Tanya was so happy, her excitement seemed to spread throughout the team. Maybe that was the extra push they needed. They ended up winning the meet by a good forty points. It was their best showing that season.
But even so, Jerry didn't feel like a victor. He hadn't contributed anything to the score.
After the meet, Tanya's parents were waiting outside to drive her and Jerry home.
“How did it go?” Mrs. Holman asked.
“Pretty good,” said Tanya. “I came in second in the one-hundred-yard backstroke.”
“And you, Jerry,” asked Mr. Holman. “Did you get a chance to swim your first race today?”
“Yeah,” said Jerry, glumly. “I came in last.”
“So what!” Tanya protested. “It was your first race, after all. All the other kids in that event had raced before. At least you went the distance. I've seen kids give up halfway and just leave the pool.”
“Oh, sure, real losers,” said Jerry.
“Sounds to me like we have a case of first-time blues,” said Mr. Holman. “You'll get over it. You're a natural athlete. Well, here we are at your house, Jerry. See you at the next meet.”
“I'll see you before then,” said Tanya. “Like Monday at practice, okay?”
“Maybe,” said Jerry. He unbuckled his seat belt and got out of the car. “Thanks for the ride.”
During the rest of the weekend, Jerry avoided discussion of swimming or baseball or sports of any kind. Since it seemed to be drizzling or raining all weekend, he spent most of his time down in the cellar working on a model airplane kit. He'd started it about two years ago and hadn't touched it since.
Whenever Mr. or Mrs. Grayson tried to talk with him about the meet or anything else on his mind, he put them off.
“Telephone for you, Jerry,” Mrs. Grayson called down the cellar stairs. “It's Tony Kendrix.”
“I'll call him back,” Jerry shouted up to her.
But he never did.
By his bedtime Sunday night, he had decided he was through with swimming. How could he have really expected to get anywhere against kids who had been working at it for so much longer? Who was he trying to fool? So what if he had a natural stroke? The coach said that wasn't enough.
But as he lay on his pillow staring up at the ceiling, he could feel the rush that had spread throughout his body when he heard the announcer.
“On your mark!”
Amazing! It felt so much like the rush he got when he stared down the line at the pitcher when he was at bat.
Maybe there was something… maybe swimming… practice… get set… “kick those feet!”…
He fell asleep dreaming of cool water swirling around his head.
The rain had stopped and a heavy mist was rising from the ground when Jerry awoke the next morning. It was hard to tell what time it was.
Six-fifteen! Of course, the house was still silent. His folks didn't get the other kids up for another half hour. Over on her dog bed across the room, Yogi stretched, yawned, and wagged her stubby tail.
“Okay, champ, we'll go for a walk. Give me a few secs,” Jerry whispered.
He got dressed and slipped out the kitchen door, followed by the frisky Yogi. As he strolled down the driveway to the street, he started thinking about swimming — and baseball — one more time.
This is it, he decided. Either I really go for it and put in the effort or I quit swimming altogether. I'll just do my exercises, swim a few laps, and leave. None of this pacing or practicing or anything else.
And then, as soon as Doc says it's okay, I'll start taking batting practice. I know I'm good enough to get a shot as a replacement on the baseball team.
I know I can hit. I know I'm darn good at fielding.
Maybe that's the problem. I don't know if I can be a good swimmer. I don't know if I can win races.
He remembered something his dad had said to him a long time ago: “You'll never know until you really, really try.”
8
That afternoon, Jerry faced the pool with a new sense of determination. By the time the first person showed up, he was finished with his exercises and had started his land drill for the backstroke.
When Tanya came in and saw him at work, a big smile crossed her face.
“All right!” said Tanya, giving him the V sign.
Jerry nodded in her direction but kept on working. He was still at it when Coach Fulton stopped by.
“Stick around for a few minutes after practice today, Jerry,” said the coach. “We can work on turns. And later this week, we'll improve your dive. Those are two of the areas where most beginners lose time and points.”
“I'll be there,” said Jerry.
And he was. When the coach signaled that official practice was over for the day, he called out to Lars Morrison.
“Lars, come on over here,” he said. “I want you to help demonstrate a flip turn for Jerry.”
Lars nodded and got into the shallow end of the pool several feet in front of Jerry and the coach. At the coach's signal, Lars swam toward them. Then, just as his hand touched the wall, he somersaulted and was swimming in the opposite direction. Jerry remembered the first time he'd seen that move — and he was just as confused now as he'd been then.
For the next half hour, under the coach's guidance and Lars's example, Jerry learned how to do a complete flip turn from the crawl.
“You see, you're really doing a straight, forward somersault over onto your back, and then you twist,” said the coach. “As your fingers brush the wall —which they must do, or you'll be disqualified — you begin to roll forward. And then, it's a ninety-degree twist that puts you on your side just as your feet touch the wall.”
“And the minute my feet touch the wall,” added Lars, “I twist the rest of the way so I'm up on the surface and already starting my stroke in the other direction.”
“Wow! That's pretty complicated,” said Jerry.
“Trial and error,” said the coach. “Lars, you go ahead and do it first.”
Lars swam out a few yards and then approached the edge of the pool doing a crawl.
Jerry watched him intently. He tried to put together in his mind what the coach had said and what Lars was doing.
Then it was his turn.
It seemed to him that he did just what he was told, but he ended up upside down, with a nose full of water. He gasped, snorted, and floundered as he regained his balance.
Lars smiled, but he wasn't mean. In fact, he said, “You almost got it. You just forgot the second twist.”
When he recovered his breath, Coach Fulton gave him a minute to calm down. Then he asked him to try it again.
This time, even though it took a while and felt awkward, Jerry got it right.
“There you go,” said the coach. “You're on the right track. Tony!” He called over to the long-legged swimmer sitting on the far edge of the pool talking to Tanya. “Come on over here.”
When Tony arrived at the shallow end, Coach Fulton described the way he wanted Jerry to practice his turns.
“You two guys start out with Jerry about ten feet away. Swim toward the edge, and then all three of you do your turns at the same time. I want you to develop a rhythm to it that's solid and dependable, Jerry. And when you have it down, you can practice on your own. Tanya, you're not doing anything right now,” he called to her. “Come on over and keep an eye on their turns. I'll be back in fifteen minutes.”
The next quarter hour went like a breeze. Jerry could hardly believe how natural the turn had become after he got it right. How could he even have thought of racing until he knew stuff like this?
During the next week, Jerry managed to work in some extra coaching from Mr. Fulton, Tony, or Tanya — and even from some of the other members of the team once in a while.
After he perfected his flip turn, he learned how to dive properly.
“A long, shallow dive can cut seconds from your time,” Tanya explained. “The farther out you go, the less distance you have t
o swim. And if you don't have to come up from below, you can start swimming sooner. The same is true for the backstroke takeoff. Push yourself as far as possible from the wall.”
And with each session, he got more and more comfortable. By the end of the week, he couldn't resist showing Tanya how well he had mastered one of his big problems.
“Just watch this takeoff!” he shouted. Then he demonstrated how well he had learned to start off in a backstroke race. As he pushed off from the side of the pool, Tanya jumped in on one side and Tony, who appeared out of nowhere, jumped in on the other. The two of them started backstroking furiously next to him, churning up a tidal wave of water in their combined wake.
But Jerry wasn't ruffled. He kept his head and continued to do exactly what he had learned. When he touched the opposite edge of the pool, Wayne Cabot shouted down to the three of them.
“The winner by a good palm and a half, Jerry Grayson!”
The winner — Jerry Grayson! It sounded great. Deep down, he knew that he would love to hear those words in a real race.
Tony had scrambled out of the pool and was stomping up and down.
“Oh, no,” he cried in mock misery “I've been beaten by that gimpy lump of quicksand Jerry Grayson!”
“Me, too,” cried Tanya, in the pool. “What's left for us in this world?”
“There's nothing!” said Tony. He walked over to the diving board and strode boldly to the edge. “Good-bye cruel world!”
He pinched his nose, bounced high up, and leaped off in a cannonball.
As a huge wall of water rose and began to descend, all the others in his vicinity began splashing water in his direction and calling out, “Jerry! Jerry!”
He knew they were teasing — and he loved every minute of it.
“I don't believe it!” Mr. Grayson banged his fist down on the newspaper in front of him.
“What's the matter, dear? The stock market crash?” asked Mrs. Grayson, seated on the other end of the couch.
“No, look at who the Yankees traded!” He pushed the sports section of the newspaper over to her.
She pored over the picture and the column that filled a quarter of a page. Then she looked up and asked, “Jerry?”
Jerry was playing tug-of-war with Yogi. The feisty schnauzer had clenched a rubber dog toy and wouldn't let go of it. Jerry dropped his end and looked up.
“What?” he replied.
“Aren't you even interested in what's going on in spring practice? Your father just mentioned the Yankees' big trade today.”
“I heard about it on TV a little while ago,” he said, but he made no other comment about the big news in professional baseball.
Mr. and Mrs. Grayson stared at each other. This was really unusual for Jerry. He was generally a walking encyclopedia of baseball information. News about something happening on one of the major league teams usually started him off on a long talk.
Instead, he got up and stretched. “I think I'll hit the hay a little early tonight. We've got a full practice tomorrow.”
“Batting practice?” asked Mrs. Grayson.
“No, swimming,” said Jerry.
He gave his parents good-night kisses and, followed by the faithful Yogi, he went up to his room.
Jerry didn't know it, but after he left, Mr. Grayson shook his head.
And Mrs. Grayson whispered across the room, “Is it my imagination, or is his hair turning a little green?”
On Wednesday morning, Mrs. Grayson reminded Jerry that he had a final doctor's appointment for his leg that afternoon. Doctor Gold and Bob Fulton had been keeping each other informed of Jerry's progress. So when classes had finished for the day, Jerry headed for the doctor's office instead of the pool.
To his delight, Doctor Gold gave him a clean bill of health. His bones had completely healed. The muscles were well on their way to full strength.
“It looks like the swimming has helped,” she said. “But now that you're okay, maybe you'll go back to baseball?”
Jerry was silent for a moment. He couldn't deny that being able to play baseball again was the first thought that had crossed his mind.
But the more he thought about it, the more he realized how committed he had become to swimming. So he turned to Doctor Gold and said, “Throw away all that practice time and hard work to sit on the bench during baseball season? No way! Besides, there's always next year for baseball.”
Jerry left the doctor's office happier than he'd felt for a long time. But suddenly the whole afternoon seemed empty. He hadn't realized how much he'd begun to schedule his life around swimming practice.
He decided to head for home and tell his mother the good news about his leg. He was halfway there when he heard footsteps behind him. He turned to see who it was.
Tanya ran up next to him and stopped, breathless.
“I've been chasing you for the last four blocks,” she panted. “Stop, already!”
“I don't know if you're ever going to make a long-distance sprinter,” he said, joking.
“Go ahead and laugh,” she said. “But I have some hot news for you. I checked the bulletin board outside Coach Fulton's office. And —” she paused dramatically.
“And — come on!” Jerry said impatiently.
“And I saw the roster for the meet against the Clapham Clippers next week. The coach has you down for two different events!”
“He does?”
“Yes!” she said, nodding. “You know what that means, don't you?”
“I… I think so,” he replied, hesitatingly. He was almost afraid to say it out loud.
But Tanya wasn't. “It means you're a full-fledged member of the swimming team now!”
9
Jerry was so excited that he hadn't even asked Tanya which two events the coach had him down for. But he soon found out. He was scheduled to swim the one-hundred-yard freestyle and the two-hundred-yard freestyle.
“So what's wrong with my butterfly? With my breaststroke?” he asked.
“Don't be a ninny,” she said. “Those are two terrific events. You should be happy as… as a…”
“Happy as a shark at a clambake?” he suggested.
“No, more like a jellyfish at a jamboree,” she said.
“A what?”
“Jelly? Jam — bo-ree? Get it?”
“Oh, that's awful!” he groaned. “I'd better get on my way before you come out with any more.”
“Okay,” she said. “See you at practice.”
“Hey, Tanya,” he called after her. “Thanks for the good news.”
From that moment on, Jerry poured himself into his swimming practice. He was pleased his extra effort learning how to do flip turns and racing dives had paid off. Still, he knew he wouldn't be content to swim short-distance freestyle events for the rest of the season. Lars, Wayne, and Sammy Wu had the breaststroke spots filled, and he still didn't feel comfortable with the butterfly. That left the backstroke.
So, in addition to perfecting his flip turns and dives, Jerry started concentrating on his backstroke drills a little more each day. The very first thing he did when he got in the pool was swim lap after lap.
As he pushed off from the edge of the pool, he checked what he had been taught by Coach Fulton and the other coaches during previous practices.
Arm over arm. Check.
Six kicks to a two-arm cycle. Check.
Extra push when the arm was stretched full-length just past the head. Check.
Slice the water with the little finger first. Check.
Pull the arm through the water deep — and push through at the thigh. Check.
Stroke by stroke, he ploughed his way down the lane until his outstretched fingertips touched the opposite wall. And then it was time for the backstroke turn that he had learned after a lot of hard work.
As soon as his hand touched the pool wall, he snapped his head backward and downward, arched his back, and brought up his knees into a kind of underwater somersault. Tony had shown him how to give hims
elf a little bit of a twist after that to help settle into a proper backstroke position after the turn. Then, when his feet hit the wall, he stretched his right arm back for a strong starting stroke as he pushed off with both feet.
Whew! It was hard work, but he knew it was the only way he could make any headway with the backstroke. All the practice was starting to pay off.
“Nice going.”
“Looking good, there.”
“Good turn. Way to go.”
As he got to know them, other members of the team were generous with their praise — and their help. He didn't always have to wait for Tony or Tanya to do laps. It seemed as though someone was always there to join him when he was ready to practice his crawl.
“Your crawl isn't exactly the way the textbooks show it,” said Coach Fulton. “But since it works so well for you, I think we'll leave it alone and build on strength. But, remember, like I told you before, there's a lot more than just a good stroke to winning a race.”
“Gotcha,” said Jerry. Coach Fulton never seemed to run out of patience—except when he felt someone wasn't doing his or her best—or, worse, didn't play by the rules.
“Just like every sport,” he'd explain to newcomers like Jerry, “swimming has its rules. The sooner you learn them and the better you learn them, the more you'll get out of swimming.”
So Jerry toed the mark. He played by the rules at practice and kept them in mind when he was working out on his own.
And he did get better and better and stronger and stronger. By the end of the week, he felt ready for the meet.
When he got out of bed on the morning of the meet, Jerry automatically checked the weather. It was cloudy and looked like it might rain later.
Then it dawned on him that the weather didn't matter. It wasn't like baseball. He was going to be swimming at an indoor pool.
Still, he felt the same rush of excitement that always struck him on the day of a big baseball game. There was something at stake today, too. The swimming meet was another form of competition—and he was going to be an official part of it.
The Winning Stroke Page 5
