In the Arena
My husband and his father are avid followers of AMA Supercross, and the season’s supercross (indoor) part just came to an end. For the 450 class, the season consists of 17 races, with riders earning points based on their finish. 1st place earns 25 points, 2nd place earns 24 points, 3rd place earns 23 points, and so on. The goal is to end the season with the most points, and you are the AMA Supercross Champion.
Hunter Lawrence was in the lead towards the end of the season, and the championship came down to the final race, the final point count coming down between Hunter and a fellow rider (and my husband’s favorite), Ken Roczen.
Neither rider has yet to win the Supercross championship. Ken had a serious injury several years ago that many thought would end his career. And Hunter only joined the 450 class three years ago.
In the end, Ken Roczen pulled out the win, and it was quite fun and emotional to see his full journey to that championship play out in a wealth of celebratory emotions.
But, in watching Ken celebrate, I was also curious how Hunter would react. As a fan of numerous sports, I’ve always been drawn to seeing how people handle failure. Thanks to social media and the press, we often get immediate post-event interviews, as well as further thoughts expressed on the athletes’ social media accounts.
Hunter’s interview was classy and standard — disappointment in the finish, but congratulations to Ken. But, in the days after the race, he posted on social media, and part of what he said was, “I wasn’t scared to fail, and I always gave it my all.”
A lot of announcers and fans of Supercross got pretty critical of Hunter towards the end of the season. His points were never so far ahead that his potential win was a given, but he did have some cushion that a few bad races quickly diminished. It was his race to lose.
But it’s easy to criticize when we are in the comfort of being an observer, watching and analyzing without the fear and weight of failure. Hunter’s caption reminds me of Theodore Roosevelt’s Man in the Arena Speech. Roosevelt talks about how the “…credit belongs to the man in the arena.” And how that if the man in the arena fails, “…at least he fails while daring greatly.”
I don’t know what it takes to ride a 450 Supercross bike. I know the men I watch do it every week make it look far easier than it actually would be. I don’t know the pressure the men feel as the points position them among themselves, and the goal of being the champion either comes into view or slips away. I don’t know what it feels like to come so close to winning something so big, and then lose it in a 20-minute race.
But I do know something about courage and vulnerability. And I’m glad Hunter seems to have found a balance between motivating disappointment and equally motivating self-compassion. By many’s standards, he failed in terms of the ultimate goal in a supercross season by losing the championship, but in terms of winning in humanity? I would say he’s far exceeding. He wasn’t scared to fail, and he gave it his all. He dared greatly.
So perhaps this week you, too, could take a moment to consider how you evaluate yourself. Is it work reviews, grade cards, bonus payouts, or productivity? These things aren’t inherently bad, just like the scoring for Supercross isn’t. But they do only tell one part of our story. Outside of these evaluatory systems, there’s more to humanity when it comes to succeeding. Are you, too, putting yourself out there and giving it your all? If so, welcome to the arena, where critics may have plenty to say, but all the while they do, may you rest in knowing that even if they say you aren’t doing well enough, those evaluations come from you daring greatly.
