Up and Down (32 page)

That afternoon, Eugene and Landon were in the
JSC
gym, for fitness testing. The rest of the mission crew were wrapping up their briefings and would return to Florida that evening. I didn’t think the testing would pose any problems for Landon, despite her age. After all, she wasn’t in training for the Olympic
decathlon, just a quick trip into space. Clearly no one had told Eugene about Crawford Blake or that Kelly and perhaps a few other very senior
NASA
execs knew he was there under circumstances that now looked a bit suspicious. I can’t say for sure that he was in on the manipulation that produced his name, but I was quite confident he must have known something about it. Outstanding athlete that he was, Eugene was strutting around in full swagger wearing shorts, a T-shirt, and very expensive-looking Nike cross-trainers.

Landon didn’t wear the athletic image quite as easily. When I saw her, I wondered why
NASA
hadn’t provided track suits or some kind of sportswear for the fitness testing. When the
NASA
officials saw her, I suspect they may have considered cancelling the testing altogether. Without the cosmetic benefits of the aptly named coveralls, Landon’s wiry frame was on full display. She was wearing what my mother used to call clam-diggers or pedal-pushers. I can only describe them as green plaid three-quarter-length stovepipe pants that came down to just below the knee, revealing calves that were hairier than Eugene’s. On top, she wore a sleeveless button-up collared shirt, probably cotton, with what appeared to be an oil stain on the back. On her feet, grey work socks with red stripes disappeared into what had to be fifty-year-old black and white high-top sneakers. A red canvas belt completed the ensemble. All in all, it was quite difficult to look at her for very long. Eugene practically doubled over in laughter, making no attempt to conceal his reaction.

There were four basic tests employed to measure their overall fitness. The 400-metre run, the standing broad jump, the flexed arm hang, and finally what they called the shuttle run, where you ran back and forth between two lines about 20 feet apart, picking up or putting down a bean bag on each turn. Before the tests began, Landon and Eugene were measured and weighed.

“Good luck,” Eugene said, his words dipped in sarcasm. “And be sure you don’t hurt yourself. The flexed arm hang can snap an old bone if you’re not careful.”

Landon smiled and nodded.

“All the best to you, too, Mr. Crank.”

She meant it, he didn’t.

They ran together for the 400 metres. Or rather, they ran at the same time. She kept up with him for the first 50 metres or so, but then Eugene pulled away, finishing about 75 metres ahead of her. He was gasping for air when he broke the tape. Landon seemed to be breathing almost normally when she finished. The
NASA
officials checked heart rate and blood pressure for each of them.

Ten minutes later, Eugene crouched at the standing broad jump line, flexing his knees and swinging his arms. Then he exploded up and forward, landing with a great flourish and finishing with a front roll. Landon applauded while the white coats unfurled their measuring tape. After his one jump, Eugene hopped on the spot and shook out his arms as part of
his cool-down procedure as if he’d just completed a marathon.

Then Landon took her position, bent her knees, crouched into a tiny ball, and launched herself to a surprising height and distance. At the same time, she unleashed a shriek that could shatter crystal at forty paces. It was like standing next to a train whistle blast, only louder. Startled by the sound, Eugene leapt further than he had in his official jump. Landon seemed satisfied with her distance, even though it fell considerably short of Eugene’s jump. Out came the measuring tape again and numbers were dutifully recorded on clipboards.

The flexed arm hang isn’t exactly a spectator sport. It entails pulling yourself up on a chin-up bar until your eyes are even with your hands. Then you hold it for as long as you can. Landon went first this time. She pulled herself up to the prescribed position and the hanging began. More than three minutes passed before she started to vibrate and then dropped back to Earth. She rubbed her arms and took some delight in how animated the
NASA
guys were as they recorded her time.

Then Eugene assumed the position. At 30 seconds his face was red. At 40 seconds, sweat was pouring down his face. At the one-minute mark, I feared he might have an aneurism. Finally, at 82 seconds, he dropped like a sack of turnips to the floor, his flexed arms in full spasm. Landon helped him to his feet and then pulled on his hands to unfold his arms.

“Well, you don’t weigh much more than 90 pounds. I’m 210,” Eugene complained. It came very close to a whine.

After a twenty-minute break to allow Eugene’s arms to return to their normal position, the fitness testing closed with the shuttle run. Based on what I’d seen so far, I thought that Landon might do very well in this event. It required short bursts of speed, and coordination, and agility. I figured a smaller person might be better suited for it. I was right. Back and forth they both flew, stopping, turning, and starting again, while grabbing and dropping beanbags. Landon beat him by a second and a half on the official run, and a full two seconds on the double or nothing round Eugene insisted on.

“This is stupid!” he complained, in the whiny voice that we were getting to know.

We all gathered in a small room just off the gymnasium for the results. The lead white coat stood at the front with his master clipboard.

“Congratulations, you’re both in very good physical condition. Mr. Crank, you scored in the 89th percentile for your age and build, a very impressive score.” Eugene nodded and shrugged his shoulders in the physical equivalent of “Well, duh.” “And Dr. Percival, you hit the 96th percentile for your age. We’ve never actually seen a specimen at your level before. We might write a paper on your performance for the
Journal of Space Science
if you’d agree to some more testing.”

“Happy to, boys. Just tell me when and where,” Landon replied with a smile.

“So for the record, you’re both in great shape, but the numbers tell us that Dr. Percival is actually at a higher fitness level than Mr. Crank.”

“Well, I do have an unfair advantage,” conceded Landon. “I’ve had so many more years to get myself in shape.”

Eugene walked out.

With
NASA
’
S
blessing, a news release was issued late in the day detailing the results of the fitness testing. To try to shift the coverage more towards
NASA
, neither Landon nor Eugene was made available to the media. Rather, the official
NASA
fitness examiner spent the late afternoon and early evening fielding media calls.

Just before I turned out my light, I called my sister.

“Lauren, it’s David. How are you?”

“David! Nice to hear your voice. I kind of miss having you around here.”

“I miss being there too. Are you okay? How’s the new job?”

“I’m fine. I get a bit weepy now and then, but overall, I’m fine. The new job is great for keeping my mind occupied. I’m loving it. This branch is bigger, with more programs, more staff, and more resources. It’s been just great so far. It was time, and I’ve really needed it. Plus, a guy I used to work with at the other library just called to ask me out.”

“Hey, that’s fantastic! Did you say yes? Do we like him? Does he wear his pants hiked up to his armpits and have a pocket protector?”

“Yes and yes. But I refuse to comment on his pants, and I really don’t know what a pocket protector even is,” she replied. “I had no idea he was even interested.”

“Well, he probably thought it wouldn’t be appropriate to ask you out while you were both shacked up at the same branch.”

“Anyway, your friend Landon is the toast of the nation. I keep looking for your ugly mug in the background, but I haven’t seen you yet.”

“Here’s hoping it stays that way.”

“Are
you
okay, David?”

“Better than I thought I’d be. There’s a lot to keep me distracted down here,” I said. “You know, like anti-lesbian zealots, dozens of reporters, an unscrupulous deputy sheriff from Texas, and of course our very own geriatric bush pilot. It certainly ain’t dull. But I do wish I could be there with you so soon after, um, well, you know. But I’m glad you’re okay. I’m happy for you, Lauren, and for your new librarian man. He’s one lucky book nerd.”

Using the
NASA
examiner as the only spokesperson on the fitness testing seemed to work.
NASA
was included in all the stories, even if Landon continued to drive most of the ink. I know it’s not a
competition. They weren’t fighting for a single seat on the shuttle. Both of them would go up. But when you do the fitness testing head to head, you have to expect the coverage to play that way. My favourite story ran in the
Boston Globe
. The headline:

NASA SAYS LANDON FITTER THAN CRANK

The first four weeks of training for the two citizen astronauts flew by. There were daily mission briefings, training sessions for the simple experiments they would conduct while in orbit, frequent visits to the space station mock-up to get a feel for where they would be spending eight days of their lives, and several hours in the shuttle simulator so they could “experience” launches and landings. I was there for it all and found it utterly fascinating. With fifty years of experience behind them,
NASA
really knew how to train astronauts. Even hovering on the periphery, I felt like I could command the shuttle myself by the end of the program.

Landon was acing everything. She would pop up with answers to questions the instructors hadn’t yet asked. Her body of knowledge of the space program, the shuttle, the International Space Station, and life in orbit was vast, simply based on the years of independent research and reading that fuelled her lifelong
passion. She impressed the
NASA
training team and made them forget about her age. In a few instances, she pulled out relevant observations and connections from the Mercury and Gemini space programs of the sixties that the youngish instructors had never even contemplated.