Over the past months, I have been asked countless questions (which I loveJ). One of the questions that has been repeated over and over is related to my ending quotes. “Where do you get all your quotes?” I am asked. Well, I have always been somewhat of a quote-a-holic. I have books of quotes, quotes posted in my classroom, a whiteboard in my kitchen where I write quotes,…etc. I simply love when I find the perfect quote to convey my thoughts or a poignant message. Most of the quotes on my blog are simply from the internet (quotegarden.com was used quite a bit). A good quote is like an exclamation mark, and can hold so much power in it’s simplicity. I am glad that so many of you enjoyed reading them.
What I would love to share now, though, is a story. I have read this story hundreds of times over the past 10 years or so. I loved it the moment I read it, and have used it with my own children, as well as my school kids. It’s a poem/story called “The Race” and I hope you find it as inspirational as I do. It’s a simple story about a childhood race, but it packs a powerful message about life I believe we can all use. It’s long, but worth the read. Enjoy one of my favorites…
The Race
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 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 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.
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 gained eight or ten.
But trying so hard to catch the lead, he slipped and fell again!
Defeat! He lied 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: 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!”
“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 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:
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’d won the race, to listen to the crowd.
And to his dad he sadly said, “I didn’t do too well.”
“To me, you won,” his father said. “You rose each time you fell.”
**********
And when things seem so 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 may shout in my face.
But a stronger voice within me says: “GET UP AND WIN THE RACE!”
