What I Learned From My Big Olympic Failure
By Jayson Krause, Managing Director
With the 2022 Olympic Winter Games in full swing, I can’t help but recall my own great Olympic tragedy. In the spirit of competition, glory and growth, here is what I learned from my time drowning in Olympic heartbreak.
I remember walking into the stadium at the 2006 Winter Olympic opening ceremonies. The hype was nothing compared to experiencing the real thing. I wore the pride in my eyes, my smile, and the way I strode into the sea of people cheering on their respective country.
I spotted my parents proudly waving our country’s flag among the vast crowd, soaking in the moment; they would no doubt recount years from now those subtle moments I would forget in the enormity of the event. I could tell by their glowing faces they were proud of me.
It’s a memory that I can recall quickly and vividly – it’s something I’d envisioned several times. It was the most incredible moment of my life… only, it never happened.
I had visualized this moment so many times inside my head, however, instead of marching proudly into my first Olympics, I was at home watching teammates and fellow athletes living MY story. I watched as they proudly paraded into Italy’s Torino Olympic stadium in 2006. After 8 years of pain and effort, sweat and grinding away, I felt like I had been cheated by life and as life’s moments go, this was near rock bottom.
For most of my twenties I was clear as clear can be. I woke up every morning with a goal and a purpose. I knew what I had to do and when to do it. I had quadrennial goals; yearly, monthly, weekly, and daily goals that could be measured. Not only that, I had differentiated myself – the social benefits of being a national team bobsled driver were something I soaked up and relished. Not many people can answer the common question, “what do you do?” by saying, “I tour around the world and race bobsleds down icy mountains.”
However, in 2006, my heart completely shattered and I was drowning in shame.
Was it an incredibly challenging moment in my life? Definitely. Was it a terrible thing? In hindsight, not at all.
This collapse forced me to look at myself in the mirror and ask the big question: “If I’m not an Olympian, what possible value can I bring to the world?”
With nothing but the gravity of existential failure to pull me forward into the journey of self-exploration, I was invited to shed the story of who I was so I could step into exploring the person I could become - sometimes it takes a nightmare to wake you up.
This Olympic nightmare was a personal awakening, inviting me to examine and identify the value I could provide in my world without the Olympic rings tattooed on my shoulder. I was emotionally exhausted from falling victim to the seductive trap of external validation. The process of liberating myself from this illusion was scary, hard, and very important.
Without experiencing this heartbreaking pain, I’d likely still be living a life suffering from ‘destination-itis’ - focusing on where I needed to be next and fantasizing about that unrealized big accomplishment or fancy title that would make me “really important."
In my work now as an executive coach, and managing director of Level 52, I work with leaders around the world to navigate chaos and deliver impact. I’m frequently reminded that there is nothing you achieve and accomplish that makes you “really important.” It’s the way you show up with humility despite your success and the way you pick up the pieces and take the next step towards learning and discovery.
Not making the Olympics at one point was a deep and real pain. What I know now is that every painful experience offers at least a nugget of critical wisdom that can help you see further and run faster towards your next vision.
