I fuss at my son when he whines or cries for no good reason. I tell him that "big boys" and "tough guys" don't sit around crying when things don't go their way. I reminded myself of this when I ripped up my hand the other day and I wanted to cry. I sucked it up and I didn't cry.Yesterday I went to my daughter's soccer game. Her team...The Dolphins...have won every game...except ONE that they tied...since last season. They are used to winning. They always assume that they WILL win...again. They played the #1 team, The Stars. The Stars are #1 because they have won ALL their games and NEVER tied. They score tons of goals...the most of any team all season...but they also give up a lot of goals. The Dolphins are the opposite. They are not high scorers, but they don't give up many goals either. It was interesting to watch a game of OFFENSE vs. DEFENSE. It was frustrating because we had the crappiest ref of all time that never called anything on The Stars and called some really unfair and actually WRONG calls towards The Dolphins always mysteriously when they were about to make a goal...but that's the way it goes in sports...you can't use the ref as an excuse. The Dolphins wanted to win...but in the end...they lost...by one goal.
My daughter was crying at the end of the game. I started questioning her as to why she was crying. I wanted to tell her to "suck it up" or to "clean up her face", but before I could "toughen her up"...she told me that she was crying because she wanted to win so badly. It wasn't a "poor me spoiled brat" cry...it was a "agony of defeat" cry.
It reminded me of a time when I was training with W. I pushed myself to the limit because I wanted my name at the top of the white board...I wanted to win...to get a better time than everyone else that took the test before me...and I did. Then he took me to the track and told me to run a timed mile. The problem was that I had given everything to the race I had just finished and I had NOTHING left. I ran...and it hurt...and I felt dizzy...and I wanted to stop...but I didn't. I was determined to crawl if I had to, but I wasn't going to stop. I finished...on my feet..and W came to me with a puzzled look. He said, "I'm not even going to tell you how slow that was!". My response was something like, "GOOD!...because I don't even want to know!". I sat on the track. I still remember how it poked me and how warm it was. Before I could "hang tough"...before I could "suck it up"...the tears began to fall. I covered my face and I sobbed...for quite a while. W just sat with me and tried to reassure me. When I finally pulled myself together, I was humiliated. I felt weak. I went home and texted an apology to W. He surprised me with his response. He told me that I didn't need to apologize and that he thought it was a "beautiful expression" of the fact that I just want to "be great"...and then he said that I needed to realize that I AM already "great". I learned a great lesson that day about tears and strength.
Yesterday, I was reminded that crying is not always a sign of weakness. Sometimes it's a "beautiful expression" of the desire to "be great". Sometimes...even "tough" guys cry.
SUNDAY = REST DAY
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