I sought out a poem about "a race" today, as my five-year-old son ran 55m (60 yards, in old money) at his first track meet. I don't know if he will ever come first in a foot race, but he believes he won today, because he got a ribbon at the end - putting in the practice these past few weeks, getting up at seven o'clock on a Saturday morning, that is certainly a win, even if he finished in the lower half of the field. On a side note, watching him do stretching exercises with the middle school kids was the cutest thing I ever saw - I was afraid, though, he was going to fall over trying the one-legged poses.
Dr. Groberg, know as "Dee", passed away just last month.
Dr. Groberg, know as "Dee", passed away just last month.
| The Race | |
| Whenever I start to hang my head in front of failure’s face, | |
| my downward fall is broken by the memory of a race. | |
| A children’s 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 that race | 5 |
| or tie for first, or if not that, at least take second place. | |
| Their parents watched from off the side, each cheering for their son, | |
| and each boy hoped to show his folks that he would be the one. | |
| The whistle blew and off they flew, like chariots of fire, | |
| to win, to be the hero there, was each young boy’s desire. | 10 |
| One boy in particular, whose dad was in the crowd, | |
| was running in the lead and thought “My dad will be so proud.” | |
| But as he speeded down the field and crossed a shallow dip, | |
| the little boy who thought he’d win, lost his step and slipped. | |
| Trying hard to catch himself, his arms flew everyplace, | |
| and midst the laughter of the crowd he fell flat on his face. | |
| As he fell, his hope fell too; he couldn’t win it now. | |
| Humiliated, he just 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 that race!” | 20 |
| 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 had quit before with only one disgrace. | 25 |
| “I’m hopeless as a runner now, I shouldn’t try to race.” | |
| But through the laughing crowd he searched and found his father’s face | |
| with a 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 to gain those yards,” he thought, “I’ve got to run real fast!” | 30 |
| Exceeding everything he had, he regained eight, then ten... | |
| but trying 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? | |
| I’ve lost, so what’s the use?” he thought. “I’ll live with my disgrace.” | 35 |
| But then he thought about his dad, who soon he’d have to face. | |
| “Get up,” an echo sounded low, “you haven’t lost at all, | |
| for all you have to do to win is rise each time you fall. | |
| Get up!” the echo urged him on, “Get up and take your place! | |
| You were not meant for failure here! Get up and win that race!” | 40 |
| So, up he rose to run once more, refusing to forfeit, | |
| and 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 like he could win. | |
| Three times he’d fallen stumbling, three times he rose again. | 45 |
| Too far behind to hope to win, he still ran to the end. | |
| They cheered another boy who crossed the line and won first place, | |
| head high and proud and happy -- no falling, no disgrace. | |
| But, when the fallen youngster crossed the line, in last place, | |
| the crowd gave him a greater cheer for finishing the race. | 50 |
| 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 so well.” | |
| “To me, you won,” his father said. “You rose each time you fell.” | |
| And now when things seem dark and bleak and difficult to face, | 55 |
| the memory of that little boy helps me in my own 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. | |
| And when depression and despair shout loudly in my face, | |
| another voice within me says, “Get up and win that race!” | 60 |
