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 then the babe-magnet sport of football.

I came to that conclusion 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 flyer 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) -- out of two men in my age category. But because the top three finishers qualified for advancement, I was eligible for state!

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've been saying to audiences for years -- 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

It's tough when your own words come back to bite you, but bite me they did.

The three steps 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, you can't let the worry over failure stop you from doing what you know for you is the right thing to do.

The way I like to look at failure is that failure is a choice, and you can choose to never fail again because failure is only in the mind of the beholder.

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

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


You project the outcome, you judge the outcome, and you label the outcome.

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

1) What's the worst that could happen if I engage in this activity?
2) What's the best that could 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 next year? 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.


Lesson: Failure is a state of mind, choose not to live in that state.