The Winning Stroke

by Matt Christopher

  The coach and his assistants walked along one long side of the pool, across the deep side, then down the other, and back to the beginning, calling out instructions.

  Even from where he sat, Jerry could tell that some swimmers were better than others. Some looked really clumsy and almost drifted into the neighboring lane. Not everyone was a top-notch performer.

  That gave him a little boost. He had done the backstroke in his Y swimming class years ago, and once in a while at the beach, but it wasn't something he was very good at. In a few minutes, though, he'd be out there doing it under the coach's watchful gaze. He didn't want to make a fool of himself.

  “Come on, Freddy, get that kick going! Sally, stretch those arms! Nice work, Lars. Push, Wayne, push!”

  The coaches kept it up for a few more minutes. Then the whistle blew.

  Jerry thought that everyone would leap up and scamper out of the pool. Instead, they finished their laps and treaded water for a moment before leaving the pool. He made a mental note to remember to cool down afterward, just as with any sport or exercise.

  “Okay, next group,” called Coach Fulton.

  Jerry got back into the lane he'd been in before. This time he was second in line. He watched very carefully as the boy in front of him stood with his back to the others and pushed off along with the kids in the other five lanes.

  A few seconds elapsed, and it was Jerry's turn. He did what he thought everyone else was doing. He pushed off from the edge and began swimming hard.

  He was cautious at first, but began to stroke harder after a few seconds.

  “Let's get those legs kicking! Slice that water, Miller! Push, everyone, push!”

  Jerry concentrated on everything he could remember about the backstroke from his early training. He barely heard the coach's shouts. But when his name was mentioned, he couldn't mistake it.

  “Stay in your own lane, Grayson!”

  A second later his arm crashed down on the lane divider — and on someone's head.

  Jerry completely lost his stroke and floundered in the water. Luckily, it was near the end of a lap and he was able to wade out of the water before Wayne Cabot, his lane mate, ran into him. Jerry grinned sheepishly at Wayne. But Wayne merely raised an eyebrow and looked away. Jerry felt about two feet tall.

  “Okay, now that everyone has done his or her own backstroke, let's take a look at the right way to do it,” said Coach Fulton. “Some of you are close, but some of you have a long way to go. Everyone out of the water — except you, Lars. You're going to help me show how it's done right.”

  Jerry, still smarting from Wayne's snub, took his seat in the stands to watch the demonstration.

  “You'll get the hang of it after a while,” said a voice nearby. It was Tony Kendrix.

  “Yeah, but I feel like an idiot, bumping into someone,” said Jerry.

  “I know,” said Tony. “It was me you bumped into.” He laughed good-naturedly then turned his attention toward the pool.

  For the next ten minutes, the coach demonstrated the different types of kicks, how to propel the arms, the right way to curve the hand so that it sliced the water, and how to push through with the thighs.

  Wow, thought Jerry. There's so much more than I remember from before. But if these guys can learn it, I'm sure I can.

  “Okay, we'll split up into twos now,” Coach Fulton announced. “The first six in the lanes will start off, the second six will be the coaches, the next six will be swimmers, and so on. And then we'll reverse.”

  Jerry watched as the first group went through their workout. He was amazed at how tough the “coaches” were on their swimmers.

  “You call that a kick?”

  “What are you, an airplane propeller?”

  “Come on, Ellen, get those arms working!”

  They made Coach Fulton and his assistants seem tame.

  Wayne Cabot turned out to be Jerry's coach. He didn't stop shouting the whole time Jerry was swimming.

  “Oh, boy, it's amateur hour! Hey, you're not out there to make snow angels! It's not called the flapstroke, you know!”

  Jerry felt like telling him a thing or two — and climbing out of the pool once and for all. But he wasn't a quitter. He was determined to get it right. Still, the harder he tried, the worse it seemed to get. There was no way he was going to do the backstroke right.

  “Nice kick, Grayson,” came a voice deeper than Wayne's. Coach Fulton had been watching. He'd seen one thing Jerry was doing well and shouted encouragement. It was just what Jerry needed to keep going.

  Finally, the whistle blew, and they switched off. Jerry was now Wayne's “coach.” He could hardly wait to yell out his criticisms.

  But the veteran swimmer seemed to be doing everything right. Jerry couldn't see a single thing to shout about.

  The last group of coaches and swimmers finished their turns, and Coach Fulton signaled that practice was over. Jerry wandered off by himself toward the locker room.

  He'd been amazed by how rough everyone was on each other. Everyone seemed to be trying to be the best. There was no thought of the whole team. This sure was a lot different from baseball, where you all had to play together. In baseball, you were part of a real team. In swimming, you did your own thing and that was that. Jerry wasn't sure he was cut out for a sport like that.

  As he left the pool locker room, he was surprised to see some of his baseball buddies heading out to the field.

  “Hey, Jerry, you're finally out of that cast. So how's it going?” called Phil Fanelli. Phil had been the best southpaw on Jerry's sandlot team and shoo-in for a spot on the school team.

  “Okay, what are you guys up to?” asked Jerry.

  “A little early practice,” said Phil. “Shake out the kinks, you know. Kind of nice out there now. You feel like playing some ball?”

  Jerry hesitated. His glove was in his gym locker, and there was no reason he couldn't play in his jeans and T-shirt. But was his leg strong enough?

  Just then, Wayne Cabot entered the locker room. “Hey, Grayson,” he called. “Forgot to mention it when you were paddling around out there earlier, but your push-off from the wall was weak. You need to explode into action at the start of every race, even if it's just a practice lap. Might as well start doing it the right way now.” With that, he picked up his towel and headed toward the showers.

  Jerry's face burned. I'd like to get him out in the batting cage — then we'd see who was weak!

  He opened his locker, pulled out his glove, and said to Phil, “I'll meet you guys out on the diamond. I just have to shower this stupid chlorine off.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Jerry was poised at home plate, waiting for Phil to pitch to him. Phil reared back and threw a fastball. Jerry connected solidly and took off for first base.

  Within seconds, Jerry knew he shouldn't be running. His leg screamed in pain with every step. He limped his way off the field and sank down onto the bench. He'd never felt so defeated in his life.

  5

  “Uh huh. Uh huh,” said Jerry. “Uh huh. Yeah. Uh huh. Right.”

  He was sitting on a tall stool and talking into the telephone as his mother walked through the hallway carrying a mug of hot coffee.

  “Fascinating conversation,” she said.

  Blowing across the mug, she went into the living room and turned on the early news.

  “Okay, gotta go,” said Jerry. “Bye.”

  He hung up and went into the kitchen.

  After a moment, Mrs. Grayson followed him in. He was seated at the table with a huge slice of apple pie and a tall glass of milk in front of him.

  “Okay, what's on your mind?” she asked, sitting down at the table.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You always head for the refrigerator when there's something on your mind,” she said. “And that's a pretty large snack an hour before dinner. So something must be going on up there.” She patted him on the head.

  “Oh, I was just talking to Tanya about baseba
ll,” he said.

  “What about it? You're not ready to play ball yet, are you?” she asked, sipping on her coffee.

  “Mmmm, I was…I mean, I thought I was…I mean, well…” He didn't quite know how to explain.

  “Why don't you start from the beginning,” she suggested.

  So Jerry told her about what had happened that day in the pool and later, on the baseball diamond. “I'm just not used to not being able to run!” he blurted out.

  “Seems to me you're not used to learning anything new when it comes to sports — any sport.”

  Jerry was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “I guess you're right. I'm used to just playing sports naturally.”

  “You're only working out with the other swimmers, ” said his mother. “You're not in competition with them, you know.”

  “Right,” he said, nodding. “But I don't want to look like a nerd, even in the swimming pool. I mean, you should've seen how good some of those guys were. And some of the girls were even better.”

  “Well, if you really want to get to their level, there's only one way to get there,” she said. “Practice.”

  “I know,” he said. “That's what Tanya was talking about just now on the phone. She's worried that she's not going to make the girls team. That's why she gets to the pool early every afternoon. She said I could work out with her if I met her there. She'll show me some drills and give me some pointers on my stroke. But I hate it when she leaves me in her backwash. I mean, she's a lot better than me.”

  “So what are you going to do about it?” asked Mrs. Grayson.

  Jerry sighed a deep, deep sigh. “I guess I'm going to put in the extra time when I can — and I'm going to keep my ears open and my mouth shut during practice.”

  Mrs. Grayson grinned. “Keeping your mouth shut is always a good idea when you're in the water!”

  By the time Jerry finished his leg exercises the next afternoon, more than a dozen kids were already thrashing back and forth in the pool. Even with her cap on, he recognized Tanya in the first lane. She was practicing the breaststroke, pushing the water away in front of her with a steady motion.

  When she caught his eye, she stopped, cooled down, then climbed out of the pool.

  “Okay, let's get organized,” she said. “First, there's a set of out-of-the-water drills you can do for each stroke. Let's start with the one you're most worried about.”

  “The backstroke,” he said without hesitation.

  “Just because you swam into Tony's lane doesn't mean you were a total mess,” Tanya said, smiling at him. “Here, let me show you how to practice the basic moves while you're standing up. First of all, here's a drill to develop your kick.”

  She worked with him for about ten minutes, then left him to practice on his own while she returned to the pool.

  Jerry noticed for the first time that there were others doing exercises outside the water. Several kids stood against walls raising arms or legs, bending, or kicking, in a repeat pattern. He could hear some of them counting out loud, but otherwise there wasn't much said.

  I guess swimmers don't talk to each other a lot, he thought.

  “Arch that back!” Tanya shouted from the pool.

  Well, at least someone had something to say to him. At least someone was cheering him on.

  As he was doing his kick drills, Tony Kendrix showed up at the pool. Tony did a few breaststroke laps, then flipped over and did an even number of backstrokes. As he slid into the water, Jerry thought, I wish it could be that easy for me.

  He pushed off from the side of the pool, kicked his legs, and began to cut through the water in an easy overarm motion. His head was slightly out of the water, but he didn't notice at first that someone had begun to swim alongside him at the same pace. When he did, there was too much water spray in his way to make out who it was.

  The two swimmers kept it up, back and forth, lap after lap, until Jerry wasn't sure who was keeping up with whom. He knew that he wasn't trying to out-swim his neighbor. It was just nice to have someone working away at the same pace.

  Finally, Jerry's energy began to give out. He slowed down during the final lap and almost floated the few feet to the edge of the pool where he'd begun.

  His neighbor stopped, too, and Jerry saw right away who it was: Tony Kendrix.

  “You know, you've got a real nice crawl there,” said Tony, floating over toward Jerry.

  “I wish my backstroke was as easy to do,” said Jerry.

  “Yeah, I saw you had some trouble there,” said Tony. “Don't worry about it. Just keep practicing.”

  Jerry smiled.

  “I mean it. You'll see. It'll get easier and easier. Just like my crawl.”

  “Nothing wrong with that,” said Jerry. “You probably could have beaten me by a mile if you turned on the steam.”

  “That's not what I was practicing,” said Tony. “I'm trying to learn to pace myself so I don't use all my energy right away and then fade. That's why I was glad to see you doing laps, nice and easy. Like I said, you've got a pretty good handle on the crawl.”

  “Thanks,” said Jerry.

  “Feel like doing eight nice steady laps and then going for broke for two more?”

  “Okay,” said Jerry. “I'll give it a try.”

  The two boys pushed off and began to make their way down their lanes. Kicking their legs behind them, they churned up the water while keeping a steady pace. Jerry felt relaxed and comfortable as one lap turned into another. Before he knew it, they had done the first eight and it was time for the final sprint.

  It was no contest. Tony finished an easy fifteen feet ahead of him.

  Jerry just about made it to the edge of the pool. He was out of breath and, despite the water all around, his throat was bone dry.

  “Take it easy,” said Tony. “You'll be okay in a minute. Hey, you did real well. I didn't know if you'd be able to go the distance.”

  “Thanks,” said Jerry, panting a little. He got his breath back and went on, “You know, it's funny. I didn't even have to think about it, but I stayed in my lane. How come that doesn't happen when I do the backstroke?”

  “Probably' cause you're keeping your eyes straight ahead when you do the crawl. Next time you do the backstroke, try this — find an object directly in front of you as you swim. Keep your eye on it as you're swimming. It's called 'spotting' and should help you stay centered. I usually spot on my diving podium for the first lap, then the lane number on the way back,” said Tony. “But another problem could be that one leg's stronger than the other. It's pulling you to one side.”

  “I never thought of that,” said Jerry.

  “Maybe you should try a different kind of kick,” Tony suggested.

  “Different?” asked Jerry.

  Tony flipped onto his back and held on to the side of the pool. With his feet extended and toes pointed, he kicked one leg after the other up and down. Then he got up and stood in the shallow water.

  “That's the flutter. You sort of kick your legs from your hips. Most people tend to bend their knees, but that uses too much energy and doesn't really work,” said Tony. “Tell you what, why don't you give it a try? I'll watch and see how you're doing. Try it holding on. Then do a couple of laps.”

  The pool had become a little crowded as other early swimmers filled the lanes. But Jerry didn't pay much attention to them. The lane he was using was open, so he did the exercise and then began the backstroke the way he'd just seen Tony do it.

  It was amazing. After just a few strokes, he knew he was doing it better. Kicking from the hips seemed a little awkward, but he was starting to get the hang of it. And he made sure he “spotted” on the podium. It made a lot of difference.

  As he made his way down his lane, he heard a couple of loud splashes as some other kids jumped into the pool. In a few seconds, he realized there were people swimming alongside him.

  In the distance, he heard laughter and shouting.

  “Hey, look, it's ‘Willy the Whale�
� upside down!”

  “Naw, you dummy, that's just Mark Spitz — on a bad, bad day!”

  The swimmer on his side kicked up a storm and passed him, followed by another.

  “Come on, Lars! Come on Wayne!”

  All the commotion was too much for Jerry. He lost his concentration and started kicking from his knees. He tried to regain his stroke, but a second later he crashed headfirst into the edge of the pool.

  As he stood up, he could see a race in progress next to him. Lars and Wayne were racing each other, doing the backstroke with the style of real champions.

  I must have looked like a real chump alongside the two of them, Jerry thought, rubbing his head.

  Lars came in first, followed by Wayne just a few seconds after him.

  “You were great,” shouted a girl with long jet-black hair. She ran up to him and gave him a big hug.

  Another girl, with deep brown eyes and wavy brown hair rushed over to Wayne.

  “You'll beat him next time,” she said, putting her hand in his. “Come on, Gail, let's go. We don't want to be late for that movie.”

  “Okay, Jennifer,” said the other girl. “See you guys tomorrow.” As she left, she looked over at Jerry and started to giggle.

  Jerry turned bright red. He started to stomp off toward the locker room when Tony caught up with him.

  “Relax, Jerry,” said Tony. “They're just a couple of show-offs when their girlfriends are around. They don't mean anything by it.”

  “Some fun!” snarled Jerry.

  “Whoa! You look like you could bite the head off a crocodile!” said Tony. “Maybe you ought to be in a Tarzan movie! Take it easy, Jerry. Lars and Wayne are really good guys when you get to know them.”

  Yeah, thought Jerry, but who says I really want to get to know anyone else on the swimming team. The team I'm interested in plays on a dirt-track diamond, surrounded by grass. I wish I was there right now.

  6