Ironman Austria 2010: Today's swim in Ancholme (trying new phone)

The 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.

And fathers watched from off the side,
Each cheering for his son.
And each boy vowed 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 him-self
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!”

Exerting everything he had
He gained eight or ten,
But trying so hard to catch the lead
He slipped and fell again!

Defeat he laid there silently
-A tear dropped from his eye-
“There is 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 where 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 wining is no more than this:
To rise each time you fall”

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 wining 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, un-proud,
You would have thought he’d won the race
To listen to the crowd

And to his Dad he sadly sad,
“I didn’t do too well”
“To me you won” his father said
“You rose each time you fell”.

Excerpt from a “2nd Helping of Chicken Soup for the Soul” – Jack Canfield and Mark Victor Hansen

Ironman Austria 2010

Tuesday, 13 April 2010

Today's swim in Ancholme (trying new phone)

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