Swimming to Antarctica Read Online Free PDF Page A

starting out, say, at one mile an hour and speeding up to one hundred miles an hour. You’ll get more from your pull.”
    So I practiced what they told me, listened to Gambril, and worked hard. I enjoyed being a part of the team. And there was nothing as satisfying as seeing myself improving, getting stronger, and even having a few seconds to talk with the kids on the team when we took short rest breaks.
    Gradually I began to feel I was accepted. We had been doing long and hard workouts during Christmas vacation and everyone was tired and grouchy. Gambril was about to tell the team what we were going to be doing when I came up from behind him, lifted all 220 pounds of him up, and hung him over the edge of the pool. “How far are we swimming tonight, Coach?” I asked.
    The college swimmers broke into cheers. “Drop him in; let him go.” And the rest of the team joined in.
    Coach Gambril was so shocked, at first he didn’t know what to say. When he found his voice he warned, “You better not drop me.”
    I laughed really hard so he couldn’t be sure what I was going to do.The tension in the pool immediately lifted. After that, whenever I sensed that the team was dragging, I’d sneak up behind Gambril and dangle him over the pool, sometimes letting him slip just a little for drama. He would squawk and threaten to make us swim more if I dropped him.
    During the course of that first year, Gambril watched over me, gave me pointers, and simply cared. Because of that I was strong enough to move up into lane three. I wanted to improve more quickly, so after a while I asked him if I could start doing double workouts at the college, along with my brother and the college team. I was fourteen years old. He suggested that I wait until I was a year older. He thought it was too soon to start me on four hours a day. All summer long I worked hard, and I moved up to lane four. Finally Gambril agreed to let me start double workouts.
    But there was one huge stumbling block: Miss Larson. I had the misfortune to have her for my second year of physical education. And I could only participate in Gambril’s morning workouts if I was released from her class. We were learning how to play basketball, and I was doing well, until the day she came by to watch us play
    The game was tied, and we were in the final five seconds of the match. Someone threw the ball to me. Determined to show her that I wasn’t a total failure, I leaped up, hit the basket, and collided with three other girls. They landed on top of me on the asphalt. For the first time, Miss Larson said, “Good job.” I held back my tears. I’d hit the ground so hard that I had heard my elbow crack and I felt the pain spread up my arm and start to throb. All I could think was, How is this going to affect my swimming? And I knew Miss Larson was going to be mad at me for hurting myself. But I didn’t say a word. That year I didn’t enjoy school any more than the previous year, but I wanted to get high grades, and I didn’t want to miss any classes. But by the end of the day, I couldn’t straighten my arm, so much fluid had accumulated in the joint, and it was hot and throbbing with each heartbeat. Finally I asked to leave school one period early.
    My father was working at the hospital, and when he read the X ray he said that I had fractured my elbow. He said that usually a fracturelike the one I had was put in a cast in a bent position. But if my elbow healed that way, I would never regain full extension of my arm. So he said he would put my arm in a sling. He told me I could continue working out. I wouldn’t be able to swim using my arms; I could just kick with a kickboard. But the water would support my arm and reduce the swelling; gradually I would be able to start using my arm again, and the resistance of the water would strengthen it.
    When Miss Larson saw me the next day at school she was furious. She thought I was faking the injury. She demanded that I bring in a doctor’s