SEE. I TOLD YOU!

This photo is from my last college outdoor championship meet back in 2005. I don’t need to clearly see my face to remember how I felt. The hood up was my way to dissociate after closing out my college career with a whimper.

I jumped under 22 feet that day. In comparison, I leapt 23’9” my freshman year. At the team banquet when shouting out seniors, my coach told the room he believed I would’ve jumped so much further if not for the injuries and distractions (he hated that I pledged). And yes, I could’ve jumped so much further, but at the end of the day, I didn’t.

I never improved on that mark. That’s what I sat with for the next 16 years.

Masters track and field gave me a chance to write a new story. I’ve taken it seriously since the beginning. But the painful reality is that up to this point, the long jump has been more of the same.

My current PR came three years ago when I jumped 20’1” and thought that was the beginning of being the jumper I always knew I could be. The mark itself wasn’t the big jump, but it was a start.

And I haven’t jumped further since. Just like college.

The last time I felt what I’m looking for was that jump in 2002 at my first outdoor conference championships. I didn't think my coach fully believed in what I saw for myself, and that jump was the “SEE! I TOLD YOU!” for him, the team, and everyone watching. It was the personal validation I’d been seeking since I took up the event. I KNEW I was a legit jumper and the mark removed any doubt.

It also scored key points, placed top four, and qualified me for a trip to compete against Oxford and Cambridge in the UK — an every four year tradition between Cornell, Penn, Oxford, and Cambridge.

That was supposed to be the beginning, but I never jumped that far again.

Partly because I’m finally doing the work I should have done years ago.

This includes some things I’ve known about, but for whatever reason haven’t been able to address consistently. Examples:

• The hip restriction I’ve been working around for five years.

• The ankle dorsiflexion that’s been limiting my foot position on critical strides.

• The anticipatory braking pattern that shows up in my approach before I even hit the takeoff board.

• The high stakes trauma response/physical hijacking that keeps me from hitting top speed when the lights are brightest.

These are the structural preconditions underneath the almost. There is no more grinding through or around them. I’ve gone about as far as “muscling it” will take me.

I’m still jumping partly because the big jump is realistic.

My big goal is just over 21 feet (6.45m) and it doesn’t feel overly ambitious. The number accounts for the space I have for growth between runway & takeoff mechanics, mobility, strength, speed expression, in-air body position, and landing.

That’s a lot to work with!

But mostly because I want to say “I knew I could do it!” after I’ve actually done it.

I got back into track because of the unfinished business with the long jump. I haven’t forgotten the disappointment under that hood, and don’t want my masters career to go the same way.

I want to feel the “SEE! I TOLD YOU!” again.

I want to feel like I’ve arrived.

R