I'd like to tell you I was close - something like "I barely missed tshoot by two points, and I would have passed config but ran I out of time." That would make for a nice fluffy blog post. However, that's not the case. I fell apart during tshoot; I knew I failed within the first 90 minutes. I don't think I failed due to lack of protocol understanding. Rather, I buckled under the pressure and sheer intimidation of the lab topology. My structured troubleshooting methodology went out the window, and within minutes, I was reduced to something akin to a blind monkey pounding on a keyboard.
I'll tell you more about my experience in a moment, but first, I'd like to tell you a story. Four years ago, I decided I wanted to complete an Ironman Triathlon. A friend of mine, Nick, had completed several, and I found this inspiring. However, at the time, I hadn't run more than a mile in over ten years. I called Nick and told him I wanted to do an Ironman. His suggestion? Just run a marathon to start.
With less than four months to train, I signed up for my first marathon. I started by running a mile. My knees hurt badly, but I pushed through. Within a relatively short period of time, I worked my way up to running eight miles at once. Eight miles is obviously a far cry from a marathon, but for me, it was an accomplishment.
One week before the marathon, my wife urged me to run the half marathon instead of the full. She said "You've never even run a half! It would still be a huge accomplishment." However, when I commit to something, I follow through. I put on my running shoes and told my wife I would be back in around two hours. That night, I ran my first half marathon in the neighborhood surrounding my house. I hobbled in the front door nearly three hours later with a triumphant smirk on my face and told my wife "Well, I just ran a half. I guess I have to do the full now."
The following week, I stood at the starting line of the Philadelphia Marathon with several friends, most of whom had previously completed multiple marathons and triathlons. I was woefully unprepared, but it didn't matter. I set my mind to running a marathon; I told my friends, family, and coworkers I was running a marathon. More importantly, I told myself I was running a marathon. So damn it, I was running a marathon.
The first ten miles went surprisingly well. The friends I ran with helped keep the pace. However, shortly after mile ten, I told them to go ahead. I could no longer keep up, so I ran alone yet surrounded by 30,000 other runners. By mile twelve, my lack of training had become painfully apparent. My knee hurt badly, and I had over fourteen miles to go. However, the Philadelphia marathon offers an easy out at the half way point. There is a fork in the road. To the right is the finish line for the half marathon. There, you'll be greeted by thousands of cheering onlookers, snacks, and cold beverages. To the left is Kelly Drive, for those running the full marathon. There, the runners become sparse. The crowd thins. The euphoric buzz of the half is replaced by the silent internal battle that characterizes the full.
I chose left. By mile 15, I could not bend my left leg. My knee was simply unable to withstand the impact any longer. I tried stretching to no avail. Running was no longer an option. However, I committed to completing the marathon. I thought "If I can't run across the finish line, I'll drag myself across." And that's what I did. I limped the remaining 11 miles - a painful straight-leg limp that got progressively worse until every fiber of my being wanted to quit. I didn't quit.
When I arrived at the finish line, I heard the announcer congratulating other runners. "Congratulations, Joe, you did it!" he would say. However, his tone changed when he saw me limping in the distance. "Ohh, Matthew, you could have stopped, but you didn't," he announced over the loudspeaker, as I limped across the finish line. I chuckled, and I continued limping until the gold 30th Anniversary Philadelphia Marathon medal was placed around my neck.
I have since completed two marathons and somewhere around ten half marathons. I'm not fast, and I don't consider myself a serious runner. I just enjoy pushing myself beyond my comfort zone. However, that first medal - the medal I earned by limping across the finish line - means far more to me than any of the others. I was slow. I finished almost dead last. But I damn sure earned that medal. I still haven't attempted an Ironman, but I'll get there eventually. I put that goal on hold while I prepare for my CCIE.
Well, that was a bit of a tangent. This post was meant to be a CCIE lab recap, after all. However, I'm beaten down, exhausted, and reminded of that first marathon. I trained much harder for the lab than I did for that marathon, and I still failed. However, I know I accomplished something. I'm one step closer to a pass, and I have a strategy for my next attempt. Tomorrow, I'm booking another lab date.
Tomorrow, I'm also going to write a "part two" post where I detail the specifics of my lab attempt. Just not now. Now, I'm going to get some sleep - a full night, not just four hours of lab-prep sleep.
