Today's re-post is one of my favorite family stories about perseverance. It was a post for the Insecure Writer's Support Group blogfest. For more 2014 gems, go here to see who's participating.
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This week I am gathered with family at my sister's place in Lake Lure, NC (home of the famous lift-practice scene with Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Grey in Dirty Dancing.) We've been making the annual pilgrimage here for 12 years now and have become fairly good at boat-propelled water sports. So it seems appropriate to share one of my favorite coaching stories with you now.
|Lift-scene practice was filmed in Lake Lure, NC.|
A number of years ago, my brother-in-law was encouraging my 6-foot 3-inch husband to successfully complete a deep-water start on the long rope on his slalom ski. A slalom ski is one ski with bindings for both feet. You can either start with your non-lead foot out of the binding and insert it after you're up and balanced, or start with it already inserted into the rear binding. My husband and I like to start with both feet already secured, but he was having trouble transitioning to the long rope behind the boat and getting up. My brother-in-law had him start on the boom, a rod beside the boat, with a little tow rope. Once Steve mastered that move, he moved to a short rope behind the boat. But the long rope transition was hard for a tall guy like him. The longer the rope, the longer your body has to fight to get itself out of the water. A lot can go wrong in that time, usually involving him getting pulled face forward and wiping out.
My brother-in-law Chris, as impressive a skiier as you've ever seen, the kind of guy who thinks it's fun to ski on various inanimate objects like garbage can lids, and blows us all away with his barefoot skiing, knew my husband was getting frustrated. Steve was losing his balance in those last few moments when he had to fight hardest to maintain it. He needed to dig in a little longer before trying to stand. But his gut reaction every time was to try and stand as quickly as possible.
"Are you the spider or the fly?" Chris asked Steve after his umpteenth spill.
We all just looked at him, wondering where this was going.
"The fly is oblivious, but the spider knows that he must be patient and wait for his time to strike. Timing is everything. If he strikes too early, the object of his desires gets away from him. You have to wait until your weight is balanced on that board before you try to stand. You have to fight that urge to get up too early. Now, I ask you. Are you that lowly fly, ready to get clobbered? Or are you the spider, ready to persevere and snatch your goal?
"Be the spider!"
"I am the spider!" Steve yelled from the water. We all cheered from the boat. Chris motored ahead until the tow line was taut, and waited for Steve's signal to start.
"Hit it!" my husband yelled, a new determination in his voice.
The engine roared to life. The boat accelerated. At the end of the long rope, Steve fought the slalom ski. Concentration marbled his face. He stayed low, shifting his weight, pushing against the ski that thrummed to take off with or without him.
Only then did he attempt to go vertical.
With only a slight bobble, he stood.
He was the spider.