planet Earth. And perhaps is worthy of a benchmark for others to draw inspiration from.  

We’re a culture that loves a good story about overcoming any and all odds. Our (eventual) hero is sold short or disregarded because he/she/they have been dealt what is considered a bad hand. 

They are the basketball team from a tiny town in Podunk (actually, Hickory), Indiana, that lacks the depth, snazzy uniforms and vertical jump of the big city team. 

Or the kid from the south side of Chicago who is short in stature but big on his ability to dream big, who wants to go to Notre Dame and, despite being a punching bag for blue chip recruits, play for the football team. 

Or how about the kids from McFarland, California, a rural town of immigrants with little money but mountains of grit, who became a cross-country running powerhouse?

There’s a reason we keep coming back to comebacks. It’s the same reason I’ve watched the above movies no fewer than ten times each! We all want to see a part of us in these stories.

We are all battling against something holding us back, something that we are meant to overcome. A mountain that stands between us and what we really want. Every single one of us. 

Maybe you’re only five foot three. And 110 pounds soaking wet. 

Money is so tight. Maybe you scrape to make your car payment.

You lack formal training or education. Maybe you don’t have a college degree. Or a high school diploma.

Abuse. Dysfunction. Bullying. Your childhood memories haunt you and, worse, still live with you today.

Cancer. Diabetes. Alcoholism. Cardiovascular problems. You are fighting illness or disease.

It’s so easy to acknowledge your hurdles – in fact, it’s what a lot of people do. And they are very, very real. But shrugging and settling provides us a reason to not persevere, to strive for less than our real goals. “Well, I could do that job, but I’m competing against all of those people with college degrees.” 

Another great source of “Against All Odds” stories is IRONMAN triathlon coverage. Amidst the heroic shots of the greatest triathletes in the world duking it out on the lava fields of Kona, there are the age groupers, the non-professional athletes who juggle their training, careers and family to get here. Every one of them have sacrificed in some way, and some far more than others. 

Do you think you are too busy with your career to tackle another audacious goal? Well …celebrity chef and hard-charger Gordon Ramsay completed the race in 2013. Not to mention, there are many stories of CEOs and C-suite residents carving time from their schedules to compete in IRONMAN triathlons and other races (Check it out: https://chiefexecutive.net/extreme-ceos/) 

Have you received a challenging or even devastating medical diagnosis? In 2012, Bonner Paddock became the first person with cerebral palsy to finish an IRONMAN triathlon. After Jon Blais received an ALS diagnosis in 2005, he vowed to complete the IRONMAN and managed to achieve that goal the same year, inspiring countless others for many years to come. In 2019, double amputee Roderick Sewell became the first bilateral above-the-knee amputee to finish IRONMAN on prosthetic legs. (For more on these and other moving achievements: https://www.triathlete.com/events/ironman/recalled-5-kona-finishes-that-gave-all-the-feels/) 

Are you too old? Ha. That’s an easy one. People are redefining what is possible for anybody in their twilight years – or younger. The oldest finisher of the IRONMAN World Championship, Hiromu Inada, was born in 1932. The best part? He didn’t take up swimming until he was 60, didn’t buy a road bike until he was 69, and didn’t do a triathlon until he was 70 years young. 

So, what is your big goal that you want to achieve? Are you using something as an excuse to NOT pursue it? What’s your mountain that you need to climb to get there? 

“The only excuse you have for not getting it in is because you and you alone chose to not get it in. You chose something over working out and then you chose to make an excuse as to why you didn’t work out. What you need to do is choose your mentality.” 

-  Retired Navy SEAL, Ultramarathoner, IRONMAN finisher, and author David Goggins

When you’re let go from a job, it naturally sets off a wave of self doubt. If it doesn’t, you’re not human. 

But, when you’re let go from two different jobs - regardless of the stated reason – within a span of 2 ½ years, the self doubt is compounded into a tsunami. Add a nagging sense of age-ism and mid-life soul-searching, and that self-doubt tsunami resembles that 1000-foot high wall of water that devastates civilization at the end of the 1980s movie Deep Impact (yes, I’m dating myself with that movie reference!). 

Am I no longer good enough? 

Have I been faking it my whole career and now nobody is buying what I’m selling? 

Are my skills, previously a long list of personal assets, no longer relevant? 

Have I “aged out”?

Should I shave my head so that my gray hairs don’t show?

Even my dog seems to be looking at me with a skeptical tail wag. OK, maybe it’s my imagination. 

But this post is not meant to be a fishing expedition for votes of confidence (although those help, up to a point). 

I get up early every morning. Scour the job boards. Schedule that next cup of coffee with a friend, mentor or former colleague. Check the job boards again. And again. Take a look at my InBox to see how many prospective employers want to interview me right away … none today. Sigh. Double Sigh. More coffee.

And, at some point, I head out for some exercise. A swim. A bike. A run. A walk in the woods. Some weights. 

And, before, during and after a sweat, I feel better. I get a sense that I’m in control again. This is one thing that I can impact - my health and fitness. It gets me out of my bubble of self doubt. In fact, it expands my world and thoughts into fresh possibilities. I explore new roads, trails, neighborhoods, or lakes. I go down little ribbons of paths that I previously either didn’t notice or didn’t bother with, since I was so pressed for time. I see new things, unnoticed before. 

By the time I finish, my mind is awash in all of the opportunities and possibilities that lay before me. There are so many that it’s dizzying. Teach. Write a book. Speak. Motivate. Launch an apparel brand. Buy a franchise. Open my own place - a micro-brewery, outdoor outfitter. A co-op, or a fusion of all of the above. Reposition my marketing brain in a new area of the field, like AI. How exciting! Maybe just do it all! 

It’s crazy what some exercise and a double dose of caffeine and endorphins can do to one’s mindset.

One of those possibilities that I’ve continuously considered – for many years, actually – is coaching. To help others through a process where they ultimately achieve more than they ever thought possible. That sounds amazing to me, and I cannot think of many things more gratifying from a professional and personal standpoint. 

And, so, that new career direction is now officially launched. I am an Endurance Coach and I will help people to experience the positive impact that going farther, faster, can have on one's life.

In times of intense self doubt and self examination, it’s important to identify your bedrock principals. What you stand for. When there’s a cyclone of uncertainty around you, those parts of you that unflinchingly brave the storm. And, when the storm has passed and the skies are blue again, your values and principles remain there. Resolute, unchanged, anchored in the Earth. 

For me, commitment to fitness and helping others are two of those principals. 

And I am over the moon excited to apply both of them in coaching others to realize their potential and achieve their goals.