Why the Hurdles?
by Steve McGill
Every hurdler has their own reasons for deciding upon the hurdling events. And for those who choose to stick around for more than a year or two, the motivations run deeper. The more intense one’s relationship with the hurdles becomes, the more it becomes an essential part of one’s identity.
Why do people hurdle? What is it about hurdling? It’s an event that most track athletes don’t even consider trying. It’s not a glamor event that draws big crowds. Most casual track fans don’t even know what they’re looking at when watching a hurdle race. For the most part, the only time we see hurdling enter into the popular culture is when a hurdle-fail video goes viral, consisting of a totally incompetent, poorly trained hurdler knocking over hurdles and zigzagging across lanes on the way to a comically pathetic performance.
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But those of us who know better know better. For those of us whom the hurdles have captured our imagination and inspired our dedication, the hurdles do something for us that nothing else can do. The hurdles challenge us to dig deeper within ourselves, the hurdles provide feelings of bliss that we otherwise can never experience in any other aspect of our everyday lives. The hurdles humble us, and they raise us to new heights.
In my personal journey, I started hurdling late — in my sophomore year of high school. As the youngest of four, with all of my siblings being very good basketball players, I too grew up playing basketball. Being the youngest meant always being compared to my older siblings. It meant having an identity that was not my own, but my family’s. That gnawed at me in my early years of high school, as I wasn’t getting much playing time and doubted my abilities. Hurdling, even though I was new to it and not naturally adept at it, represented a new space, apart from the space I had occupied all my life. None of my siblings were track stars, and none had ever run the hurdles. At the time, taking up the hurdles felt like I was moving in a new direction; it was a new world that I could explore on my own, without the pressures of outside expectations.
By the end of my sophomore year, I was the second best hurdler on our team, and the best hurdler was graduating. I had finished the season with a personal best of 17.2, and I knew that I could drop as much as a whole second if I dedicated myself to hurdling. But I also knew that I couldn’t dedicate myself to hurdling because basketball consumed my life. There was summer league in the summer, off-season workouts in the early fall months, then the actual season from October thru February or early March. I had grown tired of basketball, and resentful of it, because now it was standing in the way of something that mattered to me. Heading into my junior year, thoughts of quitting basketball occupied my mind often.
I had grown tired of basketball. Entering the gym after school and hearing the sound of the balls bouncing on the hardwood floor filled me with dread as I thought of all the drills we’d be doing for the next three hours. I hated everything about basketball. I hated my coaches, I hated my teammates, and I didn’t care if we won or lost games.
When I finally did quit, right before the season started, I walked out to the track that day for winter workouts instead of walking into the gym. Walking toward the start line, spikes in hand, I saw three or four seagulls flying in the infield. It was the weirdest thing. The most beautiful, wondrous thing. I felt like Nature itself was granting its approval of my decision. Our school wasn’t anywhere near the ocean, yet here were these seabirds dancing on the breeze, welcoming me to my first day of track practice.
I hurdled for close to two hours and groaned in frustration when my coach said that we had to stop due to darkness. “I can still see the crossbar,” I said.
***
Last week my school team had our conference championship meet, and one of my female hurdlers, Grace Galloway, finished first in the 300 hurdles. It was a very competitive race, and she pulled away over the last two hurdles. About fifteen minutes later, her mom approached me, visibly upset, and informed me that Grace’s grandfather (on her father’s side) had just passed away. Last year, Grace’s grandfather on her mother’s side had passed away during the Christmas holidays. That’s both grandfathers lost basically a year apart.
Grace’s mom took her home early from the meet to be with family. The meet took place last Wednesday (May 8), and our team met for practice sessions the next two days, but Grace didn’t come to either one. I began to wonder if I’d ever see her again. The thought crossed my mind that her season might be over. I offered the team members an optional practice on Saturday, and had a couple takers. That Friday night, I received a text from Grace asking if I was going to be having practice on Saturday, and, if so, she wanted to come so she could go for a personal best at states. I read that text and I cried and smiled at the same time.
We had a decent practice that Saturday. We did the 3×200 workout described in another article in this month’s issue. Her reps were much slower than our target times. I didn’t care. You can’t lose your grandfather one day and then kick ass in your workout the next day. We had a good talk after practice and I assured her she’d be fine come race day. Then, two days later we did some 100h work, and she had her best workout of the season. Prior to the start of practice, the team presented her with a sympathy card and a bouquet of flowers. I could tell she was very moved by that gesture, because she smiled and hugged everyone on the team. That kind of behavior is very unlike her, as she is usually quite guarded with her emotions, preferring to be witty and sassy to avoid being open with her feelings.
As I drove home from practice that day, I found myself thinking about the magic of the hurdles. Grace is a senior. She won’t be running track in college. Yet performing her best at states matters to her. Having a quality training session over the hurdles matters to her. I found myself thinking that the hurdles have magical healing powers. I thought about how similar Grace and I are when it comes to the role that the hurdles play in our lives. Like me, Grace started hurdling as a sophomore. Like me, hurdling served as an escape from an athletic world that she was not enjoying, as she had been an 800 runner up to that point. She became a hurdler one day early in the season that year, when I realized that our conference was very weak in the girls hurdles. “Does anyone want to try the hurdles?” I asked. She raised her hand, and so her journey began.
Once that thought hit me — about how similar Grace and I are — it expanded to include all hurdlers. All of us who keep coming back, curious, eager to delve deeper, to learn more, to run faster, to improve our technique — why do we keep coming back? When other aspects of our lives are falling apart, how does hurdling hold us together? What is it about the hurdles that keeps us engaged?
I don’t know. And I will never know. None of us can.
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