These are some pictures of me practicing that summer for the national meet. My coach was photographing me this day to find out what was going wrong with my form and we found it. Er, at least one of the things. I don't know if that was a true Fosbury Flop I was performing or just sheer will getting me over the bar.
I had begun dropping my left arm going into my jump, causing my whole body to be dragged down into the pole. WHICH by the way was a triangular metal pole that hurt the grooviest maximus when you landed on it. It also bent, which was not very efficient considering we were trying to accurately measure how high we were jumping. Now they have that newfangled plastic rubber stuff.
Sheesh, I look like I'm doing a cartwheel here. Sign that girl up for gymnastics. I adjusted my form and came in 9th out of 14 in the national meet. My goal was to not be last. How's that for "high hopes?" Those were some kneesocks, huh? And my very favorite shorts which I wear to this day.
Waiting for the high jump event to begin in the middle of the UCLA track, I was talking to a high jumper from Anchorage. She was a small girl who looked like an "eskimo" to me, or maybe it was just my imagination taking over, being from the opposite end of the continent and all. We were chatting away our nerves and she asked me how high I'd jumped. I told her 4' 8" or 10". She said, nodding as she considered the height, "I think I can do that." So I asked, "What's your highest?" "3 foot 6," she replied. Wow, I thought, now there's some positive thinking! They raise some strong-minded people up there in those parts!