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Typically, the bubbling girl who also played piano, French horn and violin turned her scattergun full bore on track and field, and won a national junior pentathlon. Meanwhile, the shy boy who played the cello gravitated to the feats that involved no props, just a quiet self. By 3 in. on the door jamb (6 ft. 2 in. to 5 ft. 11 in.) and 2 yds. in the sand pit, Carl eventually passed Carol but never left her behind.
Lewis has never been a wild person or talent: he is as calculated as the parabolic geometry of long jumping. While a high school senior, he broke the nation's prep long-jump record three times, achieving 26 ft., a foot and a half past his contemporaries. Having spent the quota of free trips in the college recruiting process, he paid his own way to the University of Houston, where Track Coach Tom Tellez was said to dabble in physics.
Tellez admired almost everything he saw in Lewis, but his curiosity most of all. The coach continues to regard him as a private testing ground, even though academic deficiencies during Lewis' sophomore year have made his position on the Houston track team unofficial. He did not enroll for his senior year last fall, though he continues to work out with the Cougars while also representing Joe Douglas' Santa Monica (Calif.) Track Club.
Perhaps some academic credit should have been arranged for the research project Tellez and Lewis make of sprinting and long jumping. In British Runner Harold Abrahams' day, 60 years ago, a 100-meter racer concentrated on the report of the pistol and the texture of the tape. "When you hear the one," his coach advised, "just run like hell until you break the other." Now it is a science inspiring biomechanical studies and employing stop-action film. In a list that takes longer to read than the race does to be run, Tellez breaks down the factors by percentage of importance: reaction time out of the blocks 1%, clearing the blocks 5%, efficient acceleration 64%, maintaining maximum speed 18%, limiting deceleration 12%. As Lewis likes to say, "Everybody decelerates from about 60 meters to the finish line—everybody." But he least of all.
Long jumping appears to owe even more to slide rules. There is a 2-to-1 ratio of horizontal to vertical velocity. The center of gravity forms around a jumper's hips. Once he leaves the ground, no amount of arm spinning or leg kicking can undo what has been set in motion. Says Tellez: "One reason Carl is so good is that he has the speed, but he also has an understanding." Pounding down the runway at 8 ft. per stride, 28 ft. per sec., 19 m.p.h., he has the same ambition as any kind of racer: maximum controllable speed. "It's controlled but uncontrolled," Tellez says. "It's on the edge." Lewis starts 171 ft. from the takeoff board, a distance enabling him to generate a speed few can control. On the next to last stride, the 22nd for Lewis, he turns into a jumper, straightens up and lowers his center of gravity. As he leaves that longest step, his hips begin to rise. Defying the human tendency to hold back, he ought not to be slowing down as he runs in midair. Performing two hitch kicks (Owens used one), Lewis stands tin-soldierly at the height of his jump, elbows crooked at right angles. He may flap a little, but just for balance.