Hurdling 101: The skin scrapers

On the starting line, they look more intimidating than they really are. The 10 barriers line up neatly in columns stretching across 100-meters. Each hurdle waits for a shin or knee to hit it, causing the poor sucker hopping over them to bruise or possibly even face plant into the ground.  

I used to hurdle for my high school track and field team. I have to admit; I was pretty damn good for someone who is only 5’4”. The 100-meter hurdles stretch up my leg and reached the top of my hipbones. Despite the fact that the hurdles were more than half my size, I could fly over them race after race, but I had my share of tumbles.

I began hurdling mid-season freshmen year against my will. Those stupid, awkward metal and plastic things scared the crap out of me and I had no interest in face planting. I was a 100- meter sprinter not a hurdler. Eventually, my coach gave me no choice in the matter. At a track invitational, my trusty coach placed me in the 100-meter hurdles. With no practice and zero clue on how to hurdle, I sprinted and jumped all the way to the finish line. It was a strange feeling, but I actually enjoyed scaring myself every 10-meters.

My first real tumble resulting in blood and pain happened during practice. I had just gotten used to leaping and hoping for the best when suddenly I smacked down a hurdle. As I fell, I somehow got wrapped up in the hurdle. The edge of it scraped across my right leg pealing away a perfect line of skin. As I lifted myself off the track, I looked over to the grimacing hurdle and saw a four inch long piece of skin dangling from it. I look down and the blood rushed across the surface of the fresh wound.

One would think this incident would be enough for me to say “peace out hurdles,” but instead I wrapped my leg up and wiped off what blood I could. I fixed the crooked hurdle and stepped back up to the starting line. Although I lost a bit of my pride, I couldn’t be defeated by the gawky, twisted piece of metal.

I just started an internship this semester. As a senior journalism major, I’ve acquired my own style of writing. I like hard news and pushing the boundaries with my reporting, but my internship is all about public relations. It’s lighthearted stories on promoting events and committees. I’ve written two articles that have been ripped apart. My style of writing, which is usually praised, is not good enough. Talk about a blow to the shins. This hurdle jumped at me from the sideline and smacked me down.

At first, I was angry and my pride was bruised. The comments scrawled across my article in red pen cut deep under my skin. I could feel the blood rush to my face and my jaw begin to clench. No one criticizes my writing like that. I am obviously far too good for this internship. This hurdle not only tripped me up, but also left me lying on the ground for a while. Finally I figured I should get back up because the race wasn’t waiting and neither were my deadlines. I sucked it up and took the critiques as a free lesson in public relations writing. I mean, I have another 12 weeks left of this internship, might as well make the best of it.