results of Reading Regatta

Damn am i tan. Seriously, if you were to guess the month based on the color of my arms, you'd have to say August. But that is neither here nor there.

What is here is an exciting little post all about Reading Regatta (RR) this weekend.

Saturday

up at 5:30, on the road at 6 (that a.m.). In Reading by 7:30. Rig the boat. Be on the water by 8:30 to race at 9:06. FIND A COXWAIN!!!

what?

yep, you heard that. At 8 am on saturday morning we were scrambling to find a cox. where was our cox? she had to work. her boss wouldn't give her the weekend off. why didn't we have one lined up in advance? because our coach said he would take care of it. did he? did he fuck. so there were are, preparing to launch in less than 30 minutes, running around to every club in the field asking if they have a short person with a napolean complex and a life jacket who's willing to donate 40 minutes of her time to aid the opposition. not much to ask, really. *pffff*

thank GOD for Southampton Unvisity Rowing Club. Those people are fucking STARS. We're sending them a bottle of scotch. They SO bailed our asses out, more than once.

So here comes little Esme, of SURC (terrible acronym, isn't it?), cox box and life jacket in hand. Lovely, lovely little Esme. Esme Angel. Little slip of thing, just barely over the weight minimum, and lungs like starlet in a Vagner opera. And she can steer. oh, yeah.

the race was shit. We won, but it wasn't because of anything in particular that we did right. really it was just sheer bloody-mindedness. we rowed like absolute crap, but the other crew (from Curlew, wherever the hell that is), were crappier. They cheered us, we cheered them. it was all very polite.

rehydrate, rest, recover. eat a Jaffa cake. FIND ANOTHER COXWAIN! Esme couldn't cox our second race; she had a committment to her own crew. Managed to snag one from one of our own men's crews this time. She wasn't happy about it. Suck it up and deal; we're all Bristol, we all help each other out. (Bitch.)

Next race: against Maidenhead. I've already lost one maidenhead this year; i had no intention of losing to another. The conditions were crap. It was hot as fuck, and there was a really gusty headwind. The balance in the boat was crap. We were strong off the start, and were up by 1/2 a lenght after 200m, but we couldn't get the boat off bowside. If i drew up and tapped down, the boat smacked down to bowside so violently my handle was forced into the saxboard of the boat. if i didn't tap down as much, i could keep the boat more level, but only by exerting a lot of upward force on the handle and dragging my blad across the water. Either way, I DIDN'T CLEAR MY BLADE OFF THE WATER ON THE RECOVERY FOR A SINGLE STROKE OF THE ENTIRE GODDAMN FUCKING RACE. If you row, you understand the frustration of this. If you don't think of it as fleeing for your life in an automobile, gangsters on your tail shooting at you, but your left tires are scraping along the curb and you can't pull the car properly out into the street. It's that level of frustrating. Plus it causes serious pain in your lower back.

Needless to say, we lost. we deserved to lose. we rowed like shit. as it is, they only beat us by 3/4 of a lenght. i was stunned we lost by so little. and the crew that beat us went on to win the semi-final. so that was us done for the day.

spent the rest of the day lying in the shade and rehydrating in preparation for Sunday. cheered on the men's crews. they won a lot of stuff.

Spent Saturday night at the coach's parents' county home in Oxforshire. Oh. my. shit. Walked into the pages of an english novel. proper garden with garden rooms, hedgerows, roses, kitchen herbs, a field, and orchard (naturally). had a BBQ on the grill, hamburgers, chicken kababs, twilight. delish. dip in the pool and off to bed.

Sunday

9:06 first race: against Curlew. again. same crew. We beat them once, we'll fucking do it again. We had a change of crew. We swapped our bow-woman. (Not because sat was shit. that was the plan all along. A on Saturday and E on sunday. give more people a chance to participate.) we all knew E was the better rower. Looked forward to a better day.

The boat was rigged. Just need to....

(all together now...)

FIND A COXWAIN!!!

That's right, boys and girls, it was time once again to play our favorite game. Our novice men weren't racing until 1:30 in the afternoon, and could have loaned us their cox, but he was staying at someone's home, and needed a ride in, and the someone wasn't willing to get up early enough to have the cox at the racecourse at half eight. This was our own fucking team for cristsake! We get no fucking support.

Guess who bailed us out? you got it: Southmpton. Esme was busy. They gave Alex. Charming Alex. did a fantastic job. thank you, Alex. Thank you, Esme.

But it took forever. We hit the water, went straight to the start (no warmup bursts, practice starts or excercises. Just a quick paddle, spin, get attached, attention, go!) and got an official warning for being 2 minutes late. Too close to the wire. We were nervous. We knew we could beat them, but it had been such a frantic morning. our nerves were frayed. New crew, and not one practice start. Our routine had been broken. We expect to go through certain excercises before we race, and our routine had been broke. don't break a rower's routine. we need order, repetition, rhythm. we need our fucking routine.

Attention... GO!

and we were off.

my god were we off.

we dug in and levered the boat. it was solid as a rock. i was finally able to apply the power i know i've got. the day before, without a level platform work off of, i wasn't able to use my strenght. i was exhausted because i was wasting energy on all kinds of unnecessary motion. i was using as much energy to get myself up the slide on the recovery as i was on the drive! and i was short-stroking it the whole way (another function of not being able to get my blade off the water.) but sunday, my god sunday. the church bells were ringing and ringing. but after the "go" i didn't hear them. all i heard was my breath, my heartbeat, my oar in the gate, and the water rushing under the hull. and crowd. the screaming, wild crowd. our own men. our men FINALLY cheered for us. and coach. i could pick H's voice out of the cowd, just like your ear instantly picks your own mother's voice from a crowded room. We were level, strong, sitting a 33 spm, fluid, leverage. We destroyed them by 3 lenghts in an 11oom race.

Poor Curlew. Every one of their crews got stomped by a Bristol crew at some point over the weekend. They all did really well until they came up against us, and we were the brick wall they just couldn't break trhough. they were very sporting. graceful losers. lotta respect for Curlew.

I heard the horn, my breath, and the churchbells seeped back into my hearing as the blood returned to my head. Like coming up from underwater. "Three cheers for Bristol!" called Curlew.

land the boat. "well done, girls," said H. "You're next race is in a little less than an hour. find some shade, have a drink and a pee, and we'll boat again in 20 minutes." no time for celebrating. focus on the next race.

When the other girls had left H said to me with a tone of confidentiality, "How did it feel? better?"
"Better."
"Change in crew?"
"Change in crew."

Next race: against Maidenhead. the same crew who beat us the day before. But we were rowing much better on sunday. We had a better lineup. We reckoned we could beat them. AND Alex said she was free to cox us, so we didn't have to play 10 rounds of FAC before boating.

They're good, Maidenhead. Big, strong girls. they're good, but not good enough!!! Man, they put up a fight, though. We got up by half a lenght off the start. They were heavier, took them longer to get up to speed. At the halfway we were dead even. The crowds were going NUTS. But we'd been practicing our sprint in the last 300. At 300 to go we made our move, took it up to 35, kept the lenght. We pulled away. they fought back. It took everything we had to keep that lead, only 3/4 of a length. no open water this time. hell of a race, one of those really exciting ones the spectators love.

This was the crew that stopped us the day before. God what a race. All my power, such pain. My legs and chest were aching. They gave us three cheers. "Well done, Bristol," they said. "Good luck in the final. We reckon the day is yours." They just assumed we'd win the semi. Very complimentary of them. I wept.

That was what I'd been waiting for. All year, that was what I'd been training for. I finally got a bite of the carrot. A good race, well-rowed. A race that takes everything out of you, a race where you have to hang on tooth and nail, where you cannot give up, cannot settle, cannot sit back and take it easy. A genuine challenge, well-fought, that ends in victory. THAT is what it's all about, that's why we do it. Races like that justify everything: the early mornings when you have to peel yourself out of the arms of a warm sweetie, the miserable, cold, raining, long winter endurance sessions, the frozen toes and hypothermia, the exhaustive training camps, the rediculous time, financial, and physical, and emotional investments. It all comes together in moments like that, when you cross the finish line, you hear the horn, and the tears leap out of your eyes and join the drops of sweat in the race down your face and chest.

Next race: the semi-final.

We racked the boat, bid thank you and farewell to Alex, who had to go look after her own boys, and engaged in another frantic round of Find A Cox. I sat the girls in the shade by the trailer and started to run around and sweet-talk every club I could find. I had 20 minutes, or we wouldn't be able to race the semis. no pressure, then.

While on my search I heard an announcment over the loudspeakers: "Will representatives of Bristol and Maidenhead from Race number 34, women's coxed 4s, come immediately to the finish tent."

My mind went back to the official warning we had received in the first race. Had we done something wrong in the second race? gone out of our lane? hit a duck? If so, we would almost certainly be disqualified. My stomach sank. Still with my lycra down around my waist and wearing nothing on top but a sports bra, I raced through the oppressive heat to the finish tent. coach was already there, as were the coach and crew from maidenhead. "What's going on?" I asked H.

"The officials think Maidenhead won," he whispered in my ear. "All three of them. I'm contesting the result."

I didn't think it was possible. It was actually worse than a disqualification. If you get disqualified, at least everyone still acknowledges you won. But to have your victory taken away?! Shoot me. Just fucking shoot me. I can't face this.

An official, wearing white flannel trousers, a blue, double-breasted blazer, and striped tie, appeared from within the tent.

"Maidenhead Rowing Club," he addressed them. "How do you view the results of the race?"

M'head looked puzzled. They didn't seem to understand what he was asking. They said nothing, just stood there.

"Let me tell you the situation. All three of our officials called the race a victory for Maidenhead by 3/4 of a length. The University of Bristol is contesting that result. Who do you think won your race?"

You could see their sudden realization. The brief flash of "oh my god. all we have to do is say 'we won' and we can advance to the semis." the temptation was visible on their faces. I looked at their coach, waiting for him to set the record straight. They knew they lost. They acknowledged it the moment we were over the line and they gave us first cheers. They complimented our victory and wished us well in the upcoming event. They had already condeded. But here was a chance... The Maidenhead coach was silent.

"We lost," said one of the women. "They beat us by 3/4 of a lenght. The official call is incorrect. Bristol should advance." The other three murmered their agreement.

"Thank you for your honesty," said the blazered official. "The official result will be changed."

I shook her hand. "Thank you. You rowed a good race today." She only nodded.

I looked at the time. I looked at my coach. "We need to be boating in 5 minutes, and we still don't have a cox. Better go find a life jacket and cox box, coach, because you're it."

After the old "I weigh too much"/"It's you or we don't race at all" discussion (we'd had this conversation several times already this weekend), I said "we need to boat right now. If you won't cox us, that's it. we're done. H, we're out of options, and if we don't make a decision soon, it will be made for us. we can't afford to be late to another start; we'll be disqualified."

He put on a life jacket. "Hands on!" I called to the other girls. They looked at H skeptically. The thing is, he's not that big. He's shorter than I am, and about the same weight. So he's heavy for women's cox, but not outrageously so. But this was going to be a close race anyway. We both knew it would neck and neck, and few extra kilos of weight could easilty effect the outcome.

(How am I doing on suspense? Are you feeling rediculous amounts of anticipation at this point? I'm not a very good story-teller, but I do want to convey to you a bit of what I was feeling at various points througout the day. If I'm doing my job well, at this point you should be feeling hot, tired, dehydrated, stressed, frantic, nervous, and frustrated.)

We carried the boat down to the pontoons. Our first men's 8 was just landing. "How'd it go?!" I called over to them. "We won!" they replied. "Congratulations, boys! well don! can i borrow your coxwain for 30 minutes?"

Simon (the cox) looked at his watch. "We need to be boating for our semi final in 30 minutes," he said.

"If it's that close, better hurry up and not dawdle. get in the boat. We'll get you back as fast as possible."

He smiled. he's a good egg, that simon. he doesn't have any hang-ups about "i cox this crew and this crew only" like some of our coxes. He coxes for the club, and serves in whatever capacity he is called to serve. He cheerfully got in the boat.

"What's your race plan," he asked when we were on the water. Briefly, I told him. "Right you are," he said, and I knew he'd remember and give us every call at exactly the right moment. He's incredibly professional. We were very glad to have him in the boat. His calmness and confidence were reassuring.

we went through our excercises, but no bursts or starts. we were already warmed up, not having cooled down from the last race. at this point it was wiser to conserve the energy. we were tiring.

The start was good. Very good, in fact. As in both other races, we were up after the first 200m. we strode well, settled at 32, and maintained our lead. At the halfway we were up by 3/4. The wind was getting gusty again, and the canal boats in the far lane were generating some washes, making conditions more difficult. every now and again my blade would skip off a wave halfway through the recovery and get sent skyward. i knew i needed to keep better control of my bladework.

Then I took a bad stroke. the leading edge of my blade got caught in a wash and i semi-crabbed. I recovered quickly, but it cost us speed. i felt the boat sink into the water. I jammed on hard to get the momentum back. our cox told us we were up by 1/2 a lenght. fuck. that bad stroke had cost us a 1/4 of a lenght. i kicked down even harder. i thought of the old motto Row every race as though it's your last, otherwise it will be. I started to empty my tanks. Hold nothing back, save nothing, don't fear the pain - embrace it.

At 400m to go we made our move and took it up 2 on the legs. they matched us. At 250m we were hurting. They began to power through us. We tried to take it up 2 again, but we were maxed out, we were already going for it like a bat out of hell. No matter what we did, we just couldn't seem to get the boat moving any faster. Maidenhead, on the other hand, still had one more card to play, and at 200m left they laid it down and went through us. God we tried. I'll give us that much, we didn't quit. Even when it was obvious we'd lost it, when Maidenhead were up by 1/2 a lenght and were pulling ahead, when we were at full throttle and just couldn't find another gear, by god we didn't give up. We hung on to it for all we were worth until we heard that horn.

They took us by just over 1/2 a length. We gave them their cheers; they deserved it. It was a good race. We didn't row badly. On the whole, we rowed well, but every one of us at some point in the race took a bad stroke or two, and that was enough to make the difference.

When we landed, Simon hopped right out of our boat and got straight in the men's 8, who were ready to launch. That's dedication, that is. Good egg, Simon.

Overall it was a good weekend. Won 3 and lost 2. That's better than 50%, anyway. I'm much more optimistic now about Henley than i was on Friday. As a crew we've gained experience and confidence, both of them valuable. And we know what points we need to work on this week in training.

Countdown to Henley: 3 days and about 16 hours as of this posting. May the Force be with us.