Why would anybody run 50 times up and down the Stadium steps, row on the Charles in February, sweat and fast his normal 180 pounds down to 165, break his back and bloody his hands with seven other athletes?

"Winning," answered lightweight crew captain Dave Harman. But he wasn't sure that was the whole answer. Maybe, he said, "It's the friends you make. That's the important thing."

It's a little hard to believe that anyone would subject himself to the torture of Harvard crew to make good friendships. But Harman, a junior with a perpetual smile, noted that "Its hard to understand unless you're part of it."

Mystique

Perhaps there is no single answer. If there is a reason for the Harvard crew jock, it may lie in what Harman calls the "Harvard mystique."

"Harvard has the best equipment, the best coaches, and the best material. And they win," Harman said. For Harvard oarsmen, that may be a reason for liking rowing-and it may explain why they row so well.

The heavyweight crew lost one race last year. The lightweight crew lost none.

Harman and the other lightweights endure the double strain of crew and losing weight. Lights must have an average weight of 155 and no man in the boat can weigh over 160, Many oarsmen begin the winter at a normal weight of 180. They run, they row, they sweat, they diet, and then they run some more to lose the necessary pounds.

Crew training requires strength, and strength requires food. The lightweights must prouduce a maximum of energy on a minimum of fuel.

Stagger and Bloat

Fortunately, the rules call for a Friday weigh-in and a Saturday race. If an oarsman can stagger onto the scales at 160 pounds on Friday afternoon, he is then free to bloat himself and regain his strength for Saturday's race.

"Making weight," getting down to the required weight, is a grueling process. When the crew arrived at Columbia last week, one of the oarsmen. Rod Peterson, was six pounds over the limit. He started running. Two hours and many miles later, he weighed in at 160.

Two years ago, a freshman tried to lose too much weight too fast. He collapsed and ended up in the hospital.

All this fails to bother Harman, who sweats his weight from 170 pounds down to 150 for the season.

"It's not as bleak as it sounds." he says. "If it were an indivdual thing, it would be, but it isn't. I suppose it gets pretty brutal sometimes, but you just look ahead and say, 'we're going to win.'"

No Glory

Despite all their winning, the lightweights earn less glory, at least nationally, than the heavyweights. Almost every Spring, Sports Illustrated runs pictures of coach Harry Parker and his crew beating someone. There is little mention of the Harvard lightweights, even though their record is equally impressive.

That doesn't bother Harman either. "It's a joke. There's not tension between the crews down at the boat house." But, he adds, "We do like to beat heavyweights."