INTRODUCTION

Those Magnificent Men and Their Flying Schemes

Track and field represents the genesis of competition. Mankind has wondered who was faster or stronger as long ago as the funeral games in the Iliad, and despite the taint of drug abuse, track and field today remains the purest sport conceptually. It symbolizes the highest plane of endeavor, because it can quantify human limits more than any other sport.

The ancient Olympics eventually included chariot racing, discus throwing, boxing, and wrestling, but the first Olympic sport was a run the length of a field that amounted to nearly 200 meters.

Like the pole vault, the marathon wasn’t part of the ancient Olympics. The longest race then was only 4,614 meters, or about 2.9 miles. The marathon commemorated the probably legendary professional runner Phidippides, who raced 26 miles from the coastal plain to Athens to announce the victory of the Greeks over the Persians at the Battle of Marathon. Sadly, after his announcement, Phidippides fell dead, electrolyte-rich sports drinks not having been invented yet.

The pole vault developed later and farther north. It took the skirmishes to the sky, so the gods lounging on Mount Olympus could enjoy them. Although the Celts and Cretans used poles in jumping competitions, the latter to clear charging bulls, the sport’s modern roots were in the Netherlands. Dutch farmers used poles to vault across drainage ditches in a land in which every foot of soil is below sea level. Jumping poles were also used in marshy parts of England. The Germans added pole-jumping to gymnastics exercises in the 1850s. Later, the Ulverston Cricket Club of Lancashire, England, was credited with changing it to a vertical competition.

Originally, an iron stake was embedded in the end of a solid ash, spruce, or hickory pole. Pole-vaulters climbed the pole, which they drove stake-first into the ground, then toppled over the crossbar in a sitting position. It was more elegant than falling off a very tall three-legged stool, but not by much.

In 1889 Americans banned moving the hands along the pole to climb it. Lightweight bamboo poles arrived around 1900. Bamboo, botanically speaking, is actually a giant grass. The woody, cane-like stem, which was much lighter than solid poles, was used for vaulting poles. The vault box to receive the pole came soon after. The acrobatic upside-down position, clearing the crossbar feet first with the abdomen down, became the most efficient method of clearance.

By 1936 the material for poles was no longer officially restricted to wood or bamboo. Metal poles became the implements of choice in the 1950s. They were safer than bamboo, which could snap as if it were feeding time at the panda exhibit in the zoo. Some elite pole-vaulters used aluminum, but more used what was known as “Swedish steel.” Swedish iron ore was free of phosphorus, which could contaminate the steel-making process. It was a high-quality steel that was heavier than aluminum and had minimal flex properties (although a fast jumper could coax a few reluctant inches of bend out of it). There were also alloy poles, such as Duralium, a brand name that consisted of aluminum, copper, magnesium, manganese, and silicon.

The heaviest metal poles were so inflexible and hard to hold that Ron Morris, the 1960 Olympic silver medalist, would heat the tape on the grip with a can of Sterno and matches. This “cooking” of the pole allowed it to stick to his hands. Metal poles, often generically called “steel” poles, put a premium on brute strength because they were so rigid.

The modern era began with the more flexible fiberglass pole in the late 1950s and 1960s. Herb Jenks, an engineer with the Browning Arms Company, developed an alternative to steel poles while working with fiberglass tubes to be used in the manufacture of bows and arrows. The fiberglass pole is essentially a hollow tube composed of filaments of glass embedded in a matrix of polymer resin. The fiberglass pole was far lighter than any of the previous implements, allowing pole-vaulters to run faster. Fiberglass poles now weigh between three and six pounds, although, because they are carried near one end, their “leveraged weight” is substantially more. Experiments have shown that elite pole-vaulters are lugging over thirty-seven pounds in “carry weight” by the time they reach takeoff.

Today’s poles are made of layers of carbon fiber or graphite and fiberglass composite materials. They bend like a backslider’s willpower. And yet a modern pole, seemingly so thin and fragile, can stop a 175-pound man running in excess of 20 mph and then help propel him over a bar close to 20 feet above the ground. It isn’t really a very long magic wand, but it is close.

In fact, fiberglass was considered so flimsy an implement for such daring that Jenks became a minor celebrity in his own right. As pole-vaulters began to use the new implement, Jenks modified its stiffness and tapered the grip. The whippier pole caused records to go almost literally out of sight.

Between 1960, the last time a vaulter won an Olympic medal on a metal pole, and 1964, after fiberglass had been widely used, the Olympic record improved from Don Bragg’s 15–5 (4.70 meters) to Fred Hansen’s 16–8¾ (5.10), a quantum leap of 7.8 percent. To put this in perspective, consider that when Bob Beamon became the first man to long-jump 29 feet (no one else had even jumped 28) at the 1968 Olympics, the seemingly astonishing improvement in the world record came to only 6.3 percent.

Pole-vaulters often name their poles, much as Roy Hobbs dubbed his miracle bat “Wonderboy” in The Natural. An online survey of pole nicknames turned up “Bad Boy,” “Pimpin’ Pole,” “Black Death,” “El Jefe Negro” (The Black Chief), and the generic “Pole,” to whom urgent pleas were addressed, as in: “Okay, Pole. Nice Pole. C’mon, Pole. Time to flick my fat ass over that bar.” A former pole-vaulter at Purdue noted that Boilermakers who ran through the pit too often in practice had to vault on a pole with permanent black ink letters spelling out “P-U-S-S-Y.”

Sand was replaced by sawdust in the landing area and then by landing mattresses. The pole-vaulter tries to land on his back on the mattresses. In the old days, many landings were crashes. The advent of the fiberglass pole in the 1960s made for happier landings—a necessary step for the sport to progress to greater heights. Foam-rubber pads had replaced sawdust in most meets by the decade’s end. Pole-vaulters tried to land on their feet in the sand pit era with their knees bent, followed, at worst, by a gentle rump bump into the sand. But the contortionist’s demands of writhing over the bar in any possible manner caused pole-vaulters to make landings on their shoulders, back or even belly. The sand in the pit was mixed with sawdust to keep it from packing together, but landing in the stuff was no day at the beach. Life magazine ran a memorable two-page photo spread of John Pennel’s first 17-foot jump in 1963. In it, Pennel is captured landing on his back in less sawdust than a sapling could have produced.

The pole vault skews to the extremes of human behavior. Pole-vaulters must have the same double helix of DNA as fighter pilots and daring young men on the flying trapeze. Astronaut Edwin “Buzz” Aldrin was once a pole-vaulter. The second man to walk on the surface of the moon, Aldrin was jumping into great adventures on the end of a pole as a teenager in Montclair, New Jersey, years before the Eagle landed.

The pole vault tends to draw physically imposing, steely-eyed types, capable of crashing a People magazine “Most Beautiful People” list. Other male celebrities who were pole-vaulters included Robert Culp, who was second in the state of California in high school; Shannon Hoon, the late lead singer of Blind Melon; and the undeniably hunky Patrick Swayze, who starred in the popular movies Ghost and Dirty Dancing. In addition, rock singer-songwriter John Mellencamp was a 12–6 jumper in high school. Morice Fredrick “Tex” Winter, one of the innovattors of basketball’s triangle offense, pole-vaulted at Compton (California) Junior College and Southern Cal, clearing 14–4 for the Trojans.

Every pole-vaulter must overcome the sensible objection that such upside-down calisthenics are a deep affront to his sense of self-preservation. A pupil once said to 1972 Olympic bronze medalist Jan Johnson that pushing off the pole while upside down was “not human nature.” Snapped Johnson: “It’s also not human nature to get a fiberglass pole, run balls out, and plant the pole. Now get out there and try again!”

Poles are calibrated for the pole-vaulter’s weight. Vaulters are seldom heavier than 190–195 pounds, because more weight means more payload to lift. The poles also vary in stiffness as determined by their “flex rating.” This is determined by putting a fifty-pound weight on the middle of a pole with end supports and measuring how much is displaced. The poles of Sergey Bubka, the Ukrainian considered by many to be the best pole-vaulter ever, were stiffer than a slug of white lightnin’ from a Mason jar.

The rules used to state that if a pole passed under the crossbar after a pole-vaulter released it, the vault constituted a miss. That rule hasn’t applied in many years. It is considered a miss, however, if the pole-vaulter moves his lower hand above the upper or moves his upper hand. This is considered “climbing” the pole. If a pole breaks, the vaulter gets another attempt.

The pegs that hold the crossbar were shortened in 2003 from 3 inches to 2¼ (75 millimeters to 55), putting a premium on clean clearances, free of the jiggling and quivering of bars brushed by the pole-vaulters. It is a big reduction, amounting to 25 percent of the previous length. Imagine what havoc might be created in the relays if the baton were sawed off in the same way.

The crossbar is fiberglass, but on either end are rubber tips which sit on the pegs. At the same time as the pegs were whittled down, the tips were changed from a square configuration to one that is flat on one side and curved on the other. The theory is that if the bar is struck hard enough to bounce or roll, it will become dislodged and not come back to rest on a square side.

American coaches wondered if Bubka supported the rules change in order to protect his records. The rumor began as Bubka rose in power in international track and field after his retirement. The coaches wondered why the worldwide governing body for track and field, the International Association of Athletics Federations (IAAF), didn’t test the shorter pegs more thoroughly. This change to the sport, after all, is similar to raising the mound and moving the fences back in baseball. Shortening the pegs and making the end of the bar liable to be dislodged by a clatter of butterfly wings is hardly fan-friendly in a difficult, crowd-pleasing event. As was argued on track and field Internet message boards at the time, the changes in equipment specifications amount to cases of disadvantaging later athletes. “What’s next?” one wonders. “Electrifying the bar?”

In fact, some coaches believe it is impossible to compare post-2003 performances with those that went before it with more forgiving pegs. Many track and field fans speak of the years after 2003 as the beginning of the “clean clearance” era.

The pole vault was one of the last events in track and field to yield to gender equity. Because of its danger and difficulty, it was an Olympic sport for men only until the Sydney Games in 2000. The arrival of women with their skimpy costumes and record-setting binges brought a whole new set of fans to the sport.

USA Today rated pole-vaulting over 15 feet as the third-hardest feat in sports, behind hitting a major league pitch and driving a racecar 200 mph. It is as perilous as it is difficult. On a per capita basis, pole-vaulting is responsible for more fatal and “catastrophic” injuries (defined as injuries causing paralysis) than football. Poles can snap when they are too light for a pole-vaulter’s weight and overbend. The greatest danger is missed landings, however. When they jump, pole-vaulters take both the pole and their own lives in their hands. Few vaulters at the world-class level wear protective helmets, although head injuries are obviously massive when suffered after falling from the equivalent of a second-story window and missing the foam-rubber landing pads. From 18 feet, a vaulter weighing 175 pounds falls at a rate of 24 mph. Such a mass screaming down towards the pit at 35.2 feet per second packs a wallop of 6,160 pounds. Of course, the actual effect must be modified; penetrating deeply into a soft mattress reduces the force significantly.

The modern pole vault is track and field’s most spectacular event. It begins with a sprint down a runway that is 45 meters long (49 yards, 18 inches). As in most of the other straightaway events—the 100 meters, 100 and 110 hurdles, long jump, and triple jump—a tailwind is beneficial in the pole vault. If there is a headwind, the pole-vaulter will cover less ground with each stride. To counteract this, the pole-vaulter moves back at the start. If there is a tailwind, he or she moves forward. Tim Mack, the 2004 Olympic men’s pole vault gold medalist, begins his run at between 133–135 feet (40.5–41 meters), depending on conditions.

Elite pole-vaulters use an approach (or run towards the pole vault pit) that amounts to between eighteen and twenty strides. If the runner is 1 inch off on each stride, he will miss his optimum launch window by almost 2 feet. That is why the marks used to check the course of the approach are so critical.

The biggest factor in determining a successful vault is not improved equipment. The jump’s potential depends most critically on the speed the pole-vaulter reaches before takeoff and his or her height. Velocity also directly relates to the size of pole that the vaulter can bend, which translates to height. On his biggest jump of 20–2, the 6-foot Bubka was timed at 9.94 meters per second in the final five meters before launch, or 22.3 mph. The pole vault requires precise footwork on the runway, explosiveness on the takeoff, coordination on the pole, agility in getting off it, and the right stuff to even attempt the thing. It requires an all-out sprint while burdened with a cumbersome implement and exemplifying posture a runway model would envy. Other than that, anyone can do it.

While world-class 100-meter men reach 25–26 mph, they aren’t carrying long poles. Sprinters lean forward to increase velocity, but pole-vaulters must run with an upright torso to increase their chances of success in the next phase of the jump.

Long arms increase the takeoff angle off the ground because the pole is higher and there is less distance to vertical at liftoff. Powerful hands are assets too. Although critical exceptions can be found, such as American Olympian Scott Huffman and 2005 World Champion Rens Blom of the Netherlands, the shortest distance from the earth to the stars in pole-vaulting is usually a tall guy with long arms, big hands and a stout heart.

The takeoff point varies depending on how high the pole-vaulter grips on the pole and how tall he or she is. Most elite vaulters use 5.10-meter poles (16 feet, 8¾ inches), although a few use 5.20 (17–0½). Tim Mack, the 2004 Olympic gold medalist, was on 16–8¾ poles in 2004. They take off between 12 feet, 6 inches and 14 feet from the vaulting box. Mack optimally launches at 13–6, but he can jump effectively anywhere from 12–9 to 13–6. Biomechanically, the optimum is to have the vaulter’s takeoff foot directly beneath the extended top hand on the pole.

After the pole-vaulter “plants” (jams) the pole into the vaulting box, he jumps off the ground, bending the pole with his weight. The kinetic energy from the run is then transferred to the pole. It is stored as potential energy in the form of a compressed spring. As it straightens from a 150-degree arc, the pole returns the energy to the pole-vaulter. Modern poles are constructed of such advanced materials that they waste very little energy when they bend, and they have a good ratio of strength-to-weight. The effect of all this is similar to that of a catapult operated by a man with an itchy trigger finger.

Field events, the “throws” and “jumps,” are so dependent on difficult-to-master techniques that they require a bigger complement of athletic skills than track. For example, a pole-vaulter is both a sprinter and a gymnast. A triple jumper must have speed, spring, and the resilience to rebound from the shock of landing to jump again. The sprints demand a spare, efficient style free of wasted motion, attention to stride pattern and other concerns. But basically, a sprint is no more complicated than putting one foot in front of the other and sometimes turning left.

Since the pole vault is considered one of the four “jumps,” along with the high jump, triple jump and long jump, pole-vaulters usually speak in terms of jumps, not vaults. The pole vault probably gets more attention than all the other field events combined due to its spectacular nature.

An elite pole-vaulter knows endurance is a premium virtue. The bar is elevated after multiple clearances by only 5 centimeters, or about 2 inches. The pole-vaulter competes against the clouds and the clock. If more than three competitors are still alive, he has one minute to jump; for two or three he has two minutes; and, if jumping alone and presumably for a meet or a world record, five minutes. Ties are broken by fewer misses or by a jump-off at the last bar successfully cleared.

Like the high jump, the pole vault offers nearly countless chances for a competitor to take the lead. Clear a new height on any of three tries, raise the bar, up the stakes, push yourself and your competitors to new levels, and climb forever toward the golden glow at the end of the pole.

“Citius, altius, fortius,” reads the Olympic motto in Latin. Faster, higher, stronger. Higher is a pole-vaulter’s particular creed. A pole-vaulter jumps higher by a magnitude of two and a half times than a high jumper. A world-class male pole-vaulter goes almost twice as high as a basketball rim. A pole-vaulter goes over the rim, the 11½-foot high white square on the backboard, the backboard itself, the 24-second shot clock bolted to its top, and damn near the rafters and catwalks high above.

Actually, of course, pole-vaulters do not reach the sky in any meaningful sense. But the extremity of altitude, attained without the use of ropes, pitons, sherpa guides, and a handy mountainside, forms the way pole-vaulters are seen both within the fraternity of flight and without. Viewed from the ground, the crossbar seems to be a thin line drawn across the sky, marking the border of possibility. Most of us rooted to the common clay would never dare the air. Not pole-vaulters. They have no patience with grays and neutral colors. They take the imagination higher. They are dreamers without borders.