Great Story!
Thought I'd share this one....hope it will be an inspiration to you. At the State Track meet a few weeks ago there was a senior girl hurdler in Stefanie's preliminary heat. I'm fairly certain that her incoming time was the second fastest of the 16 girls that made it to state. So, needless to say, she was good. Well, she made the finals with ease. During the finals I had my eyes set on her.....she wasn't seeded first in the finals but I was pulling for her because I just liked her style. Well, the gun shot pierced the air and she took off like she owned the race...she went over the first hurdle before anyone else in the field....it was a sure thing...she was going to win. Well, the second hurdle came and the runner tripped and fell hard to the track. She picked herself up and obviously had no hopes of winning the race and yet she continued the race ONLY to fall on the next hurdle....And, once again, with borrowed will, she rose and finished the race. She was about 15 seconds behind the rest of the field, but nevertheless she finished the race. Well I sat in the stands with goosebumps all over me. Many of you know my story about my tumbling at the State Track Meet in 1979....and I knew I just had to write that girl a note.
So, I sent her an encouraging note, reminding her NOT to let this race define her life (like I had for several years). I congratulated her for her accomplishments and I thanked her for the inspiration that she gave to many at that meet. I also enclosed the following poem....read it (you may want to get a tissue):
The Race
“Quit!” “Give up!” “You’re beaten!” they shout out and plead.
“There’s just too much against you now, this time you can’t succeed.”
And as I start to hang my head in front of failure’s face,
My downward fall is broken by the memory of a race.
And hope refills my weakened will as I recall that scene
For just the thought of that short race rejuvenates my being.
A children’s race, young men, young boys. Oh, I recall it well.
Excitement, sure, but also fear, it wasn’t hard to tell.
They all lined up so full of hope. Each thought to win that 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, to be the hero there was each young boy’s desire.
And one boy in particular, his Dad was in the crowd,
Was running near the lead and thought, “Oh, my Dad will be so proud.”
And on he speeded 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
And 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
That to the boy so clearly said, “Get up and win that 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 that he’d 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 that said again, “Get up and win that race.”
So he jumped up to try again, ten yards behind the last.
“If I’m going to gain those yards,” he thought, “I’ve got to run real fast.”
Exceeding 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.
“There’s no sense running, anymore. Three strikes, I’m out. Why try?”
The will to rise had disappeared. All hope had fled away.
So far behind, so error prone, closer 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 that race.”
With borrowed will, “Get up!” it said, “You haven’t lost at all.”
“For winning is not more than this: To rise each time you fall.”
And so he rose to win, 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’d rose again.
Too 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 and 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 won the race to have listened to that crowd.
And to his Dad he sadly said, “I didn’t do so well.”
“To me you won,” his father said, “You rose each time you fell.”
And when things seem dark and hard and difficult to face
The memory of that little boy helps me in my race.
For all of life is like that race with ups and downs and all
And all you have to do to win is rise each time you fall.
“Quit!” “Give up!” “Defeat!” They still shout in my face.
But, another voice within me says, “Get up and win that race!”
- - D. H. Groberg
So, about a week later I got a note from Taylor.....a thank you note. She thanked me for the encouraging card and how it made her a lot happier and she also thanked me for the poem and how it was an inspiration to her....I think that somehow that poem will get put in a special place as a reminder to her of her winning spirit in ALL situations. My poem is matted and framed on my office wall. I still cry when I read it....I still think of my dad each time....and I know that rising each time you fall defines you as a winner....
Have a great day!!
So, I sent her an encouraging note, reminding her NOT to let this race define her life (like I had for several years). I congratulated her for her accomplishments and I thanked her for the inspiration that she gave to many at that meet. I also enclosed the following poem....read it (you may want to get a tissue):
The Race
“Quit!” “Give up!” “You’re beaten!” they shout out and plead.
“There’s just too much against you now, this time you can’t succeed.”
And as I start to hang my head in front of failure’s face,
My downward fall is broken by the memory of a race.
And hope refills my weakened will as I recall that scene
For just the thought of that short race rejuvenates my being.
A children’s race, young men, young boys. Oh, I recall it well.
Excitement, sure, but also fear, it wasn’t hard to tell.
They all lined up so full of hope. Each thought to win that 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, to be the hero there was each young boy’s desire.
And one boy in particular, his Dad was in the crowd,
Was running near the lead and thought, “Oh, my Dad will be so proud.”
And on he speeded 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
And 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
That to the boy so clearly said, “Get up and win that 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 that he’d 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 that said again, “Get up and win that race.”
So he jumped up to try again, ten yards behind the last.
“If I’m going to gain those yards,” he thought, “I’ve got to run real fast.”
Exceeding 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.
“There’s no sense running, anymore. Three strikes, I’m out. Why try?”
The will to rise had disappeared. All hope had fled away.
So far behind, so error prone, closer 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 that race.”
With borrowed will, “Get up!” it said, “You haven’t lost at all.”
“For winning is not more than this: To rise each time you fall.”
And so he rose to win, 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’d rose again.
Too 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 and 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 won the race to have listened to that crowd.
And to his Dad he sadly said, “I didn’t do so well.”
“To me you won,” his father said, “You rose each time you fell.”
And when things seem dark and hard and difficult to face
The memory of that little boy helps me in my race.
For all of life is like that race with ups and downs and all
And all you have to do to win is rise each time you fall.
“Quit!” “Give up!” “Defeat!” They still shout in my face.
But, another voice within me says, “Get up and win that race!”
- - D. H. Groberg
So, about a week later I got a note from Taylor.....a thank you note. She thanked me for the encouraging card and how it made her a lot happier and she also thanked me for the poem and how it was an inspiration to her....I think that somehow that poem will get put in a special place as a reminder to her of her winning spirit in ALL situations. My poem is matted and framed on my office wall. I still cry when I read it....I still think of my dad each time....and I know that rising each time you fall defines you as a winner....
Have a great day!!
posted by Million Dollar Mary at 2:01 PM
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