The Importance of Failure

The young man sat, fixated on the bar, just behind the platform.  His clothes were caked in chalk, the neck of his shirt saturated with blood.  He was very aware of the challenge that lay before him.  150 kg was loaded on the bar in front of him, a clean and jerk PR that until this day, he had never lifted with even the intention of getting under the bar.  Twice he had tried it already, and twice it had buried him.  On his first attempt, he pulled the bar, and as he went under, he had no confidence that he would make the lift, and simply let the bar fall in front of him.  On his second attempt, he had gone under the bar and  was immediately spit out by the weight, to slam unceremoniously against the platform then the wall behind him.

In the corner of the room his coach leaned against a jerk box.  Once a great lifter himself, the coach was middle-aged, with a salt-and-pepper beard and short, silver hair.  He said nothing.  The coach simply stood, watching his lifter intently, arms crossed over his chest.  Even after his competitive career had ended, the coach had continued to train, and his tree-trunk legs stretched his sweatpants, while his sprawling back possessed the peaks and valleys of a mountain range. 

The lifter stood, chalked his hands, and stepped to the platform.  Calmly he pulled set his back, pulled the bar, and went under.  To his own surprise, he caught it.  He tried to stand...then again...but his legs betrayed him.  Realizing he was pinned, he pushed himself backwards and let the bar fall to the ground.  This was his third attempt, and he had made progress, but that would be all for today.  He had already successfully clean and jerked 145 kg before attempting this max effort lift.  He was exhausted, and frustrated in his inability to hit his PR.  

The young man sat back down, unstrapped his shoes, and began to remove them.

"Again."

The young man looked up, his coach's eyes trained on him, expressionless.  "Again," he repeated.  The young man sighed, and tightened his shoes.  In his mind he knew he would never make this weight today.  He was exhausted, his body ached, and his mind yearned for a meal and to lay down in his own bed.  Despite his lack of confidence, he stood, walked slowly across the room, and chalked his hands again.  He walked to the platform, set his feet, and wrapped his hook grip around the bar.  He dropped his hips, set his back, and pulled again.  This time he didn't even pull under the bar.  He violently extended as he had many times before, but instead of moving swiftly to catch the bar, he simply let go.  In one fluid motion he stumbled backwards off the platform.  The young man's head swirled, his feet numb, his vision blurred.  

This was it.  He turned to his coach, in expectation of the words, "that's it for today." Instead, all he got was his coach, expressionless, stroking his beard. 

"Again."

The young man couldn't believe it.  What good could possibly come from trying this weight again today?  He had only even caught the clean once, and if he was honest with himself he knew he had no chance of standing up on the rep.  He hadn't even gotten to the hardest part of the lift yet, the jerk.  Why couldn't he just live to fight another day?  He ignored his disbelief, and walked back to the bar.

Again and again he pulled on the bar, and again and again the massive weight defeated him.  A half hour passed, then an hour.  Finally, he caught the clean, and with all the willpower he could muster, he began to stand.  He strained against the weight, driving his heels through the floor as he desperately tried to keep his back from snapping in half.  Halfway up, he stalled, his chest fell, and the bar with it.  

The young man's hands fell to his knees.  His head was ringing as he fought he breath.  Slowly, he pushed off his legs and stood, his movements measured but awkward with the pain and soreness of his repeated failure.  He had never felt so defeated.  For over an hours he had tried time and again, and he hadn't even been able to clean the weight.

He became aware that his coach was moving towards him.  The coach stopped just in front of him, and reached out his hand.  Confused, the young man shook it.  The coach smiled, his calloused hands enveloping those of the lifter.  The coach must have seen that his pupil didn't understand.

"You pulled it," the coach said, with pride in his voice.

Just because there is a possibility that you won't be successful does not make the venture meaningless.  Finding the courage within to try time and again even when you know that failure is imminent takes strength and mental fortitude that will benefit you in everything you do in life.  Understanding the value of failure will help you find what it takes to achieve success and give you the confidence to overcome whatever obstacles you may face, no matter how insurmountable they may seem.