Jerry had to admit he hadn't. Breathing was something you did naturally, he'd thought. Why waste time on something like that?
“Listen, I want you to go all the way back to the basics,” said the coach. “Do your land drills, your kicking drills, your turns, your breathing exercises, all of it. And I don't want you to spend a lot of time practicing the crawl by doing laps. There's a lot more for you to learn.”
“There is?” asked Jerry.
“You still haven't swum a backstroke race yet,” said the coach. “And what about your breaststroke? And your butterfly? If you're going to become an all-around swimmer, you have get those down, too.”
Jerry stared at him wide-eyed.
“And you have to be an all-around swimmer before you can even think of really making a mark in this sport. You have the potential to be a great swimmer. Don't waste it.”
The coach moved on to a group of girls who were practicing their flip turns.
“That's it, push!” the coach shouted.
But all Jerry heard was “You have the potential to be a great swimmer”
The words were carved indelibly in his mind.
12
The coach's words rang in Jerry's ears throughout the weekend. By Monday, he realized he had to learn to do everything—and he had to learn to do it well.
He worked out a schedule of private training in addition to team practice and showed it to the coach. It included an extra half hour of laps after regular practice. He knew the coach did paperwork in his office each day after the team had left, so he figured he could use the pool without any trouble. When Coach Fulton approved the plan, after making some changes, Jerry posted it on his bedroom door. It was the first thing he saw in the morning and the last thing at night.
When he arrived at the pool after classes, he usually saw Tony or Tanya—or any number of others on the team he'd gotten to know better. Some of them were really helpful. But everybody had work to do, and Jerry was no different.
One day when he thought everyone else had left for the day, he found himself doing the breaststroke in the middle of lane three with Lars on one side and Wayne on the other. The two of them had started out after him and had crept up on him as he counted out his measured number of strokes.
Jerry made believe he didn't know they were there until they were right behind him, a stroke away. He stopped suddenly, dipped beneath the water, and backpedaled for a few seconds. Then he came up behind them, swooped forward, and started splashing them with an exaggerated butterfly-type stroke he made up on the spot.
“Watch it!” shouted Lars. “Whale alert!”
“Thar she blows!” cried Wayne, splashing water in Jerry's direction.
The three of them kicked and splashed at each other until, exhausted from laughing, they crawled out of the pool. Then they laid high fives all around and Jerry knew he had two more buddies on the team.
After a few days of practicing the basics, Jerry felt he had gained a lot on the two strokes that were newest to him, the breast and the butterfly. He didn't even feel foolish doing some of the land drills that helped to strengthen his kicking and breathing.
Once, after a really strenuous session practicing the butterfly, he said to Tanya, “You know, when I see little butterflies dipping in and out in our back-yard garden, they seem so light and feathery. But that is one tough stroke! I mean, I've watched you, and you know what? You can be real fierce out there!”
“You know what?” she said, smiling. “I've watched you, too—and so can you!”
“So when's your next meet?” David asked as they waited for the school bus one morning.
“A week from Saturday,” Jerry answered.
“And?” David asked.
“And what?”
“And what events are you going to be in?”
Jerry shook his head. “Too soon to tell.”
David wouldn't give up. “You going to swim in the five hundred again?”
“I told you, I don't know,” Jerry insisted. “Besides, what difference does it make? As long as I help out the team.”
“Yeah, sure,” said David. He didn't sound convinced.
“Listen, small fry,” said Jerry. “You'd better watch out I don't feed you to the sharks. I meant what I said. I just want to do okay in any event I'm in. Sure, I'd like to win. But I'm still a long way behind some of the others. I'm just going to do the best I can.”
Jerry saw his younger brother staring at him. This time it looked like he had gotten his message across.
Gradually, the coach let Jerry practice his crawl a little more each time.
“Your armwork is a little strange,” said the coach. “But it works for you. You have the kind of stroke that holds up for the long haul. I don't think I'm going to train you for the sprints. There's a whole bunch of kids who can do that well already. Just keep up the good work at practice. How do you feel about your other strokes?”
“Pretty good,” said Jerry. “The butterfly and the breaststroke seem a little easier now.”
“Good,” said Coach Fulton. “And the backstroke? Comfortable?”
“Sort of,” Jerry said, mumbling a little.
“It's an important stroke to have down,” said Coach Fulton. “Keep working on it.”
So Jerry stuck to his routine. He didn't skip one moment when he was supposed to be practicing the backstroke. He was determined to master it once and for all—and to be good enough to swim that stroke competitively.
At first, he kept this to himself. But after a while he decided, Hey, I know the kids on the team well enough by now. I can talk to them about it.
So he did.
“Maybe it's because of the pause,” suggested Lars. “You know, the way you have to just hold for a second at the end of a complete stroke of both arms. You don't really do that with any other stroke, so it seems funny.”
“You're not afraid of sinking, are you?” asked Wayne. “Some kids have a real fear of going under on their backs.”
Ace Willoughby offered this idea. “Just imagine that you're the leader of the pack and everyone wants to be able to see your ugly mug. Can't do that when you're facedown in the water.”
That broke everyone in the locker room up. No really good pointers followed.
Jerry decided that he could learn a lot by keeping an eye on the best backstrokers on the team. There was no doubt that Lars and Wayne were on top of that list. Number three, he discovered from checking out the season's record, was Tony Kendrix. There was no way he'd beat out those guys. But he had to go after a spot on the backstroke roster. He had to make his mark on the toughest part of swimming for him.
Tony never said anything about all the work Jerry was doing on the backstroke. He was willing to do laps with him or to check out his drills on every stroke. Mostly, it seemed to Jerry, he liked working out on the freestyle.
“I'm not interested in the five hundred,” Tony confessed. “I mean, I'd do it if the coach wanted me to. But I think I'm better on the shorter distances.”
“Like the fifty freestyle?” asked Jerry.
“Uh huh,” said Tony. “And one hundred and the two.”
“Freestyle?”
“Right,” Tony nodded. “And the backstroke. I think that's where I can really do the team some good.”
Jerry didn't say anything about that. Deep down, he was glad Tony wasn't interested in the five hundred. But he hated the idea of competing with him in the backstroke. Tony had been a pal from the beginning. He might have quit swimming altogether if it hadn't been for Tanya and Tony. And now he might have to go directly up against one of them.
13
The Wednesday before the final meet of the regular season, the coach made an announcement.
“We have a two-hour practice scheduled for today,” he said. “We'll all go through some drills on the four basic strokes during the first hour. Then, I want to devote the second hour to just the backstroke.”
The backstroke! Has he been reading my
mind? Jerry wondered.
“It's one area where a lot of you need some work,” Coach Fulton went on. “But not everyone is going to be doing it during the meet. So, just the names I read off, please stay, while the rest of you can take off. Okay, for extra practice on the backstroke, I want to see the following—”
He went down the list alphabetically. Within seconds, Jerry knew that both he and Tony were among the group putting in the extra practice on the one stroke that was a real challenge for both of them. And so was Tanya. And, of course, so were Lars and Wayne.
Tony gave him the thumbs-up sign when his name was called. Jerry smiled and gave one back to his pal.
“Okay, everyone,” said Coach Fulton when the second hour began. “Let's all get into the pool and form lines in the six lanes. Everyone, boys and girls. And mix it up. I don't want all of one or another.”
Usually, they were kept apart. Jerry wondered what the coach was doing. They weren't going to be entered in the same events. Why mix them up?
He didn't have to wait long for an answer.
The coach moved around and switched people in different lanes. “You, over there. Paul, get behind Jillian. Tony, move into the lane on your right, in front of the group.
“You all have your own strengths and weaknesses,” Coach Fulton explained. “I want you to take a good look at someone you haven't really noticed, probably, and see what you can learn from him or her. Get yourselves ready, and let me see you do fiftys at five-second intervals. And watch. Open your eyes and your minds.”
Jerry couldn't believe it. He was right behind Tanya. What was he going to learn from her? He watched her all the time, and it hadn't really helped him yet, he thought.
Tanya was fourth in line. After the first three swimmers had taken their place at the end of the pool and pushed off, it was her turn.
Jerry looked at her closely. Little wisps of gold hair poked out from under her bathing cap as she stood for one moment with her back to him, facing the edge of the pool. Her arms were at her sides, her shoulders gently sloped, her head erect.
She looks really comfortable, Jerry thought. Really relaxed.
Then, she quickly positioned herself for the start and pushed off with a real spring.
Wow! She really takes off! thought Jerry. Or maybe it just seems like she does because she's so relaxed before that. I bet that's where she gets all her energy, from that little pause. After that, the rest of it is ice cream. Maybe that's what she's been doing all along—and I just never paid attention.
He tried it when it came time for him to take his turn. He couldn't let go of all tension completely, but he was a little looser for a moment before push-off. From then on, he knew that he was doing better. He felt that he had really gotten one clue that would help him master the backstroke once and for all.
When each lane had gone through two rotations, Coach Fulton blew his whistle.
“Okay, everyone out of the pool,” he said. “Take seats for a second while I set up some trial races. Okay, in lane one I want —”
He went through two girls races — a fifty-yard and a one hundred — before he came to the boys. Tanya was the clear winner in her race. Jerry was pleased for her and delighted that he had found out her “secret weapon.”
“Now, we'll try a hundred-yard boys backstroke.”
He's not even starting with the sprint, Jerry realized. He must have that one all decided.
“Let's have Lars Morrison in lane one, Jerry Grayson in lane two, Tony Kendrix in lane three, Wayne Cabot in lane four, Paul Prescott in lane five, and Sammy Wu in lane six. Move it, we don't have all day.”
There was no time to get psyched up for the race. Jerry guessed that the coach was using this trial race to decide who would swim this event on Saturday. After all the work he'd put into it, he wanted to make the cut. Didn't he deserve some recognition for all that practice?
“Is everyone ready?”
They stood in the shallow end of the pool, all facing away from the water. “On your mark!”
That's when Jerry usually tensed up. Instead, he tried Tanya's method. He dangled his wrists in the cool water and shook off some of his nervousness. He tried to let all the pressure drain out through his fingertips, to let all the tension simply disappear.
“Get set!”
Now it was time to position himself — and he did.
“Go!”
For the first time since he started this whole swimming thing, Jerry felt comfortable doing the backstroke. He ran quickly through his list of do's and don'ts. Everything checked off.
It was amazing. He used to feel a little like an ocean liner forging its way across the raging sea. Now, he felt more like a sleek sailboat skimming along the top of the waves with the current. His arms were great, flexible, outstretched paddles. His legs were synchronized flippers, propelling him along.
There was no problem about staying in his own lane now. Everything felt right as he approached the first turn. His outstretched fingers touched the side of the pool and he went into action. Down went his head, and over went his body in a somersault, and then came the twist back into position. A quick push-off with his feet and off he went, back down his lane.
Jerry knew from the splashing around him that he was in a race, but he paid no attention to who was on either side. And, without an announcer over the loudspeaker, there was no outside information. This was fine with him. He could concentrate on his own performance.
After the third turn, the splashing got more intense as the six swimmers poured it on. This was the final lap. It was the last chance to forge ahead and make a run for it.
Jerry drew on all his resources. His body had been well trained by now to perform the backstroke. But more than that, he was in excellent condition from practicing regularly for the last few months — and from years of sports training before that.
His arms reached farther back than he ever thought they would stretch. His legs kept up a perfectly synchronized kick from the thighs down. His speed increased until — at last — he touched the edge of the pool. The race was over.
Usually, when he'd finished doing the backstroke, Jerry felt a great sense of relief. But now it was a lot like the end of a sprint. He was exhausted and excited all at the same time.
But how did he do? Where had he placed? flashed through his mind.
“Good work, Lars,” said the coach. “You, too, Jerry. You almost overtook him in that last lap. Wayne, you got off to a slow start, but you made up for it and came in third. Tony, you were close at fourth. Sammy, you were fifth. And Paul, you were right on his heels. You all did fine. Now, let me see the next group of boys.”
Second! That was the best he'd ever done in the backstroke. And he'd gone up against such veteran swimmers as Wayne — and Tony.
What if the coach put him in for the hundred backstroke instead of Tony? After all, Tony'd placed fourth. Why couldn't Wayne have swum a really bad race? Or even Lars? This was exactly what he didn't want to happen.
While these thoughts were running through his mind, Tony came over to him and clapped him on the back.
“Way to go, champ!” he said. “They're going to have to refill the pool when you get through!”
“What do you mean?” asked Jerry.
“You're drying up the water with all that heat you're pouring on,” said Tony. “I'd be jealous if I wasn't so proud of you. With all the work you've put in, you deserve it.”
Here was Tony, possibly eliminated from the one event he wanted to do well in, congratulating him. It was as if Jerry had beaten him out for a slot in the batting order, but Tony didn't mind. After all, it was for the good of the swimming team.
For the first time, Jerry had a sense of what that really meant.
14
The first thing Jerry remembered about that Saturday morning was the sound of the “heat bug” outside his open window. Mom always said that meant it was going to be a real scorcher.
“Can we go swimming today?�
�� asked Lucie, sloshing her soggy cereal back and forth with her spoon.
“Don't be a dummy,” said David. “We're all going to the pool, but we're not going swimming. We're going to watch Jerry in the swimming meet.”
“Are you going to be in that long, long race again, Jerry?” Lucie asked.
“I don't know,” he said. “I'll have to see what the coach decides when I get there.”
He couldn't tell her how much he wanted to swim in more than just one event. Placing in one of the top three positions in a number of races was how he could really help the team. After all, it was the final score that counted, wasn't it?
“You kids finish up,” said Mr. Grayson. “Jerry, I'll run you over to the bus when it's time. Why don't you straighten out your room meanwhile?”
“I thought I'd brush Yogi,” Jerry said.
“That's what I was afraid of,” said Mr. Grayson, smiling at him. “That dog is going to be down to bare skin if you brush her any more!”
“A bald Yogi!” cried Lucie through a mouthful of cereal.
Jerry could hear her giggling as he went up to his room.
It wasn't that much of a mess, but it would help pass the time to clean it up.
First he picked up all his clothes that were draped over everything — his dresser knobs, desk, chair, reading lamp, bedposts, and bookcase. He stashed some of them in drawers, put some in his laundry bag, and shoved most of the remaining pile in his closet.
Curled up on her dog pillow in the corner, Yogi watched all this activity with a curious eye.
“A place for everything and everything in its place,” said Jerry. “That's what Mom always says. Well, it's all out of sight, anyhow”
He was about to close the closet door when he noticed his baseball glove on the top shelf. He reached up and ran a finger along its supple leather surface.
The one touch was enough to trigger a flood of memories. He really loved baseball. And he still planned to play in a lot of games. But who said he had to limit himself to just one sport? And who said he always had to be on the school team? Same as swimming, now that he knew more about it. As long as he gave all he had whenever he played in any sport, that's what really counted.
The Winning Stroke Page 8
