TOUGH SHOT

I always enjoyed putting the shot.

I played football and track in high school and college. When I look back at the sports experience, I think I enjoyed the solitary sport of track and field even more than the babe-magnet sport of football.

I came to that conclusion a few years ago while in an analytical mood. I was reconstructing my life. I was bemoaning my lost opportunity to be a really good shot putter. Then what to my wondering eyes should appear but a notice for the Senior Olympics -- opportunity regained.

I had five months to get ready for the state trials and another two months for the state finals. As they say, "It's never too late to have a happy childhood" and I was going to prove that statement true. I enhanced my workout schedule to include what I needed, physically and mentally, to heave that shot further than any old guy in New Mexico had ever done.

The big day came, I threw, I stunk.

It was then that I came to the realization that if I could have either skills or attitude--I'd take skills. I had a great positive attitude I just couldn't throw the darn thing from one side of a closet to the other. I came in first loser (a.k.a. second) -- that wasn't really as good as it sounded. There were only two men in my age category. But because the top three finishers qualified for advancement, I was eligible for state! Life is a numbers game.

As we drove home I said to Jean, "Well that frees up a couple days in July because there is no way I'll go to the state meet finals and embarrass myself again." Then Jean reminded me of what I use to say in my years of giving motivational speeches (Don't you hate it when you have to munch on your own words) "There are three benefits to failure". Failure is:

1) A learning experience

2) A step toward success

3) A help to developing a sense of humor

As hard as those words were to ingest, they were true.

1) I learned the way I was practicing didn't work. I changed my practice routine.

2) This meet was only one step toward success. I signed up for other meets.

3) Being beaten by people who were throwing the shot as a time filler while waiting to compete in their "real" event, was humorous. (This benefit did take longer to accept.)

Off to state I went; I threw; I stunk.

There's always next year.

As tough as it is, we can't let the worry over failure stop us from doing what we know for us is the right thing to do.

A way to internalize failure is that failure is a choice, and we can choose to never fail again because failure is only in the mind of the beholder.

Maybe that concept needs an explanation. Everything we do has an outcome. If it's the outcome we wanted or better (in my case a gold metal), we label that as a success. If it's an outcome we didn't want or worse (in my case dropping the shot on my foot), we label that as a failure. We project the outcome based on our expectations, we judge the outcome based on our expectations, and we label the outcome as either a success or a failure based on our expectations.

When we experience an outcome that was less than we anticipated, we can choose to label ourselves a washout who bombed, fizzled, collapses, blundered, botched, flunked and floundered. Or we could choose to say we are a schooled, enlightened, informed, knowledgeable learner who knows we're always a success at creating the outcome we get.

We project the outcome, we judge the outcome, and we label the outcome.

When we are up against the possibility of failure and feel ourselves backing off we can give it the "best/worst" test by asking these three questions:

1) What's the worst that could happen if I engage in this activity?

2) What's the best that can happen?

3) Is the best worth the worst?

When the thrill of victory out weights the agony of defeat, go for the victory.

Considering my shot put experiences, the best that could happen, I could win a gold medal. The worst that could happen, I don't win a gold medal. So since I didn't have a gold metal when I began, the worst that could happen is I wind up right where I was before I started. In this case is the best worth the worst? Sure.

Will I do it again sometime? Yes. I learned some life-long lessons, took another step forward and had more than a few laughs. My strategy now is to stay healthy and eventually outlive everyone until I am the only one left in my age group. Failure is a state of mind and we can choose not to live in that state. 

TICK TOCK

On a medical show on TV, a couple in their 80s are stage center. The man is dying; the wife asks the handsome young doctor, "How much longer?" Doc says, "A few more minutes." The woman sobs in stunned and saddened disbelief, stares at the doctor with a look in her eyes that rips your heart out and mumbles numbly, "Only a few more minutes?"

Sixty years of loving togetherness for that man and his wife came down to only "a few more minutes."

There comes a time for all of us when our relationships with those we love will be over in just "a few more minutes." The difference between most of us and the TV characters is they knew which minutes would be their "few more."

Given this finality fact of earthly relationships, should you then be kind, tender, warm, devoted and giving to your loved ones every single minute of every single day? Commendable, yes, but just as certainly unattainable, and in many ways, undesirable. (How would you like to spend a serious amount of time with someone who treated you as if you were going to croak any minute?)

Here rests our earthly dilemma. You shouldn't treat others as if they are going to die before lunch because 99.99 percent of the time, you will be wrong. But if you're not treating them the best you know how when their few minutes are indeed up, you beat yourself upside the head with the guilt stick. "I was going to call Aunt Lenore last night, but I watched Dancing With The Stars on TV instead. Now she's dead; I'm a terrible person."

Part of our human makeup seems to be when someone or something (I'm including animals) close to us dies we feel we didn't "do enough," "weren't there for them," "didn't say what we wanted to say," yada yada. Get over it. The odds are against us always doing the right thing at the right time.

A loving relationship is a balancing act of living daily with the humanness brought to that relationship. A loving relationship is the times you called Aunt Lenore twice in a day countered with the times you didn't call at all. Death as well as life is a game without rules. You can't judge the quality of a relationship on the last "few minutes." But you definitely could hold yourself accountable for all the years, months, weeks, hours and minutes before the last few.

When you have treated your loved ones the best you know how for 99.99 percent of the time, the last few minutes are just the last few minutes. Let's try to enjoy others as if they will live forever, and love them as if they only have a few more minutes.