At first, it was just a fuzzy dream - the kind every one of us gets when a plan is working, delivering results, and showing us that our goals are actually within reach. You know the one: “I wonder if...”

When I heard I could join the Iranian National mountain bike team and possibly compete in the 2012 London Olympics, my mind immediately started planning. The goal was to be in the best shape possible by the summer of 2012. I had to race more, earn points, get my Pro card, climb the U.S. rankings, and qualify for Iran’s National Team. I mapped out the plan and decided to go for it.

That meant 3.5 years of meticulously following a strict training regimen - nutrition, strength, and daily vitals to determine how hard I could push without breaking. I dove into the research to obsess over every detail. It worked. I got my Pro card, raced the national circuit, and cracked the top 100 in the U.S. Just in time to fly to Iran, compete in a Pan-Asian international race, and head to London.

The fuzzy dream was becoming reality. I knew I stood zero chance of actually competing or even qualifying for the main event, but that didn’t matter. At 42, I wasn’t under any illusions. I just wanted to say, “I made it to the Olympics” - the pinnacle of my passion for training.

Looking back, it consumed me. Every minute of the day, seven days a week, for over three years. It pushed me to my limits, exactly as it was designed to do. The only unknown was the Iranian Olympic Committee. Relatives told me there was a “proper” way to handle them, and they would help me navigate the process since I had left Iran when I was 11.

I started training with the national team in Iran. They had just started a mountain bike team, there was no one to run it, and it showed. They asked me to coach, so I did. The team was talented and hard-working; they had coached themselves to that point and welcomed me in. We were lined up to fly to China, then back to pack for London.

It was the night before - 10 p.m., lights out at the dormitory. The supervisor in charge called me to his office. I thought he wanted a status report on the upcoming races. I wasn’t ready for what actually happened.

He didn’t care about the team or the races. He wanted $5,000. He explained that nothing would happen unless I paid him, even though I had already paid all the fees and had the paperwork verified by the right people. It took a minute for me to realize that my Olympic bid had come down to that.

I didn’t go to China. I didn’t go to London. I flew home completely shattered. I had dug a hole so deep pushing for those three years that the sudden stop broke my back. The defeat, the humiliation - it was overwhelming. It took months before I could put myself back together or even ride a bike. It took over a year before I could look back and see what I could learn from the whole experience.

One thing that stood out was that the plan itself - the research and the execution - actually worked. It kept me on the track to qualify. But I also realized it was too rigid. I had been so focused on the target that I hadn’t left any room for life’s sudden shifts. I learned that for a plan to actually last, it has to have resiliency built in. You have to be able to adapt when the ground beneath you moves. I realized that if you only prepare for the perfect path, you’re in trouble when life inevitably changes.

I started focusing on delivering more than just strength and cardio for my clients. I began looking into the other, higher-priority areas of all my clients’ lives, working on them one at a time. It became like specific homework to get them to their goals quicker.

The experiences with my longtime client and friend Greg taught me how to approach a problem with curiosity: research it, plan, observe, repeat. Working with all sorts of athletes, no matter how old or young they were or what their goals were, taught me how to individualize success.

Failures can be great opportunities to learn, but only if you look at them with enough curiosity to see what’s left when the dust settles.