The following sits on my desk as a reminder to me who and what is really important. My friend who gave it to me would be surprised to know I read it weekly.
“The Race” by Dee Groberg
A childrens race-young boys young men How I remember well Excitement, sure! But also fear; It wasn’t hard to tell. They all lined up so full of hope; Each thought to win the race. Or tie for first, or if not that, At least take second place. And fathers watched from off the side Each cheering for his son. And each boy hoped to show his dad That he would be the one. The whistle blew and off they went, Young hearts and hopes afire. To win and be the hero there Was each young boy’s desire. And one boy in particular, Whose dad was in the crowd, Was running near the lead and thought: “My dad will be so proud!” But as they sped down the field-Across a shallow dip, The little boy who thought to win-Lost his step and slipped. Trying hard to catch himself, His hands flew out to brace, But mid the laughter of the crowd He fell flat on his face. So down he fell and with him hope—He couldn’t win it now– Embarrassed, sad, he only wished, To disappear somehow. But as he fell his dad stood up, And showed his anxious face, Which to the boy so clearly said. “Get up and win the race.” He quickly rose, no damage done, Behind a bit, that’s all—- And ran with all his mind and might To make up for his fall. So anxious to restore himself To catch up and to win— His mind went faster than his legs; He slipped and fell again! He wished then he had quit before, With only one disgrace. “I’m hopeless as a runner now; I shouldn’t try to race.” But in the laughing crowd he searched And found his father’s face; That steady look which said again; “Get up and win the race!” So up he jumped to try again Ten yards behind the last– “If I’m to gain those yards,” he thought, “I’ve got to move real fast.” Exerting everything he had He regained eight or ten, But trying so hard to catch the lead He slipped and fell again. Defeat! He lay there silently–A tear dropped from his eye— Three strikes: I’m out! Why try!” The will to rise had disappeared; All hope had fled away; So far behind, so error prone; A loser all the way. “I’ve lost, so what’s the use,” he thought “I’ll live with my disgrace.” But then he thought about his dad–Who soon he’d have to face. “Get up,” an echo sounded low. “Get up and take your place; You were not meant for failure here. Get up and win the race.” So up he rose to run once more, And with a new commit He resolved that WIN or LOSE,—At least he wouldn’t quit. So far behind the others now, The most he’d ever been– Still he gave it all he had–And ran as though to win. Three times he’d fallen, stumbling; Three times he rose again; To far behind to hope to win–he still ran to the end. They cheered the winning runner, As he crossed the line first place. Head high, proud and happy; No falling no disgrace. But when the fallen youngster Crossed the line last place, The crowd gave him the greater cheer, For finishing the race. And even though he came in last, With head bowed low, unproud. You would have thought he’d won the race To listen to the crowd. And to his dad he sadly said, “I didn’t do to well.” “To me, you won,” his father said. “You rose each time you fell.” Be Healthy, Train Smart, Have Fun Jeff coach@prsfit.com