20 Years Later: Everything I'd Change About My High School Pole Vault Career

By Jake Winder, founder of RISE Pole Vault. Adapted from Episode 1 of the One More Jump podcast. Watch or listen below.

It's been 20 years since I was a high school pole vaulter. I had a really successful career: a state championship, a 16'7" personal best, a Division 1 scholarship. But now that I coach high school vaulters for a living, I think a lot about what I'd change if I could go back. Here are the nine things. Not because my career went badly, but because these are the exact mistakes I now watch talented, successful kids make every season.

The short version: stay in your lane, judge yourself over months instead of days, keep your mouth shut on the pit, stop confusing pain with progress, get in the weight room now, trust your own style of vaulting, pick your college with your intuition instead of your pride, stay dialed through senior year, and don't be a vibe killer. Here's what each of those actually means.

1. I wish I would've stayed in my lane and stopped comparing myself to everyone else

In the early 2000s it was IllinoisPrepTopTimes.com on a slow internet connection. Today it's Athletic.net and social media. Same addiction, different website.

I would refresh that rankings page constantly to see where I stood in the state. If my name was in the number one spot, it was going to be a good day. If I'd dropped to second, I went into a spiral, thinking about it at breakfast, in class, at practice, all day and all night. That obsession robbed me of an enormous amount of energy I could have put into actually getting better.

The lesson I'd give my younger self: focus on what you can control, and stop worrying about what everyone else is doing around you.

2. I wish I would've understood that no single workout or meet makes you or breaks you

When I was in high school, one good workout meant I was good. One bad workout meant I was bad. That's a crazy way to live, and it's a narrow-minded way to evaluate an athletic career.

Two things were broken about my scoreboard. First, my standard for "good" was so high (basically a PR) that I almost never hit it, even on days that were objectively excellent. Second, my time horizon was a single day. If I wasn't good today, I wasn't good.

The truth is that development in the pole vault happens over three months, six months, a year, multiple years. Ask anyone who's gone on to be a successful college or professional vaulter and they'll tell you about stretches of one, two, even four or five years where it felt like the needle wasn't moving at all. That's not failure. That's just the sport. The right question isn't "was today good?" It's "how many good workouts out of my last ten? How am I averaging over the last three months?"

3. I wish I would've controlled my emotions and, honestly, just shut my mouth

Here's the story I hate telling. My senior year, I was going for back-to-back state championships. I got beat, flat out beat by a really good vaulter. And instead of eating it and moving on, I kicked a folding chair as hard as I could in front of the whole crowd. Twenty years later, it's still embarrassing to think about.

I also just talked too much. Chirping back at my dad, who was my coach. Making excuses the second I landed: "that was a bad one because I tripped." Here's the thing about excuses. If you're working with a good coach, they already know your excuse before you say it. You don't need to say it.

That's actually where two of my dad's coaching rules came from.

No talking on the pit. You can celebrate on the pit; that's allowed. But on a normal jump, whatever comes out of your mouth on the pit is going to be an excuse, a swear word, or something negative. There's a magical window of time between landing and stepping off the pit where your brain gets a second to chill. If you stay quiet until your feet hit the ground, you usually don't say the dumb thing at all.

"Shut your hole and plant your pole." That was his blunt answer when I came up making excuses. It means: stop talking, go to the back of the runway, and do something about it. Don't let the energy come out of your mouth.

4. I wish I would've realized that more pain doesn't mean more progress

Young me believed that if a workout physically hurt, it was making me better. So I'd crush myself, completely cash out my body, and feel tough doing it. Then vault day would come, and my brain was confident but my muscles and nervous system were fried. My body couldn't cash the check my confidence was writing.

The dangerous part is that it becomes a loop. The crushing workouts made me feel more confident, so I did more of them, which made my body less capable, which led to injuries. I'd built my confidence on volume of suffering instead of quality of training.

Twenty years and thousands of athletes later, I can say it plainly: strenuous exercise and quality exercise are not the same thing. The workout that hurts the most is good for building character. It is not automatically good for getting better at pole vaulting.

5. I wish I would've gotten in the weight room earlier

I stayed out of the weight room for two reasons, and both were bad. The first was ignorance. I believed technique and more vaulting were the whole answer. They're not; there is a huge physical element to this sport. The second was that I was self-conscious. I was obsessed with "benching the plates" (bar plus 45s) and the most I could do was the 25s. So I got embarrassed, decided if I couldn't be one of the strongest guys in the room I didn't belong there, and avoided it.

That's exactly backwards. The right move was to accept where I was, do the 25s, and take one step forward, over and over, for a long time. High school is when your body is primed to build speed and strength. I didn't really learn to lift until midway through college, and I gave up years of development I could never get back.

Nobody in the weight room is looking at you. Nobody cares. And if they do, they have problems of their own. Get in the weight room.

6. I wish I would've believed in my own way of vaulting a little bit more

At RISE we absolutely believe in understanding a technical model. There are big movements you have to hit: the plant up early before the pole hits the back of the box, a rigid (not straight, rigid) bottom arm, closing the gap between your legs and your top hand in the rock back. Those aren't optional.

But between the big movements there are thousands of little movements, and yours will be yours no matter how hard you try. In high school I was obsessed with why my vault didn't look like someone else's. We hear it at RISE constantly: "but Mondo doesn't do that." Side note: don't ever compare yourself to Mondo. You'll live a lot happier life.

The best example of trusting your own vault is Sam Kendricks. He doesn't vault like anybody else. He vaults like Sam Kendricks, and I've always respected how he and his dad built around that. Get the big things right, and don't drown in the minutiae of a foot that points two inches the wrong way.

7. I wish I would've picked my college with my intuition instead of my pride

Out of high school I went to a big SEC school. If I'm honest about why, it was one reason: pride. I wanted to walk the hallways my senior year in a big Division 1 sweatshirt. And I did. And I'll tell you, it's not that cool. Nobody cares. High schoolers are really good at thinking about themselves; they are not thinking about your college choice.

What I should have asked was: what does my goal require? From day one of pole vaulting I wanted to jump after college and be one of the big guys. The right question was whether that school actually served that goal, not what the sweatshirt said. I eventually transferred back to North Central College, worked with my dad through my college career, and it was incredible. I wouldn't trade it for the world.

There are great D1 programs and great coaches out there. But "big" doesn't automatically mean "right." Some of the best vaulters in the world came out of schools you've never heard of. Choose for your goals, not for your audience.

8. I wish I would've finished the race my senior year

I jumped 16'7" as a junior. I jumped 16'3" as a senior, and lost the state title I was trying to defend. I went backwards, and the reason was a decent case of senioritis. I was more focused on the social stuff, staying up too late, being everywhere except dialed in.

Here's the reframe I'd give any senior: the social events are not the scarce resource. You'll go to fun social things for the rest of your life. Your access to them actually goes up as you get older. What's scarce is a young, healthy, strong, fast body. That window is tiny, and it closes fast.

I'm not saying live at the track. Go to prom. But there's a balance, and I tipped it the wrong way after three years of building myself as an athlete. From an older person to a younger one: stay a little more dialed senior year.

9. I wish I was less of a vibe killer

I was self-centered at practice and at meets. Not mean (I never cursed anybody out), but when I was doing badly, my energy dragged everyone down with me. And I wasn't understanding of other people's motivation. I assumed everyone wanted it as badly as I did, and it drove me crazy when they didn't. Why aren't we doing extra reps? Why are we leaving early? Why are we messing around in line?

What I've learned coaching at RISE is that a healthy gym needs both kinds of people: the ones who want to live at that intense level, and the ones who are mostly there to hang out. Both are necessary for the culture. What's not acceptable is the driven person bringing everyone else down.

And there's a piece of this that athletes almost never think about: it's a two-way street. The coach motivates the athlete, but the athlete motivates the coach too. If you're driven and fun to work with, a little lighthearted, not impossible to please, clearly not going to let one rough patch ruin your whole day, that means a lot to your coach, and the whole relationship compounds upward. If you're hard-headed and heavy, the chain breaks, the coach starts grasping at straws, and that spiral can poison a workout, a season, and eventually a culture.

The thread through all nine

Almost every one of these was the same mistake wearing a different outfit: looking outward instead of inward. The rankings page, the plates on the bench, the sweatshirt in the hallway, everyone else's vault, everyone else's effort level. That's what every high schooler is struggling with. And honestly, it's part of growing up, and hindsight is 20/20.

The funny thing is, I still struggle with a lot of these. So maybe 20 years from now I'll have it all figured out.

The whole reason we started RISE Pole Vault and this podcast is to share what we went through so you might not have to suffer through the same things. If you're a young athlete, take a minute and ask which of these nine applies to you right now.