ABSTRACT
We begin the second semester on February 11 with high spirits. P.T., which in December was becoming a tedious ritual, returns to life with an explosion of energy and enthusiasm. We line up in sharp rows and bark out the count as we hustle through the routine: running in place, high stepping, stretches, windmills, chainbreakers, cherrypickers, elbows-to-knees, four-count jumping jacks, and so on. We count off each exercise in a joyous crescendo, making the plaza ring with our voices. I sight down the Reebok line. David is so wired with energy, he looks about to spin out of control. Tony, who has shaved off his goatee in honor of the new semester, struts along the line checking us out, his chest thrust forward and his fists clenched at his sides. "I've missed this," he says, grinning.
