Give the Gift of Motivation and Inspiration!


Give the Gift of Motivation and Inspiration!

What could be better than passing on your enthusiasm!

The best is yet to come!

click here http://www.brucewconner.com

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Faster as a Master Your best is yet to come!

 

 

 

 

Happy Fathers Day!


Happy Fathers Day to my Dad

Here is a poem he wrote about me when I was about 16.  The setting is a frozen lake in the upper midwest.

Thanks Dad for everything!

SPIRIT OF ’76 — OLYMPIC SPEED SKATER

Stark lean silhouette against a darkening sky
Measures effortlessly the ice in ten meter strides.
An imaginary track precisely surveyed in his mind
Guides his turn and glide strokes in mock slow motion.
Each movement carefully calculated to maximize the thrust
With arms reaching out, pulling back, swinging high behind.
Each foot under body center starts
Gigantic leg strokes too long for the horizontal torso.

Seventeen inch blades cut the ice subtly
So sharp they could easily shave the peach fuzz from his chin.
Breathing as measured as the pace stroke -and heart rhythmically beating to match. Muscles flexible in spite of the cold,
Straining to balance the relentless press of spirit.
Why does he stretch so? Who is he racing?
The other skaters are already laughing and drinking hot chocolate
Does he race Olympic ghosts McDermott and Blatchford?
Or is he chased by his own image?
And what does he hope to win? A fleeting flush of triumph?
A medal or trophy? A record someone will break tomorrow?
Or does he try to catch the goal of self respect
The lake ice is never smooth
With unforgiving cracks to keep his mind alert.
A chilling gust keeps balance honest.

Powdery shavings and grooves show other skaters have gone this way
Were all so highly motivated? Or so stubborn?
Did they feel the pleasant numbness-Not of cold but of tendons too stretched?

He counts six more full-effort laps.
Is this enough to beat the best?
Unsure, he fast-paces eight more.
A swirl of light snow blends with him at the far turn.
High flying geese seek a cornfield – not these icy shores.

Honk from a patient parent’s car calls him.
He slows, straightens, and circles to let the real world return.
H. W. Conner

With my Father Harold Conner at the rink in Salt Lake City, Utah

With my Father Harold Conner at the rink in Salt Lake City, Utah

The Love of a Father and a priceless poem


In the spirit of family, holidays, and Thanksgiving I am reminded about my family and about my father.  He is 81 now and doing great.  I am so grateful he is my Dad.  He has been, and continues to be, a great influence in my life.

Here is a poem that he wrote about me when I was about 16 years old.  I do not know if I became this person or he saw me for who I really am.  It rings true for me today, and it moves me every time I read it.  The setting is a frozen lake in the upper midwest.

SPIRIT  OF  ’76   —  OLYMPIC SPEED  SKATER

Stark lean   silhouette   against  a  darkening   sky

Measures  effortlessly   the  ice  in  ten  meter   strides.

An imaginary   track  precisely   surveyed  in his   mind

Guides  his   turn  and  glide   strokes  in  mock   slow  motion.

Each  movement  carefully   calculated  to  maximize   the   thrust

With  arms   reaching   out,   pulling  back,    swinging  high behind.

Each  foot under  body   center   starts

Gigantic leg   strokes   too  long   for  the  horizontal   torso.

Seventeen inch blades   cut  the  ice   subtly

So   sharp  they   could  easily   shave   the  peach  fuzz  from his   chin.

Breathing   as   measured  as   the  pace   stroke and  heart  rhythmically  beating   to  match.  Muscles  flexible   in   spite   of  the   cold,

Straining   to  balance   the   relentless  press  of   spirit.

Why  does  he   stretch   so?      Who  is  he   racing?

The   other   skaters   are   already  laughing   and  drinking  hot  chocolate

Does  he   race   Olympic  ghosts   McDermott  and   Blatchford?

Or  is  he   chased  by  his   own image?

And what does  he   hope   to win?      A fleeting   flush of  triumph?

A  medal  or   trophy?      A   record   someone  will  break  tomorrow?

Or  does  he   try   to   catch  the  goal  of   self  respect

The  lake  ice   is   never   smooth

With unforgiving   cracks   to keep  his   mind  alert.

A  chilling  gust keeps  balance  honest.

Powdery   shavings  and  grooves   show  other   skaters  have  gone   this  way Were   all   so  highly  motivated?      Or   so   stubborn?

Did  they  feel   the  pleasant numbness-Not of  cold  but of  tendons   too   stretched?

He   counts   six  more  full-effort laps.

Is  this   enough  to  beat  the  best?

Unsure,   he   fast-paces   eight  more.

A   swirl  of light  snow  blends  with him  at  the   far  turn.

High  flying  geese   seek  a  cornfield   –  not  these   icy   shores.

Honk  from  a patient parent’s   car   calls  him.

He   slows,    straightens,   and   circles   to  let  the   real world   return.

H.   W.    Conner

One of my favorite parts is the passage about self-esteem, self-respect and self-image.

I have come to believe that this is part of my struggle.  I want to please my father but the core precept is of my own self respect.  So I must earn my own respect, somehow.  Sports and specifically speed skating has provided the perfect method for me to do just that.  Working on my own self esteem through doing esteemable things was the ticket.  It has taken me a long time to understand this.  Then acting on it without fear was even more risky.  But I had learned that taking that risk has huge rewards.  Breaking down those old barriers was the key to the door.  Then I had to walk through the door and execute my plan.  The result is that I am able to build my own self esteem.  This is the only kind that really counts.  This permanent foundation building is essential to my happy, peaceful, serene life today.  It helps me figure out who I am, and be comfortable in my own skin.  It helps me set the priorities in my life.  Having my priorities is essential in making the big as well as the small daily decisions.

Thanks Dad.

With my Father Harold Conner at the rink in Salt Lake City, Utah