Get up and win the race– attributed to Dr. D.H. “Dee” Groberg

by Brian on


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
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.
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!”
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 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!”
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.”
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!”
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.
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.
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,
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!”

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