Earlier this week I had the privilege of hanging out in Wright-Tree Stadium on the Wasatch high school campus to get some coverage of the Wasp track and field team. It was a beautiful Monday afternoon. The temperature was warm and the sun was shining. The mounds of snow that had covered the landscape for the past few months were now tiny piles hiding in the shaded corners. It was, in essence, a perfect day for the kids who compete on the Wasatch track team to get out and stretch their legs.
No other sport is like track and field. It is a team sport, but it comprised of individual performance... much like wrestling. Only in wrestling, all the players are doing the same thing, just at different weights. In t & f, everybody's got their own thing going on. Groups, small and large, gathered in different areas discussing technique with coaches and amongst themselves. Individuals racing around the track accompanied by only their thoughts and internal stop watches. Separately, they are all working towards the same goal: recording the fastest time or the farthest distance in order to earn a chance to compete for the team.
Taking in this environment, of course, reminded me of my track and field days. There were only a few of those days, but I do remember them. It was in elementary school. I was in the 7th grade at Perry Heights and now eligible to participate on the 7th and 8th grade track team. I was not fast, as in sprinter fast... and I was definitely not a distance runner. This made me a perfect candidate for events like the 660 and 880. Now before I go on, and this will sting a little bit to say, but this was so long ago that track events were still measured in yards.
The problem was, as it always was with me and sports, I didn't like to run. I was never fast enough to win races against friends and I always seemed to let that pain in my side shut me down when it came to running a long way. We didn't have shot put or discus or javelin. Our field events, back in these roman times, were pole vault, high jump, long jump and triple jump. Triple jump?
Leave it to me to gravitate towards something I had never heard of. The lone event that our track coach had to persuade kids to compete in. But not me. I actually asked, Mr. Givens, to teach me the finer techniques of the triple jump. The memory of the expression on his face has since gotten fuzzier, but I remember the feeling of that moment. "You? Bristow? The triple jump?," he asked. Not knowing what I was getting myself into, I replied, "yes." Fuzzy or not, one can never a forget a coaches eyes rolling back or the slumping of his shoulders, and especially not the mumbling of the words, "c'mon Bristow."
Over to the long jump pit we went where I was exposed to, looking back now, the weirdest field event probably ever created. Way farther back from the sand pit, long before the long jump line, and I can't remember exactly how far back that was, was a line to launch from in the triple jump. My first thought was that no human being could leap from this line and land in the sand pit. I can't remember if I verbalized that or not, but if I did I'm sure it garnered another eye roll.
Mr. Givens called over an 8th grader who showed me just how to execute the triple jump. From that line, a country mile from the pit, you were to hop... skip... then jump, launching yourself into the void.
It only looked awkward until you tried it. Then it actually became as awkward as it looked. But, with the unpopularity of the event and my lack of any other athletic gift to give to the Perry Heights 7th and 8th grade track team, it was my big chance to make the squad.
For the next two weeks, I stayed after school and mastered the triple jump. I earned the third spot on the team behind two 8th graders and over a good friend who outdistanced me once, but didn't tell the coach. He was already in every event, so the triple jump was not going to enhance his resume.
The city meet came and I took my turns and I was eliminated in the first round. Even though there was some disappointment that day, I was satisfied to have made the short journey. I've long since forgotten the exact technique on how to triple jump, so coaching or speaking about the event at banquets is out of the question.
Today, the track and field universe is much safer with Wasatch coach, Brad Foster leading the way and me just writing about it. Here is the Wasp's season preview I wrote for the Wasatch Wave and of course contributed to the Deseret News online.
http://www.deseretnews.com/article/865575100/High-school-track-and-field-Wasatch-Wasps-hope-to-hit-the-ground-running-this-spring.html
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