CHAPTER XIII
IN TRAINING
“Candidates for the track team report to Professor Beck, at the gymnasium, at 3.45 P. M., Saturday, February 12th.
“DONALD CUNNINGHAM, _Captain_.”
This notice was posted on the bulletin board in Academy Building onemorning, and fellows on their way to recitations read it and becamesuddenly aware that, from an athletic standpoint at least, spring hadbegun. From that same standpoint winter is a short-lived season inHillton--a mere ten weeks between the last football game and the callfor track team candidates; a brief space in which the hockey playerspose as heroes, the Hillton and St. Eustace chess clubs prepare forand hold their annual contest, the debating club membership grows, theschool librarian is for once busy all day long, and the juniors conductmimic battles and sieges on the green, their citadels and ammunitionboth constructed of snow. And then some morning while the mercury stilllingers affectionately about the zero mark a little square of paperappears on the bulletin board, and, officially at least, the vernalseason is ushered in.
This year, as usual, with the appearance of the call for track teamcandidates a veritable epidemic of athletic enthusiasm swept over theAcademy. The crew candidates, who for weeks past had been quietlyexercising with chest weights and dumb-bells and running around thetrack without occasioning any particular notice, now went to work onthe rowing machines and were daily viewed by a throng of their fellows.The baseball players congregated in the cage and pitched and batted andslid about on the canvas to an accompaniment of low-voiced criticismfrom chaps who pressed their noses through the wire meshes for ahalf-hour at a time. Golfers polished up their clubs, bought brand newbooks on the sport, and were to be found practicing putting in thedormitory halls. A few lads flocked together in warm studies and talkedof wickets and overs and bowls, and tried hard to convince themselvesand each other that they were enthusiastic cricketers. And all thewhile the ice on the river was thick and hard, the wind swept acrossthe green in wintry gusts, and the snow was piled high on either sideof the walks.
But if the green and the campus and the frozen paths were deserted,the gymnasium, especially after two o’clock in the afternoon, was abusy scene. Of the fifty-odd boys who reported for the track team,forty-two were put to training. With most of them the new work wasdisappointingly similar to that gone through with all winter. The chestweights banged up and down, the rings swung about under the high roof,the ladders creaked and bent between their braces, and the dumb-bellsand Indian clubs swung faster than ever. But many of the candidateswere put to work on the wooden track in the hour when twilight filledthe gymnasium with strange and grotesque shadows, and now and then somecandidate for honors with the sixteen-pound shot was allowed to tossa leather-covered sphere about the place, to the imminent danger ofeverybody’s toes.
Professor Beck, from a quiet, even-voiced, little gentleman, suddenlybecame a commanding figure, who was here, there, and everywhere, andwhose least word was like a trumpet sound. Boys who were not candidatesfor the track team or the baseball team or the crew or something--andthere appeared to be few of them in those days--were not admitted tothe floor of the gymnasium after a certain hour in the afternoon, andso congregated at the little walled-off inclosure by the entrance andscoffed or praised, envied or admired, to their heart’s content and tothe despair of the performers.
One afternoon, a few days subsequent to the beginning of the trackcandidates’ training, the gymnasium was more than usually full andnoisy. The crew was hard at work in the rowing room, a half dozenfellows were trotting about the track, and the boys under Don wereputting in a preliminary ten minutes at the weights. Taken as a wholethey were a fine-looking lot, though to the uninitiated many wouldhave appeared too slight in build for athletic success. These werethe sprinters and hurdlers and those of the new candidates who weredesirous of becoming such. They showed speed rather than strengthand were in some cases slender to a degree. It was not difficultto distinguish the new candidates from the experienced, even whenthey were in gymnasium attire; the matter of chest development aloneafforded unmistakable proof. In the same way the jumpers and polevaulters could be picked out. A greater development of the chestmuscles was noticeable, resultant on the short, sharp effort requiredin their work. Of the several boys present who had been members of thelast year’s team as long-distance runners, three at least indicatedtheir specialty by their build. Their chests were quite as highlydeveloped as those of the jumpers, but the development was moregeneral; their tasks required staying power as well as strength oflung. Of the performers with the heavy weights, Dave Merton was a fairexample. Both the twelve-pound hammer and the shot belong of right toathletes who have weight in their favor, since it is only by puttingtheir weight into the effort that success with hammer or shot may behoped for. The exercise brings into play the muscles of the back andloins, widens the body across the shoulders, and gives plenty of roomto the heart and lungs. To a less extent the legs are benefited and theentire muscular system gains in elasticity.
Professor Beck emerged from the rowing room and cast his gaze over thegymnasium floor, letting his eyes rest first on one and then another ofthe exercisers at the weights.
“That will do at the weights, boys,” he announced presently. Hereferred to a book which he took from his pocket. “Morris and Grahamand Gordon, to the running track and do a half mile; and by the way,Graham, don’t labor under the impression that you’re trying to catch atrain; take your pace from Morris. You too, Gordon; you run too fast.Jumpers and sprinters had better get in some work with the dumb-bells.I’ll have a look at you presently. The rest of you know your work, Ithink.”
He turned to Don, and the two discussed the candidates for some time,while Wayne joined the men on the track and proceeded to put twelvelaps behind him at a moderate pace. Wayne’s presence among the trackteam candidates requires some explanation. Continued study with butlittle outdoor recreation had begun to create a listlessness that hadsurprised and worried him. Don, when consulted, explained the matter invery few words.
“You’ve been cooped up indoors and have had no exercise; what can youexpect? Staying indoors makes a chap’s brain sluggish. The sooner youtake up some exercise that’ll interest you, the sooner you’ll be ableto study well again.”
“But what is there to do?” asked Wayne.
“Why, report on Saturday and try for the track team. You half promised,anyhow, you know.”
“More dumb-bells?” growled Wayne.
“At first, yes. But when we get outdoors you’ll be glad that you wentin for the team. You’ll like it after the first week, Wayne. Besides,as a favor to me, you know!”
“Oh, well, I just as leave. I don’t mind those chest weights any more.And I dare say it’ll give me something to do in spring. And I reckon it_would_ make my lessons come easier.”
So the name of Wayne Gordon was entered in the list of candidatesfor the track team, and he underwent an examination which appearedsatisfactory to Professor Beck and began training. He was alreadyenjoying the work. There was a definite object ahead to lendencouragement at the most trying moments, and even the dumb-bellswere not so monotonous as formerly. Gymnasium work had already madea perceptible change in the lad. He had got rid of not a littlesuperfluous flesh since the cross-country race, and his muscles werefirmer, his complexion was clearer, and he felt better. He evenacknowledged this, somewhat grudgingly, to Don.
“They’re pretty good things--chest weights and dumb-bells and singlesticks--after you get used to ’em,” he said.
To-day was his second appearance on the running track. He haddiscovered the day before, greatly to his surprise, that he was notexpected to race around the building as fast as his legs would carryhim, but that a jog trot was what pleased Professor Beck best.
“I don’t want you to make any records up there, Gordon,” the professorhad informed him. “If you’re to make a success at long-distancerunning you must get off some of that fat
, breathe properly, and learnendurance. Just put your head back, take long breaths, and jog aroundat an even gait. Never mind style; we’ll take that up later.”
So Wayne jogged. He rather liked it to-day. There was somethingsoothing in the pat-pat of the runners’ shoes on the floor. His breathcame easily, and as he went around he could look down occasionallyupon the heads of the fellows below: at Dave who was going through themost extraordinary antics with a leather-covered shot (Dave always hadrecourse to the shot when he could not lay hold of a hammer); at Donand Professor Beck, the former emphasizing his words by digging thetoe of his gymnasium shoe into the mattress in front of the vaultingstandard; at a string of fellows at the far side of the building andunder the track who were exercising with the wooden dumb-bells; at thelittle group of idle boys at the doorway; and as he made the turns hecould glance through the high and broad windows and catch glimpses ofthe frozen river and far-stretching snow-covered marshes.
Presently Professor Beck and Don parted company, the latter joining thesquad at dumb-bell exercise and the former fixing the standard for thepole vaulters, two of whom were soon at work taking low flights. Therewas something very attractive about the way in which the two white-cladand lithe-bodied youngsters gripped the long poles and rose gracefullyinto the air to drop noiselessly to the mattress beyond the crossbar,and Wayne became so interested in the performance that he forgot to runand had to be recalled to a recollection of his duty by Morris, whogave him a playful kick as he jogged by.
But the half mile was soon finished, and Wayne left the track,descended the stairs, and sought the director, who was busy instructingDave and two others in the matter of holding the shot. After a momenthe turned to Wayne.
“How do you feel, Gordon?”
“Fine, sir.”
“Think you could run another half-mile?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Good; but don’t try it. I guess you’ve done enough for to-day. Takea tepid shower now and rub yourself down well with your hands beforedrying. And, by the way, let me tell you what I mean by a shower. Idon’t mean that you must turn on the water and stand under it untilyour teeth chatter; but get under it and get out again--slip throughit, as it were. Remember that as long as you’re in training, Gordon.Too much bathing is worse than none for weakening you. I don’t mindtelling you that we are going to have need of just such a runner as Ihope you will turn out to be. You’ve got a little work ahead of you,and there are certain regulations which may seem a trifle irksome atfirst; but I hope you’ll persevere; you’ve got a good incentive totrain hard and conscientiously. And when you get tired or out of sorts,why, take a rest. You can’t rest too much when you’re training; onlymake sure that you are resting and not loafing. Both Cunningham and Iexpect a good deal from you, Gordon; hope you won’t disappoint us.”
“I’ll try not to, sir, although I haven’t much faith in myself as anathlete, you know.”
“That’ll come after you’ve done something; of course it’s all new toyou yet, and there’s a good bit to learn, but I’m sure you’ll make ago of it. And you’ll like it better when you can get out of doors.Meanwhile don’t overeat, get a good nine hours of sleep, and don’t letyourself get tired. And if you want to ask any questions you’ll find mehere, you know.”
Wayne thanked him and disappeared in the direction of the bathroom.Professor Beck looked after him thoughtfully.
“A good back for running, and endurance written all over him; andobstinacy, too. It may be,” he mused, “that we can make use of thatobstinacy for a good purpose. But I hope he doesn’t shy at something orget balky.”
For the Honor of the School: A Story of School Life and Interscholastic Sport Page 13
