12 Sports Aces, May 1943 — page 31: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

MILES FOR SALE BS ee 29 | es He wouldn’t strain. He would hit a fast eomfortable stride, figuring his opening lap somewhere around sixty, with no com- petition too near him. His earplugs were in. He came forward a bit and the strain on his thumbs pained him slightly. His legs felt warm. He had not wasted an ounce of strength. He was as right for this race as he’d ever be in his life. The report of the gun broke through his earplugs. He went straining forward, almost like a sprinter, but not so low and without that much drive. His arms set- tled into their effortless swinging, mak- ing lazy ares. He surged past Levering onto the pole and hugged it to him. _ His legs rode out and back with oily precision. No real] effort to it, but he knew he was clicking off a keen first quar- ter. Off the second turn and past the start- ing position, ten yards ahead of the field, he flicked a glance at the stadium clock. Fifty-seven, Fifty-seven! . The next trip around would have to be slower. Let nature take care of that. He busied himself with maintaining pace. Not one step had faltered since the plunging strides when he’d taken over. He thought about that in terms of time and his feet continued their graceful ghd- ing, flicking pebbles and rubble behind him. It was fun out in front giving the others a taste of the cinder eating. On the way past the stand for the sec- ond time the roars of the crowd came dimly to him. The earplugs smothered the sound. It didn’t ruffle his steady pace and he congratulated himself on the earplug idea. On the far stretch, Bellotti came up. Larry knew who was making the chal- Jenge. Instinct, he guessed, but it would be Bellotti. The Californian did not know pace, and Larry’s antics had flustered him badly. Larry thought, “Pop thinks I’ll blow up now in response to this challenge. He thinks I’ll- sprint.” : The turn came on them. He bent to- ward the rim, spikes still clicking up and back smoothly. He was breathing hard. The earplugs smothered Bellotti’s foot- falls, but now he could almost feel the man on his tail. He hugged the inner edge of the track and turned his eyes away from Bellotti. His legs flowed out and back, smooth, unruffied. Bellotti forged up, began to pass, pumping all out for that pole. ARRY glided along. The turn rolled swiftly toward them. Larry was amazed and pleased as the Californian, too cagy to run extra yardage outside, slowed and dropped back. Larry thought, “Just roll along and don’t break that pace. Stay relaxed and it breaks their hearts.” He chugged past. the stand to complete the third lap. The gun barked hollowly. The tumult from the crowd pierced his earplugs. Gun lap excitement, he guessed, or did it mean that the others were com- ing! : His lungs and legs screamed in protest that he’d run a record three-quarters. Sweat stung his eyes. His thighs were aching. The endless black treadmill be- neath him hazed. It was hard now to stay loose and hold rhythm, His chest was a furnace, his throat the chimney, his breath the leaping gusts of hot air. He kept on rolling. His legs were wob- bling. But he held that pace around the turn. Only the straightaway, the final turn, and the homestretch beekoned. Joe Cogan made his bid on the far stretch. Larry’s legs were flailing. Again he turned his eyes away and they fought it out down the straightaway, seesawing. Larry hung grimly onto his stride. He felt an upsurge of hope when Cogan fad- ed before the turn, Larry never knew how he reached the homestretch. A red hot coal was jammed in his throat and his legs belonged to somebody else. He wanted to quit. He wanted desperately to look back at Joe Cogan. Maybe that earplug idea wasn’t so hot. . Ignoring the crowd and the competition was fine in one way, but you learn to de- pend on those things. He missed the con- tagious kick he always drew from the crowd's excitement, hearing them yell comicbook (E(@)