The Winning Stroke (4 page)

“Okay, I want three lanes each,” he said. “We have a one-hour practice today, and I want to spend it on the backstroke. Everybody
swims. But for now, let's just have three swimmers to a lane, the first one in each lane in the pool. The rest of you, come
on out.”

Jerry's heart pounded. Now that he was actually taking part in a practice, he realized how little he knew about how they were
run. He was grateful that he was number five in his lane. This way he'd get to see how the drill worked before he had to do
anything. He'd also get to watch how others did the backstroke, a stroke he was only a little familiar with.

With these thoughts racing through his mind, he found a spot near the edge of the pool that would give him a good view of
the drill.

Standing in the shallow end of the pool, the line of boys and girls turned their backs to the pool. Each gripped the legs
of a diving podium and, with their
knees bent and their feet flat against the wall, they pulled themselves into a crouching position. When Coach Fulton blew
the whistle, they let go of the bars and pushed off from the pool wall as hard as they could. Once the first line of six swimmers
had begun their laps, the second line got into position and waited for the whistle. The water churned as six, then twelve,
then eighteen swimmers filled the lanes.

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 baseball,” 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.