every monday and wednesday from 7 to 8 am i spend an hour boxing. not competitively, and not hitting people's faces. it's just strenght training for the upper body. the whole boat club does it. (well, most of them. half the women can't be bothered to show up half the time.) we don't hit each other in the head and chest; we hold big pads on the end of our hands and hit the pads. it's almost as much of a workout holding the pads for someone as it is hitting them yourself.
so here's the scene: you've got a gymnasium with 25 pairs of rowers in it, half of them wearing hand-pads, and the other half wearing boxing gloves and hitting the pads. I'm am hitting. I am punching in a steady rhythm, as I have been instructed by Ian, our coach. Like footsoldiers on the march whose steps come slowly into alignment, i hear the random pandemonium of 50 boxing gloves slowly coalesce into a single "thump, thump, thump, thump, thump" that echoes through the gym. We've all begun punching to the same rhythm. Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump. About 2 beats a second.
I glance over at Ian, who is smiling and shaking his head. "Bloody rowers," he mumbles. "Even fight in sync. Christ almighty."
if only our catches were so well timed...
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Tried to explain ratio to novices. I said: 'Does anybody here know anything about music?'
No hands.
'Does anybody here listen to music?'
All hands.
'Well, the ratio of the stroke profile is the recovery always takes twice as long as the stroke. Always. Drive for one, recover for two. What do two and one make? Three. That means that the rowing stroke is in waltz time. ONE, two, three, ONE, two, three, ONE, two, three. CATCH, two, three, Catch, two, three...You know waltz time? 3/4? You know waltzes like you're grandma used to teach you to dance by getting you to stand on her feet? Oh for fucks sake...'
All I had was a ring of faces wearing the same look that a dog wears when you show it a card trick.
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