Expectation and the Central Governor Theory

I'm usually happy when I find something about the Central Governor Theory mentioned in everyday life. Much to my delight, this morning's online The New York Times happily obliged.

The article discusses two studies which consider the role that expectations have on athletic performance during competitive events. In short, the results suggests that endurance athletes can push themselves slightly harder in competition when they believe their best effort matches the person (or in this case, Avatar) that they're racing.

Interestingly, while competition has the ability to bring out slightly higher efforts in athletes (a modest 1% increase in speed), other motivations--such as money--did not have this effect.

The implications for such research are interesting, and as the author of the article suggests, could provide further evidence to Dr. Tim Noakes' Central Governor Theory, which states that athletic performance is determined not by the amount of oxygen (or lack thereof) in the working muscles, but by a "central governor" in the brain that calculates the amount of exertion the body can make without destroying itself.

One potential difficulty that I see in attributing the effect described above to the Central Governor Theory is the role that the conscious brain seems to plays in producing the 1% increase in speed. By definition, Noakes' theory relies on the calculation of the sub-conscious brain to determine how hard the body can actually be pushed. Yet in the studies mentioned above, the participating riders were informed that the Avatar they would be racing would match their best effort from previous time-trials. So while the information the riders received was inaccurate, the result of the expectations which that information produced was a harder effort than ordinary circumstances (i.e. a time-trial) had previously allowed. Is there then a conscious element of the Central Governor?

As previously mentioned, other consciously-understood motivators, such as money, failed to produce an increase in effort. So it seems there's more to it then your conscious mind simply telling you to go faster than your Governor is willing to allow. Yet perhaps there is something to the notion that belief in your abilities, under the right circumstances, can produce a measurable result. If you're in a race, see someone ahead, and think "that person is going at my best effort, and I should be able to match it," then perhaps it is possible that the 1% increase in speed could be produced.

What might we learn from this? First, it seems that certain types of expectations have the power to alter, however modestly, the ordinary limits imposed on the body. Again, the effect is modest, but it is measurable. Second, it would appear that will alone does not have a comparable effect; the thought of some extrinsic reward does not appear to have the power to push the Central Governor beyond its imposed limits.

So perhaps there is something inherent in expectations that bridges the conscious and sub-conscious minds. In either case, it would seem wise to also remember that great expectations are not always fulfilled. Something to consider.

Whole-body Cryotherapy and the Central Governor Theory

In response to US sprinter Justin Gatlin's unusual case of frost-bite in the build-up to the 2011 World Championships (see here), Gretchen Reynolds posted this entry on the increasingly-popular recovery technique known as Whole-body Cryotherapy (WBC).

The method works by essentially exposing the athlete to temperatures of -166 degrees F (-110 C), which is incidentally, colder than the surface of the moon. The exposure lasts only about 2-3 minutes and the recipient wears a mask, hat, gloves, and socks (Gaitlin's frost-bite occurred because his socks were wet from a workout).

While increasingly common, Reynolds points out in her post that the science behind cold therapy for recovery purposes is far from conclusive. In the few studies so far conducted on the subject, whole-body cryotherapy failed to lessen muscle damage compared to ordinary rest. One study did find fewer markers of inflammation in the blood of athletes who used WBC, but that does not mean a more rapid repair of the damaged muscles.

Despite the research, WBC and other less-technical cousins are growing in popularity, seemingly on the perception of recovery that cold-therapy seems to elicit. I've personally soaked my legs in cold water the day before races for almost four years, and found that doing so consistently gives the perception of greater "pop in the step," if you will. Having never examined the technique scientifically, it's hard to say if the added "pop" constitutes a true improvement in muscle recovery, or is merely perceived.

This raises an interesting question. If cold-therapies do not actually speed up the recovery process, why do so many people perceive that they do? Perhaps the cold has an effect on the brain, similar but opposite to the build-up of heat in the body during intense exercise. In the latter case, the sub-conscious brain appears to act to keep the intensely-exercising body from raising its temperature to a life-threatening level. This is one component of what Dr. Tim Noakes calls the "Central Governor Theory," which states in general terms that the intensity, duration, and type of exercise in which the body engages is governed by sub-conscious elements of the brain, so as to maintain a safe homeostasis.

Perhaps then, cold therapies act on the central governor in such a way that the body "feels" fresher than ordinary under similar conditions of muscle damage without cold-therapy. I've found that pouring cold water over my head during races in hot conditions temporarily lessens the perception of  effort, even though the pace remains the same. The effect is usually quite short, but it is noticeable. Similarly, it is well-documented that endurance events conducted in cooler temperatures yield faster times, maxing out somewhere in the neighborhood of 52-57 degrees F (one reason perhaps why this years' Boston Marathon yielded such fast times).

So we have a reasonably well-supported notion that heat is a major limiting factor in endurance sports. Perhaps it is possible that more localized sources of heat exist within damaged muscles, and that it is the cooling of these pockets of heat which produce the perception of recovery--without the actual muscle recovery-- that is often reported with WBC and other cooling techniques. Something to consider.

Abby's Big Race --Epilogue

"Is she...dead?"

"No, she's breathing, can't you see?"

"Of course I can't see, Margaret, my glasses broke when I fell down the giants' steps."

"Seriously, Franz, sometimes I think there's not much light in your attic."

"I don't have an attic."

"Denser than a black hole..."

"Hey look, her eyes are opening!" 

"Abby? Abby, are you okay?" 

Abby's eyes fluttered, the sweaty faces of her team-mates coming slowly into view. Her head was cradled in Margaret's lap, and it was immediately apparent that she had been crying. Mr. Roskilde was there as well, holding a bag of saline solution in one hand, while his other had two fingers on the side of Abby's neck, checking her pulse. Weakly, Abby said, "Hello everyone."

"Abby!" cried Sara, whose knees looked skinned.

"Oh Abby, thank goodness," said Jutta, who had a bag of ice taped to her ankle. 

"We were so worried," said Franz. He tried holding up the ruined frames of his glasses so he could see. 

Abby's head felt funny, as though her sense of balance had somehow deserted her. "How did we do?" she asked, trying to sit up.

Margaret stopped her, however. "There now," she said, "the EMT said you needed to stay until the bag is empty." She motioned to the bag of saline solution, which looked to be about two-thirds empty. A narrow tube extended from the bag to a needle in her arm.  "But to answer your question, we won. It was amazing, you beat the field by over eight minutes, not to mention beating my best time by three minutes. And Franz out-sprinted a kid from our rival school to give us the team title. We've never done that before."    

"Did he?" said Abby, "Congratulations, Franz," she said with a smile.

"Many thanks, Abby," said Franz."

Margaret continued. "I was so afraid when I saw you collapse though," said Margaret. "I tried to reach you, but Mr. Roskilde and all the ambulance people surrounded you before I could. I was so scared you were dead, it was terrible."

"No, I'm not dead," said Abby simply, "not yet."

"It was just scary," said Margaret, "you just sort of fell over, like you fell asleep while standing up. I was so afraid."

Abby felt a tear trickle down her cheek. "You were afraid?" she said. "You're never afraid."

Margaret smiled for the first time all day. "I never use to be," she said, "not until I met you. You're really different."

"Maybe," said Abby, wiping the tear from her cheek, "but so are you. Right now I'm just really tired." 

"That's to be expected," said Mr. Roskilde, "you were pretty badly dehydrated. Thankfully you don't look too worse for wear. Gave us a scare, though."

"Sorry," said Abby, "I didn't realize how hard I was going until the end. I didn't even know I was in the lead."  

"Well, I hope this means you'll be staying on with the running team," said Margaret, "because you just showed you're the fastest fifth-grader in the whole county...by a lot." 

"We'll see," said Abby, who now sat up and looked around. "There's definitely something special about this running thing," she said, "but right now I think I'll go home."

"Here come your parents," said Mr. Roskilde, gesturing. "Thanks for coming out, Abby. It was a real pleasure seeing you perform so well. I hope we meet again." 

"Of course," said Abby, "thanks for taking care of me."

"Thanks, Abby," said Sara.

"Thank-you, Abby," said Ellen.

"You're the best, Abby," said Franz, who was now eating a wurst sandwich. "Please come back when you're feeling better." 

"Haha, thank-you Franz," said Abby smiling, "I will come back, don't worry." 

She rose to her feet, still feeling a bit dizzy. Everyone was smiling as she walked to the car. I wonder if people could smile like this everyday, she thought. Perhaps someday. She fell asleep on the ride home, a fitting end to Abby's big race.   

Abby's Big Race --Part 4

On the morning of the big race, Abby awoke to a subtle mixture of excitement, anticipation, and dread. She assumed such feelings were common for most people about to enter a competition, but that did not prevent the raw emotions from stealing upon her conscious and unconscious mind. Thus preoccupied, Abby hardly noticed the toast and orange juice her mother placed before her at breakfast.

"You have to eat," said her mother, who was struggling to make the coffee-maker work. "You don't want to run out of steam in the middle of the race."

"I'm not hungry," said Abby distantly, though she picked up the toast and nibbled at it anyway.

Half an hour later, Abby was in the back seat of the car, watching the forest speed by. She spotted a deer among the foliage, and it took off into the underbrush as the car approached, a great bounding blur which soon disappeared. I wish I could run like that, thought Abby. Run away from all these feelings...

It seemed like no time at all when they arrived at the County Wildlife Trust. The 10km course followed a small stream before climbing to the summit of a mountain known locally as the Apollodor, before returning to the start. Hundreds of people crowded the parking area, and Abby's dread seemed exponentially to increase.

The sight of her team-mates cheered her some. They had gathered under a big elm tree, where Franz's father had set up a grill for cooking wurst. "But not 'til after the race," he said to Abby with a wink. He too wore glasses.

There was also a man whom Abby had never met. He had a kindly look to him, a slim frame, short and wild hair, and a beard flecked with gray. His square-shaped glasses gave him the appearance of an over-worked academic.

"Hey, how you doing?" he said cheerfully, greeting Abby. "I'm Mr. Roskilde, the running coach. You must be Abby."

"I am," said Abby, shaking the offered hand.

"Awesome," said Mr. Roskilde. "Yeah, I've heard good things about you from Margaret. We're very excited you could help us out, today."

"Glad to be here," said Abby, though secretly she wished she was back at the library, away from the attention of so many people.

At 10 o'clock in the morning, the teams lined up at the start. Abby tried to line up behind the rest of the team, but Margaret, who seemed to be everywhere even with crutches, insisted that she stay at the front with Jutta.

"There's only room for two runners at the front of each box," she said, "and we can't afford having Franz clog up the start."

"Hey, I'm not that big!" said Franz.

"That's not the point," said Margaret hastily. "You want the starting box arranged with the fastest at the front, and the slowest in the back. That's just how it works."

Just then, Mr. Roskilde summoned the team a few meters behind the start for a quick meeting. They assembled in a tight semi-circle.

"Hey, how y'all feeling?" asked Mr. Roskilde, a grin upon his face. Several smiles met his own. He continued. "Look, there's no pressure on any of you to do something big today. Above all, I just want everyone to have fun, and enjoy the ride. Because look, a race, approached the right way, can be an inspired and overwhelming act of creation and discovery." He paused for a moment. "Um, hmm, that doesn't make a lot sense..."

Everyone laughed in good nature, knowing such lapses were common with Mr. Roskilde, who could shift several times between the profound and apologetic in the course of a single speech. Some said such qualities came from being an academic, but nevertheless the quality endeared him to just about everyone.

"Alright," he began again, "no more speeches. Just have fun, and be careful on the course. Good luck everyone."

The starter gave the one minute warning, and the team returned to their box, lined up fastest to slowest. Ahead was a wide field, interrupted only by the distant shape of the starter in an orange jacket. Abby rubbed her hands together, trying to keep her mind off the coming race. She noted the sunlight, which now fell upon her face, and the wind which tickled her cheek as it blew. The touch of heaven and earth thus sought to calm the stormy mental seas, thought Abby. Then the gun fired.

Soon Abby was immersed in a mass of runners, all of them sprinting for the trail at the end of the field. And away she flew, running with the Buffaloes through grasses long and willowy. 


Abby saw Jutta toward the front, and made to join her. She reached her just as they came upon a narrow trail leading into the woods. The pace slowed considerably as the trail began to wind perilously among giant boulders, logs, and treacherous tree roots. Abby shortened her steps and continued on, passing a few of the sprinters as she went.

At length, the trail began to climb. Now everyone toward the front of the race began to struggle. Soon Jutta could no longer keep up. "Come on, Jutta, we just need to reach the top," said Abby encouragingly.  But Jutta could no longer respond, and so Abby continued on without her. She kept passing people, though she did not understand how. Up and up she climbed, the fall of her feet creating a kind of rhythm. Running to the top, to the top of Mt. Apollodor, one foot, two foot, three foot, four... 

She reached the top, where a statue of a solider marked the turnaround. She was all alone.

Down we go, from the roof to the floor of Mt. Apollodor...

The trail grew rougher, and the rocks seemed to form steps, fit more for a giant than runner. Once a runner, she hoped beyond hope, that she might navigate the giant steps without landing on her face...

Abby bottom of the mountain, following the trail along the stream once more. She encountered some slower runners, who had not yet begun the climb up the mountain. There was no sign of any of her team-mates, so Abby continued on.

The trees rushed by as Abby increased speed on the smoother portion of the trail. She remembered the deer from earlier, and wondered if this was how it felt all the time.  A deer and a human, so much the same; both born to run, living life like a game...

She reached the field where the race had begun, and far ahead she could make out the finish line. It must be nearly over, thought Abby as she let herself relax and glide over the grass. I wonder how many people have finished?

There were hundreds of people lining the final straight-away, and they cheered Abby with much enthusiasm. Abby had never felt so many eyes upon her. Can't they go and cheer the winner she thought anxiously. She turned her attention to the cloudless sky, where an eagle flew high above the proceedings. She noticed the sweat rolling down her forehead, and all the thousand sensations then passing through her wearied legs. Wow, my legs really are tired, she thought, noticing the fatigue for the first time.

With that realization, she crossed the finish-line. She could see Margaret going crazy with excitement, her mouth forming the words you won! you won!. Much to Abby's surprise, her legs buckled under her, leaving her on her back. The eagle soared in the sky above. High above on eagle's wings, the soul that soars wins first within...Then everything went dark.

Abby's Big Race --Part 3

There were two days before the big race, and Abby was in a rush. The bell signaling the end of school had just rung, and she was determined to get away before the running team began practice. She had seen or heard nothing of Margaret all day, and she preferred to keep it that way. Before most of her class had finished packing their things, Abby was already out the door.

She headed for the library. Before her stint with the running team, Abby had spent nearly every afternoon hidden among the shelves of the local library, often for several hours at a time. So frequent were her visits in fact, that the librarian, Ms. Lesen, knew her by name.

"Back again I see," said Ms. Lesen as Abby passed the circulation desk.

"Yeah," said Abby, smiling as row upon row of enticing books now came into view, "and a good thing, too."

She quickly found an old favorite, and settled into an arm-chair to read. She was not long at it, however, when the last person she wanted to see appeared.

"You got here really fast," said  Margaret, whose voice came from behind Abby's chair. Abby froze for a moment, then wheeled around.

The sight shocked her. Margaret approached gingerly on crutches, her usual confident stride an awkward hobble. Her expression seemed to Abby like a deflated balloon.

"Oh Margaret, what happened?" asked Abby incredulously. Margaret was the best athlete in the school.

"I got injured," she said simply. "The doctor said I was pushing myself too hard in training, and wants me to begin physical therapy." She hobbled to a seat, trying to sit down. She struggled to do so, and Abby rose and held her by the arm. She managed to get settled.

"Thanks," said Margaret, looking embarrassed.

"Of course," said Abby.

A moment passed between them. Abby felt the silence extremely awkward, but continued to say nothing, and avoided Margaret's glance. Margaret seemed to do the same.

Finally, Margaret said, "Abby, I can't run on Saturday." She paused. "I tried to jog yesterday, but the pain was too much." She paused. "I thought maybe you could take my place."

So that was it, thought Abby, that's why she's come. Her mind began to spin in a swirl of conflicting emotions. There seemed no good place to begin.

"As I recall, it was you who kicked me off the team," said Abby, a dull anger growing inside her. The words seemed, once spoken, to inflame the feeling all the more, like a bellow which breathes fresh life into a dying fire.

"I know, but now things are different," said Margaret.

"You forced my new friends to choose between me and you," continued Abby, as though Margaret had not spoken. She began to shake inside.

"I know, it was hard, but it had to be done," said Margaret, fear creeping into voice.

"And you misled everyone when you said only seven runners could enter the race," said Abby with finality.

"What?" asked Margaret.

"You said only seven runners could enter the race," said Abby. "But I read the rules, and it says you only need seven to enter the race. Up to 15 runners per team are allowed to compete."

Margaret opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. She was lost for words.

"And I know you knew this," said Abby, "because you've always been a stickler for rules in sport. You've always, in my understanding, been the leading authority in the school."

"I--I, I didn't know," stuttered Margaret, utterly in shock.

Abby just stared at Margaret, fire in her eyes.

"Okay, you're right, I did know about the rule," said Margaret. "The truth is, I was afraid you were going to beat me in the race."

Abby's gaze softened. "Beat you?" she said, "You're the fastest runner in the school!"

"I thought I was," said Margaret, "But then when you were able to keep up on all the runs, no matter how hard I tried to break you, I realized you were actually really good. When Jutta suddenly got better, I thought maybe I could keep you from running so I could win." She paused for a moment. "But now I can't even walk, let alone run. I trained my hardest, but I didn't get faster. I got injured."

Poor Margaret, thought Abby. "But you will get better, yes?" she said.

"The doctor said in three weeks," said Margaret, "but I still can't run the race."

"Well, that's okay," said Abby, now with a smile. "There will be other races. You just have to get better."

"I'm really sorry," said Margaret. "I know I'm really competitive, and sometimes I can get pretty jealous."

"Oh Margaret," said Abby, "I was dying on all those runs. You're a great runner."

"So are you," said Margaret, now smiling as well. "And if you're willing, there's no one I would rather have take my place in the big race."

Abby thought for a moment. "Well," she said, "it's been a few days since I last ran, but my legs are feeling a lot better. I guess I could give it a try.

"You'll do great," said Margaret. "And the team will be really happy to see you again; they miss you a lot."

"I missed them," said Abby.

"Okay, I have to go," said Margaret, struggling to her feet. "My mom is waiting outside to take me to PT. I'll see you on Saturday?"

"Yes, on Saturday," repeated Abby.

"Good," said Margaret. "And Abby?" Margaret asked as she headed for the exit.

"Yes?" said Abby.

"Thanks."

"For what?" asked Abby.

"For being a good friend, even when I didn't deserve it," said Margaret.

"Everyone deserves friendship," said Abby.

Margaret smiled, then disappeared behind a shelf.

Abby's Big Race --Part 2

At practice the next day, the team warmed up and then set out on a run.  The pace was not difficult, and soon Abby settled in at the back of the pack, where she made friends with Franz and Ellen, a willowy girl with flowing, red hair. The weather was pleasant, and Abby actually began to enjoy herself. Her feet touched the ground lightly as she strode along the side-walk, the rhythm of her footfalls feeling like the pulse of poetry. This isn't so bad, she thought.

Just then, Margaret called up from the front. "Alright people, faster!" she said. "Abby, come up front with me. Jutta was our number two runner, and you need to replace her, so up to the front!"

Though Abby felt much more comfortable in the back making sure Franz didn't have an asthma attack, she dutifully moved up to the front, where Margaret was rapidly increasing her speed. The faster pace proved more difficult to hold, and soon all thoughts of poetry and the weather had left Abby's mind, replaced instead by a hope for mere survival.

Soon the road appeared a blur to Abby, and every step felt as though it would prove her last. She breathed rapidly, deep and increasingly-painful gasps that never seemed to satisfy her body's demand for air. She closed her eyes now and then, imagining she was somewhere else. How far until we stop she wondered desperately.

Just when Abby believed she could run no further, she found that they had arrived back at school. They stopped at the playground, and immediately Abby dropped to the grass in exhaustion. To her surprise, much of the rest of the team did the same. Sara was holding her side, a pained expression across her face, and Franz looked dazed. Even Margaret seemed winded, panting heavily as she checked her watch.

"26:22 for 5K," she said between breaths. "A new--record."

It took several minutes for everyone to recover from their record-setting run. After helping Franz with his inhaler, Abby and the rest of the team dispersed for home. Margaret lived in the same direction as Abby, so they walked together for a time.

"You did good today, " said Margaret with a smile, pulling a sports drink from her bag. "Here, take this," she said, "for recovery."

"Thanks," said Abby, who felt dizzy and tired. The drink seemed to revive her a bit.

They continued until reaching Margaret's street, where they parted ways.

"Well, see you tomorrow," said Margaret.

"Yes, see you," said Abby, who again began to feel dizzy. She arrived at home a few minutes later, and promptly fell asleep.

The new two weeks were every bit as painful for Abby as the first run. Since Mr. Roskilde, the usual running coach, was away on business,  Margaret led them each day; sometimes through the park, others through the neighborhoods, and still others over more hills than Abby cared to remember. After several days, the rest of the team could no longer keep up. They dropped back at the beginning of each run and ran at their own pace. But Margaret wouldn't let Abby run at her own pace, and so Abby was obliged to keep up no matter how tired or sore she felt.

"We have to keep the pace strong," said Margaret one day after Abby suggested that they slow down and wait for the others. "Arthur Diliard said you have to run at your best aerobic pace for the distance."

"What does 'aerobic' mean?" asked Abby breathlessly.

"I'm not sure," replied Margaret, "but it sounds like 'air,' so I guess it means how fast you can run while still breathing."

"Great," thought Abby hopelessly.

On Monday of the week of the big race, Jutta appeared at recess.

"I'm cured!" she said excitedly, running up to Margaret and giving her a big hug. Jutta had interrupted Margaret's lecture on race tactics, but that suited the rest of the team just fine. It was nice, they all agreed, to see Jutta off crutches again. Abby seemed especially pleased.

"It's so wonderful to see you up and about again," said Abby, a great smile across her face.

"Yeah, it's really great," said Jutta. "I was so worried we wouldn't be able to compete, but Margaret e-mailed me saying you had agreed to fill in, and I was just so happy! We can be running buddies now!"

"That would be great!" said Abby. Perhaps with Jutta back, thought Abby, Margaret would let her run at her own speed. That would be nice, she thought, feeling some lingering soreness in her legs.

"Actually," began Margaret, who suddenly wore a sly grin across her face, "now that we have Jutta back, we don't need you anymore, Abby."

At that, the entire team erupted in protest.

"That's not fair, she's worked so hard!" exclaimed Sara.

"Yeah, plus she kept up with you on every run," pointed out Ellen.

"And she's the only one on the team who bothered to help me with my inhaler," said Franz, who was looking slimmer these days.

Margaret rose above the others, looking imposing. "It can't be helped," she began, "We need seven runners, and we have them now that Jutta is back. According to the rules, we're only allowed to enter seven runners total. Since Abby is the newest, she should be the one left off. It would be more unfair to give a spot over someone who's been training longer."

Margaret's logic seemed to silence the team's protests. Jutta seemed especially troubled. She bit her lower lip, pained by the intractability of the dilemma. "It's just not fair," she remarked, more to herself than anyone else.

"No, it's fine," said Abby soothingly. The sight of Jutta near tears deeply affected her.  "Margaret is right, this is the best choice for the team."

"But not for you," said Jutta, a tear now rolling down her cheek.

Abby struggled in her mind between the two incompatible truths. "Please, Jutta, it is okay," she said. "It is not fair to me, but it would not be fair to ask someone else to sit out." She paused, looking at the team. She had known none of them two weeks before--aside from Jutta of course--but now she regarded each of them as a dear friend. For Abby had rarely had any friends who, as a rule, were not from books. Real people made little sense to her, and since she was not especially out-going, most others felt the same about her. An equilibrium of non-understanding had meant that Abby could live in her book world, and others wouldn't disturb her. Now that equilibrium was destroyed, and all the complications that went along with friendship seemed to be coming down upon Abby's head at once. "I helped my friends, and that is more important than any race."

The others made to speak, but Abby quickly silenced them. "I'll go now," she said, walking away rapidly so to avoid crying in front of everyone.

Abby's Big Race --Part 1

The following is a short story about an introverted, bookophile who is asked to fill in for her friend on the running team.  

Abby sat in the shade of a big oak tree, reading a book of old poetry from the library. It was recess time for her fifth-grade class, and everyone was busy with their games; everyone, that is, except for Abby, who loved reading more than anything else, unless you counted writing and walking, which she did whenever she wasn't reading, sleeping, or in school. Given such habits she often found herself alone, but really Abby rarely felt lonely with her mind and her books for company. Such things made more sense than people, and that was good enough for Abby.

Across the soccer pitch, the fifth-grade running team was jogging as a group. Their leader, Margaret,  was speaking loudly, and she wasn't happy.

"...and Jutta said her doctor wants her on crutches for a month, but without her we can't enter the County Championship." She sighed with frustration. "Besides," she began again, "the County race is a 10k, and Jutta's the our only runner besides me who can run the whole distance."

"All we need is someone to fill her spot for the race," said Sara, a short girl with blonde hair.

"But will Mr. Roskilde mind that?" asked Margaret. "A slow seventh runner could ruin our team score."

"I don't think we have a choice," said Franz, a heavy-set boy with glasses. "We can't compete with only six. Seems to me it's either a low team score or no team score." He chuckled at his own joke.

"That's really stupid, Franz," said Margaret, "we want a low team score."

Suddenly, Margaret stopped, followed by the rest of the team. "So we need a seventh runner," said Margaret to herself, looking around the recess yard, "but who?"

Just then, she spotted Abby under the oak tree. "Aha!" exclaimed Margaret, causing her team-mates to jump, "I think I found someone."

She sprinted across the soccer pitch, her team in hot pursuit. Abby didn't even notice them until Margaret spoke.

"Hey, you!" called Margaret as she approached, "With the book! Hey, we want to talk to you!"

Abby looked up from her book, surprised to see six people she hardly knew barreling across the pitch toward her. "Oh, hello Margaret," she said, knowing Margaret through her friend Jutta, "how are you?"

"We're fine," said Margret hastily. "Your name is Abby, right?"

"It is," said Abby. "Though sometimes I'm called Abigail," she said with a smile.

Margaret hardly noticed. "Listen, Abby," she said, "Jutta twisted her ankle and can't run for a month. But we need seven runners to compete in the County Championship. Would you take her spot on the team just for the race?"

"Oh dear," said Abby, "that is terrible news about Jutta. She's a really great dancer. I should go and make her a card."

She closed her book and began to walk away.

"Hey, wait a minute," called Margaret, "what about the race? We can't run unless we have seven people."

"Oh, right, that," stuttered Abby. "I don't know Margaret, I'm not really a runner."

"Well that's not a problem," said Margaret confidently. "We have three weeks until the big race; plenty of time to get ready. And besides, you have the right sort of build for running anyway."

"I do?" asked Abby.

"Of course!" said Margaret. "You're on the short side, but you have long legs for your size, and a lean frame too, like a plucked-chicken."

"I do not look like a plucked-chicken!" said Abby indignantly.

"Okay, so you don't really," said Maragret, "that was just an expression used by Arthur Diliard."

"Who?" asked Abby.

"Arthur Diliard." said Margaret. "He was a famous running coach from the islands. He trained three boys from his neighborhood to become world famous. Two of them even became champions."

"Sounds impressive," said Abby.

"Very, "said Margaret. "We've tried to copy Diliard's system for our own training, but Mr. Roskilde is always shortening our runs and making us take days off. It can be really frustrating, but I've made it up to 25 miles-per-week."

"That sounds far," said Abby nervously.

"It can be, but Diliard says 100 miles-per-week is necessary if you want to become a champion."

"Oh dear," said Abby, wondering if she had run a 100 miles in her entire life.

"But don't worry," said Margaret in a hurry, "Mr. Roskilde doesn't let us run that far. So, are you in?"

Abby looked at Margaret, then at the rest of the team. She didn't know any of them particularly well, but their faces were more encouraging than intimidating. Yet still Abby hesitated. She had never run more than a mile at a time, and competitive running sounded really difficult. But if she didn't run, then they would not be allowed to compete. Poor Jutta would be very upset, and think it was all her fault. No thought Abby, that won't do."

"Okay," said Abby, "I'll do it."

"Great!" said Margaret as the rest of the team cheered. "You can come to our next practice. It's tomorrow after school. See you then."

"Sounds good," said Abby apprehensively.

The bell signalling the end of recess sounded just then, and everyone headed back inside for class. Abby made the short walk to the door slowly, wondering into what it was she had so recently gotten herself.