Part of success is simply raw determination. I heard this poem in 1980, and then found a copy of it. It has been folded and refolded and read and reread. I share it now, it means a lot to me, I love the message, and it has helped me push on, even when I don't want to. It has been a source of inspiration to me for years.
The sports world is full of stories, ABC Sports put it best with the Wide World of Sports, "The thrill of victory and the agony of defeat." Life is full of setbacks, in so many areas. My writing friends all fight up hill battles with their quests to be published, I include myself in this quest as well. A published writer overcomes so much. Business world has a lot to deal with, so many challenges, so much success comes through pure, raw, unadulterated determination.
“The Race”
--D.H. Groberg
"Quit!"
"Give up, you're beaten!"
they
shout at me and plead,
"There's
just too much against you now,
this
time you can't succeed."
And
as I started 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 boys, young men;
now
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
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 sped,
as
if they were on fire
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,
"My
dad will be so proud."
But
as he speeded down the field,
across
the shallow dip,
The
little boy who thought to win
lost
his step and slipped.
Trying
hard to catch himself,
his
arm 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
he'd
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 the 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 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 that said again,
"Get
up and win the 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!"
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 any more.
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
weren't meant for failure here;
get
up and win the race."
With
borrowed will, "Get up," it said,
"You
haven't lost at all,
For
winning is no more than this
--to
rise each time you fall."
So
up 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 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 crossed the finish 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 so well."
"To
me you won," his father said,
"you
rose each time you fell."
And
now 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, you're beaten!"
They
still shout in my face,
But
another voice within me says,
"Get
up and win that race!"
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