The Athlete, the Pole, the Victory

The bar was raised to ten feet. My best friend, Steve, stood at the end of the asphalt runway with his pole in hand, his step had been measured carefully, and he was ready to go. The men who raised the bar quietly moved out of the way and Steve began running. He started slowly, but soon found his speed and lowered his pole to the box where it would fit nicely. The pole slid into the box and bent with the force of Steve's speed. Steve jumped and a small crack was heard, shortly followed by a shower of fiberglass shards. I, standing next to the cement box, was impaled with hundreds of these projectiles. Some of the needle like pieces found their mark, digging deep into my skin, while others merely flew by me. As the pole snapped the force threw the back of Steve's head into the unforgiving concrete box with a thud that was heard throughout the stadium. Steve's eyes rolled back and the white concrete box turned red. I lifted him up and out of the small inlaid box, and was instantly covered with blood. The medic showed up quickly and attended to him. He had blood on the brain, a concussion, and would need 15 stitches across the back of his head. The box and runway were cleaned up and the next vaulter took his step. Nobody ever said the pole-vault was easy or safe.

The pole-vault originated in the early 1400's with Shepards and wayward travelers. In the beginning these people would carry large sticks and when they would get to a stream or expanse, they would take a running leap, plant their pole, and carry themselves across the obstacle. In time, contests between villages to see who could vault themselves the farthest begin. It wasn't much longer after these contests begin, the people realized that if their sticks were green and flexible, they could soar greater distances, as well as higher. Slowly the contests had less emphasis on how far you could go, and more emphasis on how high you could soar. Later, a bar, a runway, and mats were added, and thus is born what we now know as the pole-vault competition. Sitting in the green April grass at one of these modern pole-vault competitions, I watched the paramedics take away my best friend. At this time I realized the distance I had vaulted in my life, as well as the fear that was ever present in the sport. Only now, pulling shards of fiberglass out of my skin, did I realize just how real it was.

The track meet continued as normal while the ambulance drove off with sirens blaring. The bar was raised to 10 ½ feet and competitors begin running up the runway and soaring over the bar. I sat next to my teammates and tried to cope with my fear, the sight of my friends' blood, and the fact that I sat with that same blood all over my uniform. The judges asked me again and again, Herman, will you be going at this height? Continuously I heard my mouth say, No I'll Pass, but I truly doubted I'd vault again.

The bar was finally raised to 11 feet and the judges called for a practice break. The vaulters that were left began running up and down the runway warming up and practicing. A large man with a full beard and mustache walked up to me and said that if I didn't vault by 12 feet I'd be disqualified. Out of the thirty-five people who began the event, only 15 were left. Of these 15 people only one person had vaulted over 12 feet, that was James McDill, my archrival and the best in the district. I decided I needed to practice.

I stood up and all the other vaulters cleared the runway. I slowly stripped off my warm-up suit and shed the blood of my dear friend. My pole, the one that had carried me through the year, laid next to the runway in three pieces. I asked the other team if I could use their pole and they gave it to me gladly because all of their vaulters were done. Unfortunately it was only 11 feet tall and brand new. A brand new pole that hasn't been broken in yet is what vaulters call a "rogue pole". This means that the pole is liable to do anything and probably will.

I took my place on the runway and ran at full speed towards the ominous pit. I dropped my pole and eyed the cement box. The stains of blood all over the box came into sight just as the pole went in. The pole bent, I jumped, and hung there like a rag doll as the "rogue pole" flung me to the right landing on my stomach at James' feet. I got up, smiled, and tried to recover as much dignity as I could. I took my step again, ran toward the box, and again I saw those stains; my eyes filled with tears as the pole went into the box. The pole bent and it threw me to the left somersaulting over my teammates heads. I landed directly on my back, knocking the wind out of myself. After a minute of breathing I slowly opened my eyes to see my mother standing over me, she really made it. She said she would try, but her being sick and all, I understood if she couldn't, but she did.

I told her all about what had happened and she told me she had seen the other practice jump. Then she asked if I wanted to cut my losses and go home. Those words shot through my body like a jagged piece of steel. I had seen many vaulters loose their nerve and be escorted off the field by their mothers; I couldn't have that happen to me. The practice was ending and I knew I had to get on that pole one more time. I took my step, but Steve's injuries and the previous practice jumps were too prevalent in my mind. I dropped the pole and walked over to the judges to disqualify myself. I glanced over at my mother and she just smiled. As I walked I thought of all the obstacles she faced in her life, the little amount of life she had left, and the feeling that must be going through her mind as she watched her son fail yet once again. I arrived at the judges booth and took one more look back just in time to see her slowly sit down, take a couple of squirts from her inhaler, and turn up her oxygen bottle. I knew these people had too much cologne on for her to breathe easily. I spun on my heel, faced the bearded judge, and was dumbfounded as my mouth said I'd wait till 12 feet. The judge made a note of it and walked off.

My best vault in my career was 11 feet. How did I expect to reach 12 feet with a new pole, new fears, and new pains from falling? I picked up the rogue pole, sat down next to my mother, and made comments on how the other vaulters vaulted. Slowly, one vaulter after another knocked off the bar and it continued to get higher. Finally the judge announced that it would be raised to 12 feet and there were 5 vaulters left. Out of all the vaulters I was the only one who had not vaulted yet, and not even tried this height. The judge put me last and I noticed I was the only one from my school on the board.

I looked around the stadium and the last track event was being run, the final high jump was taking place, and the stands were slowly clearing out. My coach walked over to me and pulled me aside. He told me that we hadn't done as well as he had hoped and it all came down to the pole-vault scores. After he told me this he looked at the height, his eyes widened, and he patted me on the back saying that we'd just do better next year. I smiled and he began picking up our things. By the time I was done talking to my coach three vaulters had been disqualified and it came down to James and I.

I had heard James had gone over 12 feet before, but I also noticed that there was something wrong with him. He started vaulting at 10 ½ feet, and it took two of his three attempts to get over each height. I also noticed he wasn't using his signature neon pink pole. I spied it in four pieces lining the runway like an airport runway awaiting a plane. He quickly blew through his three attempts and I was up.

I walked up to my mom, kissed her cheek, and walked up to the runway. When I got there James clapped me on the back, wished me luck but doubted I could do it. I took my step and again began running. The pole hit the box, bent, and again I flew up but quickly came falling into the grass. Luckily for me, I landed on my feet this time. I don't think my body could have taken another one of those bad landings. I walked back to the end of the runway. My teammates were packing up their stuff, the other teams were leaving, and most of the lights in the stadium had been turned off. There were five or six grounds men picking up trash, all of them had the same look on their faces, the look that said I want to go home, and I knew how they felt.

I stood at the end of the runway and eyed the bar looming on the night sky. I grasped the pole and thought about all the things that were riding on this one vault. If I made this, I would have my varsity letter, I alone would be responsible for winning the meet for the team, I will set a school record, and I would receive the respect that I felt I deserved. With that last thought I felt my legs become solid and ready. I took my handhold on the rogue pole and felt I had more in common with it, then with all the people in my life. I winked at my mom and she let out a battle cry. I began running, slowly speeding up till I was at full speed. I lowered the pole into the stained box and thought of another reason to fly over this bar, revenge. Seconds before the pole hit the box my mother let out another yell, Come on Chad, You can do it, and at that moment, I knew I could. I pushed my left hand against the pole as hard as I could as I leapt off the ground. The pole bent into a beautiful arc and I leaned back in the fetus position awaiting that inevitable catapult snap. The pole started to unbend and I shot my feet toward the heavens. Upside down, I looked back at the groundlings and understood my destiny. I rolled over and pushed myself away from my new best friend, this rogue pole. As I got to the top of my arced flight, I looked down and saw the bar below me. I thrust my head back and gave my body its free reign. I outstretched my arms and floated into the bliss of accomplishment as the air enveloped my entire body. The only sound that came through my ears was that of pride mixed with adrenaline as it coursed through my veins. I landed onto the soft welcome mat. I opened my eyes and there, 12 feet above me, sat that bright orange bar steady as a steel girder.

Within seconds the mat was filled with people. I received my varsity letter, we won the championship meet, my mother got to see her son fly and achieve his dreams with the wings she gave him, and I knew that no matter what anybody tells me, I can achieve anything I want in my life. There's always that bar being raised higher and higher. There's always people around you that love you, yet doubt that you can achieve anything. There's always that moment when someone, be it your mother, your best-friend, your cat or dog, or even your spouse, that says that one statement at just the right time for you to forget about all your fears, the doubts, or the ability that you think you have. These are the moments, which molds the life and times of all inhabitants of this great big sphere that runs around the sun. These are the times when it seems like life makes sense, and you take that final leap into your history.