As I walked to the starting line, I felt tentative.
Pre-race jitters played a part in that, sure. But they didn’t tell the whole story.
My left leg was aching a bit. It had for weeks. And I wasn’t sure it would hold up.
I had taken all the normal precautions. I’d stopped running for a week. I’d gotten x-rays, which had come back negative.
All was supposedly well. But it didn’t exactly seem that way, even after my warmup jog.
Still, when the horn sounded, my legs got moving. Adrenaline took over, and all discomfort faded away. I raced, and I raced hard.
I crossed the finish line with a personal best for the 10K distance, placing me in a Top 15 position. I was elated with the result, and just as thrilled to find that my leg wasn’t aching anymore.
I was fine. Or so it seemed.
A week later, the discomfort returned, and it intensified rapidly. An MRI proved what I’d already feared – I had a significant injury.
I had to take two months off from running. As a result, I pulled out of a marathon I had been training for.
Going all out in that race had proved quite costly.
Don’t give up. Don’t ever give up.
Those words are now the legacy of Jim Valvano.
Valvano was a championship-caliber college basketball coach. But few remember him for his accolades on the court.
Instead, they recall an iconic speech he gave at the 1993 ESPY Awards. A speech that included those seven words.
Valvano was battling cancer at the time — a battle that would tragically end weeks later. But during his time at the podium, Valvano made an impassioned plea for cancer research resources. Resources that were shockingly scant at that time.
After noting that these efforts would more likely save his children’s lives than his own, Valvano announced the launch of The V Foundation for Cancer Research. The foundation’s motto would be those seven words: Don’t give up. Don’t ever give up.
That speech, and that motto, resonated with many. If this man remained so committed, even on death’s doorstep, how could we even think of quitting?
I found myself influenced by seduced by this same message. In fact, I can count on one hand the times I’ve pulled the plug on something.
This applies to everything – my career, my hobbies, even the shows I stream. When I’m in, I’m all in.
Such a mentality can have its virtues, of course. Stick-to-it-iveness is an American hallmark.
But the downsides can be significant. Wasted time. Misaligned energy. And even the potential for shattered dreams.
It’s far better to add some nuance. To know when to stay in the fight, and when to pull the plug.
You’ll know when it’s time.
Just about every former athlete has shared this wisdom when discussing the best time to hang it up.
Many pro athletes have stuck the landing when it came time to pull the plug. Peyton Manning walked away from football with a Super Bowl victory. Ray Borque lifted the Stanley Cup and hung up his skates. The late, great Kobe Bryant dropped 60 points in his final pro basketball game.
But then there are those who hung on too long. Wayne Gretzky’s unparalleled hockey career ended with three modest seasons where he sported New York Rangers sweater. Michael Jordan unretired from basketball (a second time) to slog through two mediocre years with the Washington Wizards. Tom Brady reneged on retirement, losing football games and his marriage in the process.
Michael Jordan, Tom Brady, and Wayne Gretzky are widely considered the best to ever lace ‘em up in their respective sports. Kobe Bryant, Peyton Manning, and Ray Borque — for all their greatness — are a rung below.
But when it comes to a graceful landing, those three left the all-timers in the dust. They had the mental fortitude to pull the plug at a moment of jubilation. To resist the urge to just get one more. To repel the temptation to defy Father Time yet again.
That’s not an easy choice for a pro athlete to make. Especially when those athletes have spent decades following the advice of Jim Valvano.
I may never attain the athleticism of Michael Jordan, the poise of Tom Brady, or the grace of Wayne Gretzky. But as I walked to the starting line of my fateful 10K race, I felt the same competitive spirit they did.
Instead of embracing the process of recovery, I was visualizing my comeback.
I was playing with fire. And I got burned.
You gotta know when to hold em. And know when to fold em…
Many of us know the words to Kenny Rogers’ hit The Gambler by heart. But few of us have followed them with precision.
One exception? Champion Poker players.
You see, walking away is a key strategy in Poker. For there are times when you just don’t have the cards.
In those moments, doubling down on a bluff can prove costly. Better to cut your losses and live to fight another day.
Annie Duke understands this. As one of the greatest professional poker players of all time, Duke has long been renowned for making the right choice at the table. And sometimes the right choice was to walk away.
Duke has compiled that knowledge in several acclaimed books on decision making. One of those is called Quit: The Power in Knowing When to Walk Away.
As I write this, I still haven’t gotten my hands on the book. But I probably could have used its counsel recently.
I had returned from my injury and set my eyes on competing once again. But my will was ahead of my legs, and I kept suffering setbacks.
I had two significant races coming up — a half-marathon and a full one. Both required several weeks of dedicated training. And now, I had to decide whether to proceed.
The competitor in me was daring to soldier on. I had already missed so much time for something more significant. Surely, I wouldn’t be felled by this.
But the pragmatist in me was screaming to pull the plug. It remembered what happened when I ran that ill-advised race. And when I continued to train on that bad leg.
For days, I agonized over what to do.
For there was no smoking gun this time. No MRI report to peruse. No doctor’s orders keeping me out of the race.
The decision would be mine, and mine alone.
Ultimately, I did withdraw from both races. It was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever had to make. But I’m confident it was the right one — and one that will pay dividends long term.
So no, the story hasn’t ended happily for me. At least not this chapter.
But perhaps there’s something we can all learn from my saga, and from all the examples that somehow influenced it.
Pulling the plug is not an automatic marker of weakness. In the right context, it can be a powerful weapon.
Let that context be your compass, and my loss be your lesson. And you may yet find the seas of life to be a bit less treacherous.
Godspeed.