Penn Relays | Angel | Imperfect, outdated and the main draw

There are over 250 races at this year's Penn Relays, but you ought to focus on a two-foot pool of water.

The crowd starts forming when they pour the first drop. It'll balloon into the thousands. (Get there early. There're only so many seats around a puddle.)

Not sold? Sure, you're laughing now. By the end of day one, you'll have watched 10 hours of races. Most of them have names like "High School Girls Championship of America 4x400-meter Suburban Group A, Subheat C."

If you're not pining for something different, you're either lying or being paid not to. Or both.

Besides, there's more. In front of the puddle stands - wait for it - a three-foot hurdle.

Thrilling, I know.

* * *

The steeplechase really is that simple. It's 3,000 meters - just over seven laps, with five hurdles per lap. The puddle, or "pit," sits right after the lap's last hurdle. Ideally, runners propel off the hurdle and fly over the puddle. Only the springiest succeed; most are destined for a wet landing.

Fans encourage the latter. As the runners approach, the crowd begins a monotonic chant. The pack gets closer; the fans get louder. When the leaders hit the hurdle, the noise reaches a deafening crescendo, like the opening kickoff in football. "Ohhhhh-OH!!"

Dozens of cleats return to Earth. Splashing ensues, a photographer's dream. The gallery - probably as involved as it will be all weekend - roars its approval.

Most of it, anyway. A spectator at this month's Penn Invitational was unimpressed. "That's all it is?" she asked, assessing her cell phone camera's blurry output.

That's all it is. Nothing else needed.

* * *

The race is really a giant accident. A 19th-century cross-country course at Oxford led runners over stone walls and small creeks. The obstacles just happened to catch on. Athletic facilities have improved since then, but apparently nobody's told the NCAA or the Olympics.

No surprise, then, that it's the bastard child of track events. At many schools, it's the domain of those who couldn't crack it at 5,000 or 10,000 meters.

The steeplechase demands real versatility: a jumper's technique, a distance runner's endurance, a middle distance runner's pace. But few high schools even run it, so few recruits come ready for it.

Penn's best steeplechaser, Alejandro Shepard, was no exception. He learned from watching the Olympics on TV.

"I pretty much went to coach [Charlie] Powell and said 'I'd like to give the steeplechase a shot.' And he said 'sure.'"

Shepard has since come within three seconds of an NCAA regional qualifying time.

But like Shepard, many of the guys in tomorrow evening's lineup were not dreaming of the steeplechase when they signed up for track.

Inexperienced runners in a treacherous event: sounds like a tailor-made disaster.

In truth, nothing could be better.

* * *

If we wanted people to play the right notes every time, we would stay home and listen to Beethoven.

The steeplechase is not Beethoven. It is Slipknot: loud, chaotic, visceral - and extremely compelling.

Put up enough hurdles, and even the best athletes fatigue. Five laps in, a man who could once clear the puddle may be getting his heels wet.

The trough is sloped from deep to shallow, swimming-pool style. It creates a reward structure: The more distance you cover with your leap, the less grimy water you have to thrash your way out of.

For the weary runner, it's no metaphor: you find yourself in deeper and deeper.

Guys burn out. They stumble. They drop two, three minutes back, or drop out entirely. A few may slip in the water, victims of the crowd's chant: "Fall! Fall! Fall!"

And this ain't the 100-meters. They are running, sloshing and jumping for eight to nine minutes, minimum. Usually more. When the bell for the final lap sounds, some don't look like they can even make it to a hurdle, let alone jump one.

That's why the crowd surrounding that puddle is so big and the opening-kickoff roar so loud. For the first time all day, the Relays will offer something that's not quite so polished: A bunch of guys stumbling around a track, looking decidedly imperfect, pushing themselves beyond the limit.

Besides, it's steeplechase! None of them even knows what the limit is.

Sebastien Angel is a junior Political Science major from Worcester, Mass., and is former Sports Editor of The Daily Pennsylvanian. His e-mail address is angelsd@dailypennsylvanian.com.

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