“IT'S ALWAYS TOO EARLY TO QUIT.” NORMAN VINCENT PEALE

He likes to run.  I’ll never understand it. This year for Corporate Challenge (a month long city-wide contest between companies) The Hub is running in nearly every track event there is.  He’s running the 400, the 800, the mile, something else, another thing, a couple of relays and a duathlon.  I don’t even know what a duathlon is. I had to look up how to spell it. 

And not JUST that.  He’s also doing the bike race and I think he signed up for the long jump too.  And maybe something else.  I participated in Corporate Challenge a few years ago when I was employed by a corporation.  I did the horseshoes. 

We’re different, he and I.  Yes, indeedy.

Even though I can’t fathom why anyone would run (unless they are being chased by something scary – like a raging bull … more on this later) I still want to be supportive.  So I go to the events and watch.  I sit on the torture devices called “bleachers” and cheer.  I go, woo hoo!  And, hooray!  And, run run run run run!  When The Hub goes flying by.  I clap and shout.  I keep a stopwatch and time him.  I tell him how good he looked when he’s done.  I don’t even make fun of his hair that is getting so long I wondered for a second last night why they let that GIRL run in the men’s mile.  All of this cheering and such takes about, oh, 20 seconds.  I’m there for that 20 seconds.  That’s why I go.

However, the EVENT lasts much MUCH longer than 20 seconds.  There are groups and groups and groups to run.  Age groups and divisions and such.  It takes HOURS to complete an event – most of this time is spent waiting – unless you’re The Hub, then it’s spent warming up and eating raisins and changing your sweaty shirt from the warm up and switching out socks and debating what shoes to wear and changing your shoes and eating a banana and going to the potty and coming back and warming up some more and changing shirts again.

I usually take a book to read.  Or some work to do.  I do this to keep busy and so that I won’t shout out, COME ON ALREADY!, when other people are competing. I sit quietly.  I read or work.  I do my thing keeping one ear open for the start of the 20 seconds of why I’m there.  Most people there are there to compete and since it is a large scale event, there are a lot of people watching while other people run.  It’s a supportive group always applauding at appropriate times.  I ignore most of this.  I read or work or sit quietly and text people on my phone.  Occasionally, however, when I hear a large amount of applause, I’ll stop what I’m doing and pay attention.  When the clapping swells and when people start cheering I look up.  And I always see one of two things -

Someone burning up the track, blowing others away, flying without wings

or

Someone chugging and gasping, bringing up the rear – the REAR of the rear, barely making it, coming in last place … very very VERY last place.

Isn’t that something?

We humans rejoice when we see someone triumph.  The racer who flat out freakin’ wins is honored because wow, that is something to see.  Clearly this person has tried, has worked at it, has gotten up in the wee hours and pulled on cold running pants and hit the sidewalks and pavement when birds were still wiping the sleepies out of their eyes. They’ve worked at it.  They’ve conquered.  And that is awesome.  Way to go, champ.

But it’s the other racer we adore.  The other racer who is at the back of the pack, who lags farther with each lap, whose face turns beet red, and who has forgotten that breathing is an INvoluntary act.   That racer is just as exciting to watch.  The first runner has our respect.  This runner has our heart.  Because he’s not competing against the pack.  No, his competition is much greater, much tougher, much meaner … he’s competing against himself, against not quitting, against The Voice.  The Voice that says, you shouldn’t be here, you’ll make a fool of yourself, they are going to laugh at you, you’ll never make it, you can’t win, you shouldn’t try, hey, is that an ice cream truck over there? And I think we all know that voice.  We all live at some level with The Voice. 

It was The Voice that told me when I was 10 not to play softball because I didn’t have a glove.

It was The Voice when I was in high school that told me I was too skinny and then later too fat and that people would make fun of me if I tried to publish my poetry.

It was The Voice the kept me from going to open auditions at the Indiana Repertory Theater.

It was The Voice that berated me over and over again for decisions I made about my life and career.

It was The Voice – that damn Voice – that sidled up next to me every other week and said, Chemo is tomorrow, you’ll never make it.  You’re not strong enough to do this.  You’re weak.  You can’t beat it.  Don’t try.   Give up.  Give up.  You should just give up. 

The Voice is in all of us.  I hate The Voice.  So when we see someone out there, doing it, pulling it, pushing it, making it happen – IN SPITE OF THE VOICE – we cheer.  Our heart swells.  Our own pulse races and we get up on our feet and we scream.  We lean forward and say things like, Don’t quit!  Don’t you quit!  And we slam our hands together harder, even though it stings and stings and we silently pray that they won’t stop, that they’ll keep going, that they’ll cross that line. 

Because if that guy can do it … then maybe, just maybe there is hope for me.

Comments

[Beth B.]

This reminds me of The Voice of Truth..a great song.

[Christi]

And the Hub designs a pretty cool shirt, too.

[Big Sandwich]

How come that voice is never there after I have had a couple drinks...you can't fit that whole orange in your mouth...you can't talk louder than everyone at the table.

I could go on but the voice won't let me. Stupid voice only there when I don't need you.

Love the new banner, oh yeah, thanks for being one of the voices that thinks I can fit the whole orange in my mouth.

[Wendy]

I know that Voice. Today, I really do. I think I'm heading out to buy earplugs. Want some?

[The Hub]

YOU'RE a girl! :P

[Housewife]

When I was a kid I was a really fast runner because I had to keep up with my 6'2" father.

During our last marathon I waited 2.5 hours for him to cross the finish line after me. He took himself and his CLL and ran 26.2 miles and every step is a victory.

For some the 400 yard dash is their victory and I applaud every athlete that steps into their training shoes.

We live for you cheers too. That's a secret so few of us will tell, we love your cheers. Please don't stop.

[Steakbellie]

My Dad was a big fan of Dr Norman Vincent Peal and the Power of POsitive Thinking. I can remember listing to his broacasts on WOR growing up. I loved his voice, he reminded me of my Grandfather...very loving.

Once when I was 6 or 7 we treked up to New York City to listen to him give a Sermon in his church. I dont remember what he said, but I do remember the dark wood and the plush pews...and the tiny old man crouched behind the Pulpit....

[air jordan 11]

The new post of your blog is very brilliant!I enjoys your blog quite a lot and at the same time, I had learned a lot from YOU. Today is monday. WISH YOU AND YOUR FAMILY HAPPY AND HEALTH!