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When I was younger, I did not have the strength to jump well enough, but over the years I have gained that, worked on it. But the sensibility you simply have to have.

You never hold back. If I turn up to the track and feel cautious or not committed, I turn around and go home. If you don't have that full commitment when you're pedaling into a 40-foot jump, there's not much room for error, and you'll come off worse.

High jump is such a mental thing. It's you against the bar. It's something that a lot of people struggle with, and people experience slumps and plateaus because of it.

Don't jump on a man unless he is down.

Jumping isn't as important to my training as you might think; I'm only in the sandpit once a week. There's a high risk factor of injury doing it, so instead, I rely on my progress in the gym to judge how far I'll jump on the big day.

When you jump for joy, beware that no one moves the ground from beneath your feet.

Scientists have proven that it's impossible to long-jump 30 feet, but I don't listen to that kind of talk. Thoughts like that have a way of sinking into your feet.

One of my daughters is a competitive jumper, we live with horses, we have stables on our property. But I don't ride. I observe, and I worry.

I think I jump around more when I'm alone.

On bikeback, there is a delightful sense of self-direction and autonomy. Lately, I have taken to cycling slowly, more fun than the fast, competitive commuter cycling I used to do. No longer do I jump lights or attempt that irritating wobbling thing that semi-professional cyclists like to indulge in.