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Pole Vault Story

Mitsi grasped the fourteen foot pole in her hands, holding onto it like it was a lifeline. This was her first competition, and she was beyond nervous. She could hear her teammates behind her: the low murmur of conversation, an occasional scuff of a shoe on the track surface. They were trying not to disturb her concentration, but she could feel their anticipation rising. They were as anxious and tense as she was - but they showed it more.

Her coach walked up behind her; she knew who it was by the sound of his step. Laying his hand on her shoulder, he radiated a calming presence. She took a deep breath.

“You’ll be fine once you start your approach,” he said, and she nodded without speaking.

In the distance, the crowd of parents and students milled in the grandstands, running up and down the stairs and crowding the rail at trackside. She could faintly hear their voices raised in hopeful enthusiasm. This meet was the first of the season, and excitement was high. The school should do well this year - she just hoped she could add to their competitive edge.

It had all come down to this: she was the first vaulter up today. All the practice, all the special equipment, all the drills and the sprints and training had all distilled into this one moment.

Muscles relaxed and loose from her warm-up exercises, she walked in a small circle, shaking out any last-minute kinks and flexing her hands around the smooth fiberglass pole.

The public-address speaker barked to life on the nearby light standard.

“Ok, folks,” it blared. Mr. Redding, the athletic director, always did the announcing for the meets. “We’re ready to start. Let’s see, our first contestant is Mitsi Sweeny, freshman at Dunwiddie High. Ready, Mitsi?”

She nodded, although she wasn’t sure he could see her that far away. A slight breeze stirred the air, blowing across her cheek with a cooling touch, and suddenly she was ready. She felt strong, and confident. Prepared.

Her coach walked with her to the center of the runway, where he watched her take her position.

“Ok, you’re good. Start from right there.” Despite their unending hours of practice, he was worried. She could hear it in his voice.

“I’ll be fine,” she said.

“Ok, David’s in position,” he said, looking down the runway. David was her brother, and was standing just off the track, right at the point where she would need to plant the fiberglass pole to begin her vault.

“Go away,” she said, but gentled it with a smile. “I’m ready.”

“Ok,” he backed up, off the track and out of her way. “Don’t forget, count your steps.”

“I got it.” She faced forward, and took a deep breath. She nodded once, to herself. She could do this.

Hefting the pole, she held it in the correct position, and exploded down the runway. She gained full speed within her first three steps, leg muscles reaching out in a smooth and efficient way, each stride jarring powerfully along the track. She ran with knees high, legs pumping, adrenaline racing, trying to remember all the instructions her coach had pounded into her head: hit the box at full speed, don’t slow down, muscle your way through the takeoff.

Her shoes thudded on the track, as she powered down it. As she approached, she could hear David’s voice: the calm amid the storm of noise from the crowd and her own heartbeat.

“Ok, ok, get ready, you’re almost there,” he said

From high above, atop the cross-beam standards, she could hear the alert monitor with its thin target beep, honing her in on her destination.

“Ok, now…. Plant!” David shouted, and she thrust the pole downward and flung herself into the sky.

Feet forward, body twisting in mid-air, she reached for the cross beam. She was flying, torn loose from earthly restraints, the sound of the crowd and David’s voice merely background noise, unimportant. Now the warning beacon was below her, and she knew she’d made it, turning now, preparing for the landing, which came with a solid thump. She bounced once, and grunted. She was down, gravity had returned.

She rolled, sliding off the landing pad, and stood up, hands raised in exultation. She’d done it! Dimly she became aware of the screaming of the crowd, the spectators, her coach, her brother, her teammates, all yelling, crying, sharing in her celebration.

After a moment, the public address system came to life again. Mr. Redding cleared his throat.