A Hurdler’s Mindset
by Thomas Le
The hurdle races are so volatile that it’s so easy to make mistakes. It’s always a mystery to see who will come out the victor. On race day, the atmosphere can get pretty tense as only one chance is given, so pressure is at its highest. But sometimes we might get a little carried away with all of the competition and lose sight of its purpose. It can change our mindset to a point that competing is no longer about performing at our best—but about performing better than someone else.
I’ve always had an admiration for the top hurdlers who were able to execute technique at such a high level. Every detail mattered to them, and it was those small details that made each hurdler unique. It was fascinating to see flexibility, speed, power, and technique incorporated at very high speeds. Everyone had their own style with varying degrees of efficiency and power. Technique was no longer about strict form—but an art of execution.
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I started out with experimenting with various technical cues I would find online so I could develop better technique in general. Over a period of time, I developed a hurdling philosophy based on what felt logical and natural. The process of constant experimenting and implementing was kind of like finding a favorite pen to use. Some styles felt very fast but incomplete while some felt a bit awkward but efficient. Sometimes there was this one style that somehow felt just right, and I would write my interpretation of that style in my journal with unrealistic exaggerations of its merits to express my excitement. After calming down, I would try to get the concept internalized and practice it until I was consistent with it. Such experiments were the highlights of my hurdling career, and the process of finding the “right” style became quite addicting.
Starting my sophomore year track season, I no longer trained by myself because there were organized practices. The head coach had most of us run 4 events per meet: a dual meet on Thursday and an invitational on Saturday. I’d say that the competition was pretty interesting. Training all of the time without much company was a bit mundane most of the time, so to finally see other people hurdle was quite refreshing. Occasionally I’d talk to some of my competitors after the race, and it would be quite surprising to see how much we had in common. Competition definitely brought excitement to track and field, and I looked forward to it so I could constantly better myself.
However, towards the end of the season, Training and competing started to drag on for me. The training barely included any hurdle sessions, and there wasn’t enough rest in between competitions and speed workouts. It didn’t prepare me to hurdle with good technique, and I was starting to get burnt out. But there was this pressure to win which filled my thoughts most of the day. Some of my teammates would ask why I lost to a freshman in my school even though I had been winning on a consistent basis previously. I would simply speak about his strengths in hurdling and end the conversation as quickly as possible. I didn’t really want to think about losing, yet I wanted to prove to everyone that I was still capable. Beating him at league championships seemed like the only way.
At the end of the season, I knew I wasn’t at my best. Time-wise, I may have been faster than my first race, but I had no pride in my craft. I would always hit the hurdles in practice and the races due to several technical flaws. You could expect at least half of the hurdles to be down after I raced. My practice sessions were insufficient and didn’t prepare me for many aspects of the race. We would train for explosiveness through plyometrics and speed work and hurdle for a day or two per week. Even on those days, we would hurdle for only ten minutes and move on to more explosive workouts. My technique was sloppy, and I didn’t have much speed endurance. I may have gotten faster marks, but it just didn’t feel right. In the final race, I managed to run relatively well in all of my events, and I got second place in the 110m hurdles behind the freshman in my school.
Contrary to my expectations, not many people asked or bugged me as to why I lost. In my head, I was thinking about how the people around me would be disappointed and ask me all of sorts of questions. In reality, my friends tried to cheer me up by asking about my thoughts on losing, or they said that it was okay because I could do better next time. It was as if they didn’t really care that I won or lost. It wasn’t as bad as I was making it to be.
At that point, I realized that I was worrying too much about what others thought. I easily misinterpreted many of my friends’ thoughts negatively I wasn’t used to the type of change, so I panicked and imagined all sorts of possibilities. The ways they interpret the events around them are out of my control, so worrying about it would lead to an endless cycle of stress. I had to realize that competition and others’ approval did not define who I was as a hurdler. All I should have focused on was improving myself to be at my highest level and enjoy the training and the company of others, rather than making quick fixes for the next competition to prove myself to others.
Around four months has passed since the league championship race, and everything has calmed down to an extreme level. In this time period, I’ve learned a bit more about my weaknesses and improved on my understanding of hurdling a bit more. The less stressful atmosphere has allowed me to address my weaknesses as well as my strengths. Like a tide, it seems that the tempo of stressful competition and performance receded to its ebb. If it follows the pattern, eventually there will be a time where it flows back to its peak, but it’s still a mystery as to when it’ll happen.
You can say that a hurdler’s ebb and flow are the ups and downs of his or her journey. There will be frustrations that can bring you down, and you can easily end up lower than before. There will also be successes and breakthroughs that can boost you both mentally and physically. Sometimes there are hurdlers whose tide rises very high up the surface and create an impact on the world; on the other hand, injuries, stress, and other types of problem can arise and bring a hurdler crashing down to very low levels, and it could be very difficult to recover.
But a hurdler will always experience both ebb and flow, and it’s sometimes impossible to determine its flow. The entire process can be unpredictable—maybe even chaotic, and the destination becomes impossible to predict. Everyone’s hardships and frustrations cannot be experienced by anyone else other than the actual person. Only the person going through the journey knows exactly how it feels to walk in his or her shoes. In the end, we have to accept the ebb and flow and go with it.
The flow seems very desirable such that the ebb is just something we just have to deal with. The flow is very exciting and exhilarating as everything rushes up at a higher level, but the ebb is part of the overall picture. The ebb keeps everything in control. To make sure that we don’t get carried away, the ebb checks in and allows us to define why we hurdle. Of course there isn’t a single answer, and every hurdler has to find his or her own.
For me, when there is less excitement with the thrill of competition, everything that happens appears a bit clearer. When I look around, the atmosphere appears calms, and the details around me become sharper, as if the world froze for me to observe. The bugs in the grass seem to be the only thing moving in the empty field I stand on. The sound of the wind is the only thing I can hear, and its touch is more sensitive. The orange setting sun becomes more significant with the lack of society while the cloudless sky expands the horizon. Within sight, there isn’t a single star, but if I look in the corner of my eye, there may be just one in the distance. Regardless, the sun steals the spotlight because its sharp angle radiates a different light. It illuminates its color in many shades, showing its nature with the atmosphere scattering its light throughout the earth. It all seems motionless, and suddenly I have become much smaller. Yet at the same time, I don’t really mind because this ebb and flow becomes a bit more enjoyable.
When it comes to competition, maybe it’s not always about how good we are compared to others. Sure, respect, status, and glory are given to the victor, but winning isn’t just based on our performance. Other people’s performances are considered, and they’re not something that we have control over. Worrying about it can cloud our thoughts and change our purpose to being better than someone else. But in reality, if we just stop worrying about what we can’t control and focus on how we can improve ourselves to the best of our capabilities, I’m sure the “wins and losses” will no longer be our only measure of success.
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