How to Take an L
I’m sitting in the Delta Sky Club, a place I unfortunately visit so frequently, I have the wifi password memorized. I ran a marathon this morning, (April 14th, not whatever day this is being published) so the airport is not the ideal place to spend my evening, but duty calls.
I thought I’d write about the marathon while it was still fresh. Although this is mostly a Substack about magic, there are many similarities between magic and running, especially as they apply to my life.
I went into the Jersey City Marathon this morning with the goal of running a sub-3 hour race. I clocked in at 3:10:48. I was on pace to hit my goal for 20 miles, and fell apart pretty spectacularly in the home stretch. So…not quite how I expected it to go.
It’s now May 20th. I was supposed to run another marathon yesterday, but I pulled out the night before because of a sore Achilles tendon. I had hopes of redeeming myself in Denver, and I didn’t even get to the start line.
As problems go, these are pretty small. But the past two races certainly did not go according to plan, and I’m sure I’m staring down many more changed plans in my future.
So, whether the race doesn’t go your way, or you don’t get to race at all, here’s how to take an L:
Cross the finish line with your head held high. You just ran a marathon.
Thank every single person who supported you, down to the Uber driver and the volunteers who stood outside in the hot sun for hours just to give you water you would ultimately spill on your face.
Look around and realize you have everything you need. For me, that was my friends in my apartment eating bagels for a few hours after the race. It was lovely, and my finishing time made absolutely no difference to my friends.
Be grateful that you got to run in the first place. There are so many people who would give anything for the opportunity to fail at a marathon. It’s a gift to choose to struggle. Don’t forget that. (Now that I had to pull out of the race, I realize this is especially true).
Vow to come back stronger next time.
No one gives a shit. Truly. Exactly zero people thought any less of me for not getting my goal in Jersey. And when I told my family I wasn’t going to race in Denver, they all applauded the decision because it would’ve been stupid to risk a long-term injury.
Don’t complain. You can dissect and analyze what went wrong. You can strategize for next time. You can even be bummed! But you cannot complain, and you absolutely cannot take out your anger on your friends who are only there to support you.
Remember that the greatest baseball teams still lose 60+ games every year. The greatest magicians mess up tricks. The greatest comedians bomb. To fail is to join the ranks of everyone else who dared to try.
You are probably a long way from peaking. The man who won the Denver Marathon yesterday was 42 years old. Des Linden won Boston at age 35. Diana Nyad became the first person to swim from Cuba to Key west at age 64. Unless you’re an NFL running back, you have a long, long way to go.
When someone passes you, cheer them on. This is a running lesson and a life lesson. You are going to get passed. People who are worse than you will get a job you think you should’ve gotten. People who trained less will finish ahead of you. Don’t get petty. I see this all the time in magic—a lack of congratulations because someone is jealous, and it’s absolutely ridiculous. There’s more than enough to go around, and quality will always rise to the top. If someone passes you, look them in the eye, give them a sincere congratulations, and get back to work.