Laura Chalus: Don't Let Up
I can still hear my Dad’s voice, shouting over the engine noise and the rushing in my ears as I fixated on the rough terrain. I was desperately trying not to die that morning, and his repeated hollering was actually helping to propel me upward with focused determination.
It was 1984 and he had taken me on a much-anticipated fall riding trip, one which had become a rite of passage for us Fredrick kids that year. We were at Camp Gruber near Braggs, Oklahoma in the Cookson Hills with one of my Dad’s business colleagues, Richard, and Richard’s son, who was about my age. They were all on dirt bikes, and I had my trusty Honda Big Red 250 3-wheeler, drifting sideways around the dirt tracks and making jumps with as much Evel Knievel as I could muster. I felt well prepared, and it was a good thing too because the trail I had to climb that day was a notorious scar maker.
The heavily-wooded and rocky hillside was tricky, but not so much so that you couldn’t reach the peak if you had strong control of the handlebars and a body contorted forward so much so that you could almost kiss the headlight. The hill peaked in a trouble spot; a somewhat jutting rock with an 18-24 inch vertical face which couldn’t be avoided because of large oak trees on both sides. It certainly wasn’t insurmountable, but it felt nothing short of a looming cliff as I looked up and wondered how I was going to keep from killing myself.
Before departing on my suicide mission, Dad told me to stand up on the foot pegs and lean as far over the front of the bike as I could, keeping my knees bent and flexible, all while holding myself up to maintain control. If I didn’t do all of this simultaneously, when the hill got the steepest any unbalanced weight would make the whole thing tip over backwards with me underneath and sliding down on the loose rocks.
Then he looked me dead in the eye and gave the most important instruction of all: Don’t. Let. Up. Do not take your finger off that thumb throttle or you’ll lose momentum and it will be all she wrote with nothing but the scar on your back to show for it. I was scared to death inside, but his confidence in me was the tipping point I needed to push through without flinching. I made it to the top that day, arriving back home with only a handful of bruises, no broken bones, and a Father’s words leaving a lasting impression.
During times when it seems all too easy to give up and stay on the couch watching Netflix, I find myself thinking more and more about my Dad’s guidance that day and how the significance of his words has grown in importance over the years. So much so, in fact, that those three little words have matured into my personal mantra, inspiring me to do my best and push through adversity as an agent of change.
Whether you’re a teenager overcoming fear of failure (and bodily harm), or a 50 year old adult doing the very same thing, once you hit that throttle, be prepared to stay the course until the job gets done. Stick with it. Don’t Let Up…