There are hurdles to overcome in sport and in life. Sport is a

Hear the elder’s counsel cast like a laurel upon the brow of youth: “There are hurdles to overcome in sport and in life. Sport is a very valuable learning ground for how to live your life in the best possible way.” In this brief oracle, Lynn Davies names the kinship between the arena and the everyday. What rises before a runner—bar after bar, rhythm after rhythm—rises also before a soul: disappointments, delays, detours. The track is a mirror; the lane is a parable. We clear what is set before us, not by wishing the course away, but by ordering our stride, mastering our breath, and keeping our eyes fixed beyond the obstacle.

To speak of hurdles is to honor resistance as teacher. Friction shapes the blade; impact teaches timing. In sport, the bar is literal; in life, it wears many masks—an illness that slows the leg, a loss that fogs the mind, a failure that mocks the heart. Yet the craft is the same. Measure; adjust; commit. A stutter-step breeds collapse; a fearless, well-timed takeoff breeds flight. Thus the games instruct the days: discipline over drift, patience over panic, form over fury.

Consider the living tale of Davies himself—Lynn the Leap, a Welsh long-jumper who rose from rough weather and simple fields to seize Olympic gold. He learned that a run-up without focus spends itself, that takeoff without calm scatters height, that wind and board and body must conspire. Between medals came winters, injuries, and the quiet arithmetic of repetition. In the pit he learned a truth that follows a person home: excellence is advanced basics under stress. This is why sport becomes a learning ground—it compresses consequence so that lessons arrive quickly and cannot be ignored.

History offers another lantern. When Jesse Owens stepped onto the cinder track in Berlin, he faced more than hurdles of wood—he faced an empire’s sneer. His stride answered a doctrine; his grace contradicted a lie. In him we see how training becomes character’s armory: start well, run true, finish clean. The stadium thundered, but the deeper victory happened within: poise under pressure, dignity under gaze, friendship with a rival who steadied his run-up at the board. Such moments show how sport tutors the soul in courage that abides after the applause.

The saying also warns us gently: no one vaults alone. The hurdler depends on a builder who set the spacing, a coach who tuned cadence, a rival who demanded more, a healer who mended the strain. So it is in life: the learning ground includes teammates, elders, and even critics, each a different kind of wind across the back. Pride stumbles where gratitude finds rhythm. The wise learn to thank the obstacle and the opponent, for both sharpen the edge.

What, then, is the lesson to carry forward like a baton? Treat each day as a meet. Warm up your intentions; run your plan; review your form. When you clip a bar, do not curse—listen. Was the approach rushed? Was the gaze too near? Was the heart too loud? In this way, sport gives us a grammar for resilience, a choreography for setbacks, a ritual for returning after a fall. The best possible way is not perfection without scars; it is progress with memory.

And here are actions as plain as chalk on a starting line: (1) Name your hurdles—write the three you face this season in life and the one drill that will train you for each. (2) Build cadence—a small daily practice (reading, stretching, budgeting, prayer) that steadies your approach. (3) Honor recovery—sleep, food, reflection; fatigue is a false god that demands worship and gives injuries. (4) Seek coaching—invite honest eyes to correct your form in work and relationships. (5) Compete clean—choose integrity over short cuts; the victory you can explain to your children is the only one worth keeping. (6) Debrief with kindness—after triumph or loss, ask what was learned and how it will shape tomorrow’s run. Do these, and the stadium of your days will teach you what the track has taught champions: hurdles make the flight meaningful; sport refines the spirit; and a well-lived life is won the same way a race is—one faithful stride, well-placed, beyond the last bar.