If there's anybody out there that's looking for a motivational thought for the day, this is it. My basketball coach read this poem to my team in high school after a couple tough losses. It actually made him cry as he read, I thought because he had young boys at the time. I remember being touched by the poem's parallels to how our Heavenly Father and the Savior help us through tough things. As I reread the poem today, I felt the exact same way... it's so touching and emphasizes how others and especially the Savior, can really lift you when you fall. It's called, The Race.
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 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,
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 hope a fire.
To win, to 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 he 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,
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,
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 that 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 he jumped up 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 gained 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 in 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:
a loser all the way.
"I've lost, so what's the use," he thought,
but then he thought of his Dad.
Soon he'd have to face him
and he didn't want him sad.
"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!"
With borrowed will, he rose and heard,
"You haven't lost at all.
For winning is not 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 whether 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 time 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 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 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 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!"
I still sometimes must face,
but another voice within me says:
"GET UP AND WIN THE RACE!"
This poem reminded me of a video clip that I recently saw of the Olympic athlete, Derek Redmond, who experienced a similar story. Click HERE if you'd like to watch his inspirational experience.
