Sprinting sucks. It’s true. I tried it once. My heart, lungs and legs filled with burning needles. It felt like someone hit me in the gut with an ax. Brackish water, a mix of pain and pleasure, washed over me. For me, the only time sprinting is justifiable is if a bear, tiger or other fanged and clawed beast chases me, which thankfully rarely happens.
Between The Horns: Sprinting sucks
Sprinting sucks. It’s true. I tried it once. My heart, lungs and legs filled with burning needles. It felt like someone hit me in the gut with an ax. Brackish water, a mix of pain and pleasure, washed over me. For me, the only time sprinting is justifiable is if a bear, tiger or other fanged and clawed beast chases me, which thankfully rarely happens.
It doesn’t appear that Portland State’s women runners share my beliefs about sprinting, though. They’re doing it to break records. Just this year at the Big Sky Outdoor Track and Field Championship, Geronne Black won the 100-meter, and Dominique Maloney rocked the 400-meter, setting a new Portland State record and placing fifth overall. Similarly, the women’s 4×100 and 4×400 relay teams set new PSU records. The 4×100 relay team and Black are competing this week in Austin at the NCAA West Regional.
In recent years it seems Portland State has recruited a lot of fast women, or maybe head coach Ronnye Harrison feeds them something special. Secret energy shakes, perhaps, sprinkled with raw speed, not the drug but the primal concept of running. If that’s the case, share it with your other athletes, coach, and drop some of it by my office if you get a chance. I could use a good energy boost.
Enough jokes. Harrison is a fantastic coach. His athletes have won championships and claimed at least 16 Portland State records. I think there’s something all good coaches know how to do: They break down the walls our modern minds build and lure out our fear, our natural survival instinct. They turn that fear into more than just wild flight though. They mold it, calibrate it and stick it back in our brains, which makes it possible to run 400 meters in just a nudge more than 55 seconds—impressed I am, Maloney, because I know how difficult running is.
I jog for fitness. I do, sometimes, if it’s not raining or too hot or too cold. I’m slow, probably best suited for the geriatrics lane. Even the best coach in the world couldn’t turn a snail like me into a sprinter. Not only am I slow, I’m unwilling. I’d fight. I’d squirm and squeal. I might even cry. At best, after years of one-on-one training, I might sprint four meters but never 100 or, God forbid, 400.
An athlete’s willingness to train is just as important as good coaching. This isn’t only the case for sprinters. Willingness to learn and be molded is necessary whether you’re sprinting or swimming, whether you’re throwing a baseball, a javelin or boomerang. (Competitive, long-stance boomerang throwing anyone?) In all cases, it’s the coach’s job to find your primal fear-based athletic instinct and tune it. It’s the athlete’s job to look directly at that fear and instead of fleeing from it, run toward it, because the closer you get to touching your fear, the closer you get to smashing records.
This year seemed to be the year of the sprinter, but I’m looking forward to seeing what records Portland State’s track and field team will break next season.
