The summer she grew
In April the holidays began, and Meera played basketball on the school court. Three days the first week, then more. The court was hot and loud, and she loved it.
In May she began to grow fast. Every few weeks, Amma’s pencil line on the door frame went up again. By then Meera played every day.
In June her knee began to hurt, just below the kneecap. It hurt after every game. She told Amma. Amma looked at the knee, then at the door frame.
The knee was not unlucky. It was growing.
The idea
Meera’s knee had a reason. People who study young players put it in one sentence.
The idea
A growing skeleton is weaker than the tendons pulling on it — ramp load after a break or growth spurt.
Take it one part at a time. Two of its words wait for the last page.
A tendon is a strong cord that ties a muscle to a bone. When the muscle pulls, the tendon pulls on the bone.
In a child, the bones are still growing. Near their ends is a growing edge, softer than grown bone. Just below the kneecap, the tendon from the big thigh muscle pulls on one. Every jump, it pulls again.
In a growth spurt, the bones grow fast for a few months. The growing edge is weaker still. So the same game asks more of it, and the body is ready for less.
That was Meera’s May. The line stepped left just as she began to play every day.
A ramp is a slope you go up a little at a time. To ramp your play is to start small and add a little each week. The body gets ready as the play grows.
What people say instead
Meera showed Nani her knee.
Nani smiled. As a girl she had played kho-kho all day in the sun. “Children are made of rubber, beta,” she said. “They bounce back. A sore knee is just bad luck. Nobody told us to rest, and look at me!”
She really had never once been hurt, all those summers.
She wanted Meera to keep playing. Meera did not argue.
That night Meera drew two columns on a sheet: what Nani said, and what her knee said. In the second, she wrote her summer, week by week. April: three days, then five. May: every day, and growing. June: the knee.
Two more ways
In July the rains came, and the court was under water for three weeks.
When it dried, Meera’s friend Riya was back six evenings a week, straight away. Meera started with two days, and added one each week. That was her ramp.
“Two days?” Riya laughed. “You’ll never catch up.” Meera just added one more day the next week.
A body coming back from a break is ready for a little at first. Then more, each week.
Riya’s first week went far past the line. By her fourth, her days and the line had met.
Dev, in Meera’s class, plays only badminton. He plays every day, all year. He is growing fast too.
“Dev never misses a day,” his coach tells everyone. Everyone claps. The coach is proud of him. He wants Dev to play for the district one day, and so does Dev.
Meera looked at Dev’s month the way she had looked at her own. Every week, the same three squares went past the line.
Meera’s teacher once told the class about Uncle Shilabhadra, who ran a great university long ago. At its gate, every new student was asked questions first. Nobody got in for being tall, or old enough. They got in for being ready. Meera sorted the players she knew the same way. Not the big ones and the small ones. The grown ones, and the growing.
Meera still kept the sheet from June, two columns ruled down the page. Most weeks since, she had added a row: a few squares, inside the line. She liked seeing how steady it had stayed, week after week, through summer and into the new term.
Then her cousin Ishaan came to stay for the holidays, his kit bag already packed for camp. He could not wait to start. He had never kept a sheet himself before.
Where you saw this earlier
Riya’s weeks after the rains, each one a little closer to the line. The same ramp would have worked for Dev too, if anyone had sat down and drawn it.
A question Meera kept asking
Who draws the line for a player, and when? For Riya, Meera had drawn it herself. For Dev, nobody had yet, and the clapping had not asked. He would need someone to draw it for him too.
What Meera noticed about her own sheet
Her two columns only worked because somebody kept them: her, every week, without being asked twice. Ishaan would need the same thing, and camp was not going to slow down long enough to let him start one on his own.
Spot it
Meera’s cousin Ishaan is eleven, and he has grown fast this year. He has not played for three weeks, because of exams. Now a basketball camp starts: six days a week.
1
Look at Ishaan’s three camp weeks. Where would you draw the line, and why?
2
Draw Ishaan a ramp instead. How many days would his first week have?
Meera copied the camp onto her sheet. She left the line off for now. What would you draw?
A rule to hold
Every camp week goes past the line, the first one most. Ishaan is growing fast and coming back from a break.
A ramp keeps every day inside the line: two days, then three, then four. Ishaan still goes to camp, reaching six days later.
SAFETY PAGE · A RULE TO HOLD
A growing skeleton is weaker than the tendons pulling on it — ramp load after a break or growth spurt.
What Meera does
After a break, or in a month of growing fast, she starts small and adds a little each week. A spot that hurts after every game is not bad luck. She tells Amma the same day.
The name
People who coach sport call how much you play your load: days, games, jumps.
A young player’s body has a name of its own: a growing skeleton, getting longer, with soft edges where the tendons pull. So the rule says ramp load: raise it a little at a time. In September, Meera still plays most evenings; her sheet gets a new row every week, each one inside the line.
This week, at home
This week, notice if a joint or bone aches the day after play. If it does, tell someone at home that same day.
Where you will see this next
Next chapter: some choices you can take back, and some you cannot. Which ones need more thought?