Thatâs certainly preferable to the first few days after he quit the daycareâand got a call from Jamie Crawfordâs dad. Boy, Old Man Crawford raked him over the coals; even threatened a lawsuit. I figure there ought to be a class-action countersuit on behalf of the world against the Crawfords for letting that little turd live three hours past birth.
Elaine and a couple of her friends plan to come over on Tuesday to make us a decent meal, should we live past Monday. Meanwhile weâll be eating what Jeff assures us is Natureâs Perfect Foodâpeanut-butter and scrambled-egg sandwiches on toasted bread. He swears theyâre better than they sound.
They sound like hell.
We do have some sense of what Stotan Week will be like because weâve been through a few of Maxâs âZenâ workoutsâwhere everybody gets going so fast andhard that the workout takes on a life of its own. Some of those workouts have gone an hour or more past quitting time, but we were riding so highâand hurting so badâwe didnât even notice. I doubt any of these days will be as easy as the toughest of those. As Max said, he has something he wants us to prove to ourselves. I wonât be proving anything if I donât quit thinking about it and get some shut-eye.
MONDAY EVENING
Oh, Lordy, Lordy, Lordy, save me! If I could lift my arms, Iâd take up a collection for an automatic weapon and hunt Herb Elliot down like a dirty dog. Max blew even Lion away today. Lionâs back over on his bed staring at the ceiling, hyperventilating, but for a different reason. Heâs trying to get enough oxygen back into his body to get up and go to the bathroom. Heâll need the seat belt now just to hold him on.
Max is playing this straight out of Bridge over the River Kwai. He showed up with his old Airborne cap and a battery-powered megaphone, lined us up in front of the bulletin board at 8:00 straight up and laid out the rules, which were fairly simple. âGentlemen,â he said. âAs Iâm sure you know by now, a Stotan is a crossbetween a Stoic and a Spartan. Heâs tough and he shows no pain. Directly in front of you, on the board, you see a contract. Step forward, one at a time, and read it. Sign if you still want to participate; donât if you want out. Thereâs still time.â
I was at the front end of the line, so I stepped forward and read:
I hereby relinquish ownership of my mind and my body to Max II Song for the days of December 17 through December 21, 1984, all inclusive (hereafter known as Stotan Week) between the hours of 8:00 A.M. and High Noon. During that time I will perform all feats required of me to the best of my ability with no visible display of my agony.
I understand that should my mind and/or body fail me and break down, I hold no person orinstitution responsible, save myself; and should I fail to succeed, fully expect to be washed up into the scum gutter of the Robert Frost High School swimming pool.
Pretty clever, that Max. I smiled and signed, then stepped back and dropped immediately for twenty-five pushups, smiling being a less than Stotanic response. At fifteen I heard Nortie whimper, meaning he had come either to the word âagonyâ or the part about being washed up into the scum gutter. Nortie joined me.
After weâd all signed, Max laid out the rest: five minutes rest each hour, when the siren went off. Heâd brought a goddam hand-crank siren, which he would crank up on the hour; we would stop on the spot for five minutes. Except for those five minutes each hour, our time would be spent in perpetual motion. It was important that we concentrate every minute. Wasted time would be dealt with appropriately. Stotan Week was to be a kaleidoscope of land and water drills, performed so intensely we would transcend our presently accepted limits of emotional stress and physical pain. âWhen youâre starting on the fifteenth lap
Elaine and a couple of her friends plan to come over on Tuesday to make us a decent meal, should we live past Monday. Meanwhile weâll be eating what Jeff assures us is Natureâs Perfect Foodâpeanut-butter and scrambled-egg sandwiches on toasted bread. He swears theyâre better than they sound.
They sound like hell.
We do have some sense of what Stotan Week will be like because weâve been through a few of Maxâs âZenâ workoutsâwhere everybody gets going so fast andhard that the workout takes on a life of its own. Some of those workouts have gone an hour or more past quitting time, but we were riding so highâand hurting so badâwe didnât even notice. I doubt any of these days will be as easy as the toughest of those. As Max said, he has something he wants us to prove to ourselves. I wonât be proving anything if I donât quit thinking about it and get some shut-eye.
MONDAY EVENING
Oh, Lordy, Lordy, Lordy, save me! If I could lift my arms, Iâd take up a collection for an automatic weapon and hunt Herb Elliot down like a dirty dog. Max blew even Lion away today. Lionâs back over on his bed staring at the ceiling, hyperventilating, but for a different reason. Heâs trying to get enough oxygen back into his body to get up and go to the bathroom. Heâll need the seat belt now just to hold him on.
Max is playing this straight out of Bridge over the River Kwai. He showed up with his old Airborne cap and a battery-powered megaphone, lined us up in front of the bulletin board at 8:00 straight up and laid out the rules, which were fairly simple. âGentlemen,â he said. âAs Iâm sure you know by now, a Stotan is a crossbetween a Stoic and a Spartan. Heâs tough and he shows no pain. Directly in front of you, on the board, you see a contract. Step forward, one at a time, and read it. Sign if you still want to participate; donât if you want out. Thereâs still time.â
I was at the front end of the line, so I stepped forward and read:
I hereby relinquish ownership of my mind and my body to Max II Song for the days of December 17 through December 21, 1984, all inclusive (hereafter known as Stotan Week) between the hours of 8:00 A.M. and High Noon. During that time I will perform all feats required of me to the best of my ability with no visible display of my agony.
I understand that should my mind and/or body fail me and break down, I hold no person orinstitution responsible, save myself; and should I fail to succeed, fully expect to be washed up into the scum gutter of the Robert Frost High School swimming pool.
Pretty clever, that Max. I smiled and signed, then stepped back and dropped immediately for twenty-five pushups, smiling being a less than Stotanic response. At fifteen I heard Nortie whimper, meaning he had come either to the word âagonyâ or the part about being washed up into the scum gutter. Nortie joined me.
After weâd all signed, Max laid out the rest: five minutes rest each hour, when the siren went off. Heâd brought a goddam hand-crank siren, which he would crank up on the hour; we would stop on the spot for five minutes. Except for those five minutes each hour, our time would be spent in perpetual motion. It was important that we concentrate every minute. Wasted time would be dealt with appropriately. Stotan Week was to be a kaleidoscope of land and water drills, performed so intensely we would transcend our presently accepted limits of emotional stress and physical pain. âWhen youâre starting on the fifteenth lap
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