Coach taught me to ''put the penny in your pocket.''

When I was a little kid playing baseball with the old Whiffle™ ball bat with my oldest brother Matt (16 years difference), I hit one over the neighbors fence. After announcing that he’d go get it, I watched as my brother took off towards the fence at a dead sprint. My brow curled as he showed no sign of slowing down and then watched in absolute awe when he leapt it completely, merely putting a single hand on the top of the fence as he sailed over.

To a nine year old, this was the coolest thing I’d ever seen in my entire life. I couldn’t wait to grow big enough to do this myself…but figured that I’d start leaping things on my own. A construction company came through our neighborhood and I conned them into letting me have one of those large wooden spools that they use to bring out power lines. Turned on its side where I could roll it, I put it in our backyard much to my parents’ chagrin. They allowed me to keep it, though, and soon I was out in the back yard every afternoon trying to leap over this thing. I couldn’t tell you the number of times I had to pluck splinters out of my legs after failed attempts at leaping this wooden leviathan.

As I continued to grow, I would try to jump over taller and taller objects with the goal of doing exactly what my brother had done. Once I made it to a height where I could do that a couple years later, I had to one up him and learned to hurdle the fence without even laying a hand on it. Soon, I was jumping over all kinds of crazy things on bets. Sure, I lost quite a few of ‘em but you know me…I’m a competitive guy and returned to the scene of the crime each time until I could accomplish what I’d originally bet I could clear.

During eighth grade, I was hanging out with some of my friends that were on the track team and was challenged to race one guy at the hurdles. After watching him hop over several of them, slowing down each time before he leapt, I figured I could whoop him. We bet some bucks, shook hands, and I ran my first hurdle race. Money in my pocket.

The head coach saw me and told me that I needed to run track in high school so, once I began my freshman year, I agreed to do so. My coach was incredible. He’d previously coached the hurdle team at a college in another state, so his area of expertise and focus was where I was headed. We had one guy on the team, a senior at the time, named David Grace. Grace was a phenomenal hurdler. I remember watching him practice and how effortlessly he seemed to glide over the hurdles in the 110 meter high-hurdle race. I knew then that that was what I aspired to do.

Having practiced jumping over all those fences when I was a kid, I knew I would have no problems clearing the hurdles. My coach worked exclusively with me and a couple of other guys, teaching us the nuances of remaining at full speed while still clearing each hurdle: “put a penny in your pocket” (how you were to put your arms when you leapt) and “buh bum bum BUM, buh bum bum BUM” (the sound you would hear from your footwork if you did it correctly in-between each hurdle) still resonate loud and clear in my mind to this day, two decades later.

I worked my tail off that season, learning everything I could about running the hurdles and trying to achieve the same kind of smoothness of the seniors as they ran their races. A lot earlier than I — or the coach — expected, I got it down. Like legendary basketball player Bill Russell, I would have to sneak off and throw up before each competition. My nerves were so fired up for the “on-stage” competition that this was how my body chose to react. Even if I hadn’t eaten anything all day, my body would demand that I at least dry heave. Nice, eh?

As time went on, I began to grow more and more confident in the races. I never won any of them, as I was running against more experienced hurdlers in each division as we traveled around to the various meets. All that changed, however, when we faced our biggest rival in the last meet of my freshman year…and I was the only guy from our school representing us in one particular race.

Usually, there were three of us that ran for my high school in each race. Denny, a lanky sophomore, would lead the way. I’d come in second place right behind him and then a third guy, Jerry, would be behind me in the standings. This meet, though, featured me and me alone in the 110 meter high hurdles. Gulp. To make matters worse, the girl I had a crush on was sitting on the bleachers right in front of the finish line and directly in front of my parents. Worse still? The three other guys that were in the race were goooooood…and I’d developed somewhat of a rivalry with Sam, their best freshman hurdler. I knew I wasn’t going to win it, but I damn sure wasn’t going to come in last place.

On your marks. Set. GO!!!

As soon as the starter’s pistol fired, I was out of the blocks like never before. I made it to the first hurdle before anyone else. Buh bum bum BUM. Second hurdle. Buh bum bum BUM. Third hurdle. Buh bum bum BUM. Fourth hurdle. I glance to my right. Buh bum bum BUM. No one. Buh bum bum BUM. I glance to my left. Buh bum bum BUM. No one. Holy crap, I’m in the lead. Buh bum bum BUM. I become conscious of the crowd cheering me on as I’m on my way to the ninth hurdle. And that’s when my trailing foot skidded across the top of the hurdle, causing me to land oddly and throwing off my footwork which had been in perfect rhythm throughout the entire race. I had to go over the final hurdle with the opposite foot, which caused me to hit that one as well, before sprinting to my first hurdle race victory.

My coach was there with his stopwatch beaming from ear to ear. He shouted something about a record, gave me a huge pat on the back, and ran off to turn in my time. At the time, I didn’t care…I’d won my first hurdle race and it couldn’t have come at a better time.

As I was walking off the track, my coach approached me and gave me some news that still haunts me to this day: I’d missed the all-time freshman hurdle record by two hundredths of a second. That’s 0.02 of a second. Needless to say, I was pissed. Had I not skimmed the ninth hurdle and then clocked the tenth, I would have owned one of my school’s track records. Sadly, the record that I failed to best STILL remains to this day according to my nephew. Typical.

I returned to run the hurdles my sophomore year and found myself in varsity races where I was racing seniors the likes of David Grace. The head coach that had worked exclusively with the hurdlers accepted a better job at another school and I lost interest in track all together. I ended up completing the season and called it quits on my track career.

Damn two hundreds of a second. Grr. Yep, 20+ years later it is STILL bothering me.