“All you need to do is just go out there and focus. I’m counting on you Brooke, I know that you’re fully capable of beating all of those girls out there. Do your best,” my hurdle coach, Mr J. said.

“Okay,” I breathed, while I quickly skimmed through my pre-race stretches. It was the most important meet of the track season, the Optimist Meet.

I hastily finished my stretches as the speaker crackled to life, “200 meter hurdles to the starting line, 2nd call,” the deep voice rang out.
I jogged over to the starting line and briskly signed myself in, “Name?” The sign-in lady inquired.

“Brooke D,” I responded.

“You’re in the first heat, lane 6,” the lady affirmed.

I went to my lane and glanced around to take a look at the competition who were all much taller and faster looking than me. Trying not to psych myself out, I stretched my arms and back hurriedly just to make sure I was nice and loose for the race. When I looked up I noticed the official starter, the man who shoots the gun to start the race, steadily walking over to the starting line, his starting gun in hand. At the sight of the starter my stomach hollowed out with nerves and my legs started trembling, just my usual pre-race jitters.

“Okay ladies I want a clean race. I count to three and you go on the shot. If there’s a false start, then we restart,” the starter performed his usual spiel, talking a hundred miles a hour so nobody understood what he was saying. “On your marks!” He belted out.

I bent down into my starting position, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. The starter continued,“Get set!” I crouched down lower, my hands spread out just behind the starting line. I fixed my eyes on the first hurdle of the race, I was determined. “Go!” He finally finished after what felt like eternity. BANG! The gun went off knocking me out of my stupor.

I exploded out of the starting blocks using long, forceful strides and glided over the first hurdle. Step. Step. Step. Step. Jump. Inhale and exhale. I fell into my hurdling pattern, blocking out everything from my mind and not tearing my eyes off my lane. The second, third, and fourth hurdles went easily. In that moment I felt as if I'd been hurdling my whole life even though that was only my first year hurdling. The second to last hurdle was coming up fast, and my energy was depleting. I hastily leaped the hurdle and landed weird on my ankle, my ankle seared with pain but I kept on going. Risking a glance away from my lane, I noticed I was probably in about fourth place. To get forth out of thirty six other competitors? That wouldn't satisfy me, I thought to myself.

“No,” I thought to myself, “I need to place in this race.” My legs started moving faster than my brain could comprehend, my eyes were fixated on the finish line. I came up on the last hurdle, and forcefully threw myself into the air. Time seemed to slow down. What actually took less than a second, seemed to stretch on for minutes. I looked behind me, realizing with dread that my trail leg was too low. Devastatingly, my foot caught on the top of the hurdle and sent me cascading towards the rugged surface of the track below me. I landed sprawled out in front of the upturned hurdle but instantly hopped up in hope that I could still pull up into seventh place. I was last out of the seven other girls in my heat. Really? Can I ever do anything right? I chastised myself.

As I stormed off the track the speakers crackled to life, “ Recall for the 200 meter hurdles. Recall.” It just so happened that they didn’t time the race correctly. I thought I was going to do better and not fall, but oh now I realize how wrong I was. I lined up for the race without much thought, no nerves, nothing. BANG! The starters gun went off and I didn’t hesitate, I just ran. I was already out of breath by the time I had reached the third hurdle but that just made me run harder. I was numb, beyond feeling any emotion. Glimpsing up, I noticed I was ahead. Once again, the last hurdle came into view.

What if I fall again? I won’t fall. Yes you will. I’m going to fall! I argued with myself inside my head. Desperately, I lept off of the ground using every ounce of strength I had left in my body.

I fell. I fell once again, at the same exact spot and landed in the exact same position. My raw wounds on my elbows and knees from the previous race were shredded open again. I actually laughed out loud at myself for seeming so pathetic. Trying to conceal my frustration, I simply picked myself up off of the ground, walked through the finish line, and vacated the track.

My coach was waiting for me, “What goes through your mind when you hurdle?” he inquired.

The question caught me off guard, “Well, I guess I think about my form and whether or not I think I’ll make it over,” I answered the best I could.

“You think too much. When you’re hurdling you shouldn’t be thinking at all, just do it and don’t get too wrapped up in what could happen.”
Ha I thought, If only I had known that 10 minutes ago. I went to the bathroom to wash off the blood pouring from one of my elbows so I could be ready for my final race, the mile relay, in a few minutes.

As I looked into the dirty mirror above the sink I thought to myself, I can’t get caught up in the worries of falling, when I think like that it only psychs me out and basically sets me up to fail. Do first then think later. Don’t let the stress and the nerves catch up to you. Worrying about getting hurt can actually hurt me more.