Why the Spiritual Dimension of Hurdling Matters
by Steve McGill
Writing a book is a very difficult thing to do. From the germination of an idea to the outline to the first draft to the second draft to the final draft to putting it all together to adding photos and notes and an intro and an acknowledgements page, there’s so much involved. Seeing such a project through to its completion requires a good amount of stamina, persistence, and an unwavering faith in oneself, and in the idea that what one has to say matters enough that it will have an impact on those who read it.
Five years ago I published a book entitled The Art of Hurdling that represented my philosophy and approach regarding the hurdling events. I’ve always taken an artistic approach, as the scientific approach that includes scientific language and phrasing has always perplexed me. As someone who has always loved to read and write, hurdling has always naturally made sense to me as an art form. In that book, I explained the various elements that comprise the art form, with a heavy emphasis on technique and how each body part is connected to the others. At core, that book is what its subtitle says it is — a manual for hurdle coaches, or, a book designed to help hurdle coaches coach their hurdlers. The language is simple and straightforward, amd the premise is that teaching an athlete to hurdle needs to be simple and straightforward, because the act of hurdling itself is difficult and complex enough that we coaches shouldn’t complicate things further in how we convey hurdling concepts to athletes.
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Five years later, I’m close to being ready to publish another book — one that I’ve shared excerpts from in past issues of The Hurdle Magazine. This book is tentatively titled The Spiritual Dimension of Hurdling. I’ve completed the final draft in regards to the primary text, but I still need to add photos, proofread one more time to scour for any minor grammatical errors, and then add formatting, pagination, etc. I started writing it about two years ago, with the initial intent being that it just be a journal that I would keep for my own benefit. But as it grew, I realized that I had something to say that I needed to share.
In a sense, this book is a sequel to the previous one. The artistic dimension is, to a large degree, the spiritual dimension. So it could be argued that this new book is a continuation, a sort of “Part Two” in regards to documenting my perspective on what makes hurdling so wonderful and fascinating.
But this book is different. It’s not a coaches’ manual. It’s not nearly as instructional as the previous one. In this one, there is a lot more storytelling, but those seeking practical advice on how to run over hurdles faster, they’ll find it. But it’s more embedded and less in the forefront.
This one touches on the aspects of hurdling that have more to do with a hurdler’s inner life than with the obvious stuff we all obsess over. For background, the inspiration for this book came from several books I’ve read over the years, including Zen in the Art of Archery by Eugen Herrigel and Sacred Hoops by professional basketball coach Phil Jackson. Both of those books are sports-related, and both of them either touch on or dive deeply into this spiritual dimension that can be found in athletic endeavors. I’ve also read a good amount of books on Eastern philosophy and Western philosophy over the years, and being a hurdler and then a hurdle coach, I’ve always sought to apply lessons I learned in those books to the hurdles. I’ve also read a good amount of sports biographies over the years, and wrote one of my own on 1972 Olympic gold medalist Rodney Milburn. In a lot of these books — on athletes like Steve Prefontaine, Kobe Bryant, and Julius Erving, to name a few — there were passages that brought this spiritual dimension to light. In biographies on musicians, this spiritual dimension often seemed prominent, even if not directly discussed as such. Finally, I noticed that there was a proliferation of books on “the Tao of this” and “the zen of that” and it was kind of annoying to see the commercialization of such sacred concepts. So instead of searching for one that felt authentic, I thought it might be a better idea to write one myself — one that focused on my passion, the hurdles.
What I’ve learned from the various books I’ve read, and also just by observing life, is that at the bottom of everything there lies a spiritual dimension. Sweeping the floor and grading papers and taking out the trash have a spiritual dimension to them. Sitting alone and doing nothing is a spiritual act. Sports-wise, every sport has a spiritual dimension. Every sport is an art form, and every sport has the potential to help us discover who we are at core. And honestly, as odd as it may sound, that’s what I’m all about — figuring out who I am at core, and helping others to do the same. That is the spiritual dimension of life, and all paths lead to that same place.
At root, the spiritual dimension is inexpressible, inexplicable, because it’s a feeling, not a fact, not a solvable math problem. The spiritual dimension is the feeling hurdlers have when they feel like they’re running on air, like the hurdles aren’t even there. It can happen during a race, or it can happen during a practice rep. But when it happens, the feeling is electrifying and exquisitely peaceful at the same time. And once you’ve felt that feeling, you realize that there’s something more to hurdling than just running fast times, setting personal bests, earning medals, earning scholarships, etc. So we keep coming back, longing to experience that feeling again, even if we aren’t fully aware (or even slightly aware) that that’s why we keep coming to practice, hoping to hear the coach say “we’re hurdling today.”
The feeling has been referred to as being in the zone or being in a flow state or being locked in. Whatever we call it, it’s the same thing. It’s when the conscious mind lets go of control and lets the body take over. My premise is that if we allow ourselves to become fully conscious that the longing for that feeling is our primary motivation, we will find a joy in training and in competing that would otherwise elude us. My other premise is that hurdling can, indeed, function as a path to self-discovery and self-fulfillment, whether or not you are a stand-out hurdler or an average hurdler. What matters is how much you give yourself to the hurdles, how much you dedicate yourself to the hurdles. The path is not an easy path, not a fun path.
I hope this book will resonate, even though I know it won’t with those who are only concerned with external results. The inner life is a real life too; it is where magic and wonder dwell.
My plan is to make major progress on the book this summer, when I’m free from teaching obligations, and hopefully get it published before the summer is over, or by the early fall at the latest.
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