Triumphant Will

Hot.

Dry.

Thirsty.

Sunburn.

Exhaustion.

Nerves.

None of these are really words you’d use to describe a day spent down by a lake in a popular tourist destination. If you haven’t ever done rowing, that is. If you haven’t spent an entire weekend by the shores of Lake Ruataniwha, a man-made Meridian lake down in Twizel.

If you did do rowing, you’d would have gone down there for at least either the South Island Club Championships, or the Secondary School Championships like we are now. You’d know what it’s like, an hour before your race, when you report to the boat, you rig it and then sit through your coach’s pre-race talk. “So when you get down to the start, no talking except from the coxswain. When that bell goes, just go like the clappers. Don’t leave anything on the water” is probably what they’d say. You’d know the warm up sessions you go through while as you row down to the start line, feeling tired by the time you get down there. Then the agonizing wait as you float by the island down the end that marks the 500m point, as the races before you begin and then that horrible tense feeling you get in your gut as your boat pulls into the right lane and your coxswain straightens everything up and the official reads out the list of boats in your race. And you’d know the feeling you’d get the very first time you do it, the feeling of ‘what have I gotten myself into?’

I’ve gone through it, the guy in front of me has gone through it. Hell, the whole crew has gone through it at some time or another. It’s inevitable, really, when you sign up for this sport.

It’s a ruthless sport, rowing. Most other sports, like rugby, soccer, hockey, whatever, have the ‘you either make it or you don’t’ philosophy. When you make that shot, when you go for that try, when you attempt that tackle, whether you make it or not all depends on the training you’ve gone through beforehand. In rowing, it’s…a little different. In a race, you will make it whether you think so or not, and how exhausted you are is what depends on the seven months, to a year, of training you’ve endured. You don’t really have a choice, once you’ve committed yourself to that race, or that crew, or that goal.

At the moment, we’re all waiting for the beginning of the Boy’s Under 18 Eights Race B. I’m in bow seat (that’s the seat in the front of the boat), and one of my mates is in 2 seat, right in front of me. Our school’s name is Ashby High, and our lane is Lane 4. Our coxswain’s name is Ryan, and our coach is Angus. And in case you didn’t pick it up earlier, the regatta we’re at is the South Island Secondary Schools Championships, or SISS. Sounds impressive, I know, but every secondary school crew in New Zealand goes to either this, or the North Island counterpart. And our entire crew of 24 is here, competing in order to earn a medal, and a place at the Maadi Cup which is two or three weeks away. Maadi is ‘where it’s happening’ so to speak, in terms of rowing. Only the best rowers in each school’s crew earns a place at that event. And over half are eliminated in the first couple of days. Hard, I know, but that’s just the nature of this sport.

Anyway, I digress. Our race starts in about 20 more seconds, and the whole crew’s nerves just jumped up by about 70%. Ryan’s calls have become terser. He’s telling me right now to row a couple of strokes to straighten up the boat. In the past, it would have taken me about three strokes to get partway there, but now I can do it in just one. It’s a result of all the heavy training that the rest of the crew and I have gone through. Eight trainings a week, six on the water, two on the rowing machines. Not to mention the fact we have to bike to all of them. Training camps are even more intense. All day, seven days a week, training almost constantly, then back home at the end of each day to eat and sleep, and back the next day to carry on. It sounds intense, and it is, but seriously, you need it if you’re going to survive to the end of the season. And while our legs feel like jelly when we’re biking home, and our muscles and bones are stiff, sore and feel like they’re creaking the next morning, despite all that, you do get incredibly fit by the end of it all, regardless of how you were when you started. I mean, most of us pack muscle in the arms by the end of it, our shoulders become broader and a lot of us have the beginnings of a six-pack.

Back to the start line, the official’s just finished reading out the boats, the rowers have adjusted their positions, and the countdown is ticking down to its last few seconds.

“Get ready” murmurs Ryan.

There goes the siren and we’re away.

Ryan is straight away screaming “10 on the legs, now!”, my seat is grating over the slide and my footplate is loose. Again. I can’t tell what position we are, but at least we’re not last. Another school is at least half a length behind us. Still the race has only just started, and everything can very easily change. The key is simply to keep calm and focus on keeping the power behind each stroke up for as long as possible.

Because the race is about 2 km, and it’s just one movement over and over, your thoughts can easily drift during a race, and you lose concentration and precious distance. Rowing is a sport that contradicts your natural instincts. Yes, you need to deliver a lot of power behind each stroke, but you also need to be careful to go slow on your recovery and not rush things too much. Sometimes, that can hurt even more than the actual stroke. Rowing can actually increase your concentration if you stick at it, and make an effort not to get distracted during a race.

Which, now that I think about it, is exactly what I’m doing now.

Well, we’ve past the 500m mark and we’re coming up to the 1 km signpost. I can’t see the other rowers, but I can see their oars and it looks like some are starting to slip out of time with the others. That’s not good. If we’re not all in time, we’ll be rowing against each other, and the boat will slow down. See? There it goes. Now another boat is slipping ahead of us. If too many pass, the crew will lose morale and we’ll never get the stroke back up.

“10 on the legs, this time…now!”

That was Ryan, giving another call. Unfortunately, it’s the wrong one. We’re too tired by this point to put much more into the legs. It would better to focus on getting that timing back, then we still stand a chance. I doubt we could get a place now, but it looks like fourth and fifth are still possibilities for us. The St. Bede’s and Shirley Boys’ boats were well ahead of us for the whole race, and Nelson College is passing us now. There goes the 1 km mark and now we can hear the screaming from the shore. Most of the shouts are indistinguishable over the noise of our seats’ slides, but glancing around, we can see several coaches riding their bikes alongside us on the shore. If they’re yelling out advice, we can’t hear them, and would probably ignore them if we could. Angus’s red hair sticks out, making him easy to spot in the crowd.

A wave of sound suddenly hits us as the previously distant shouts from the crowd turn into full blown yells and screams of encouragement. As we get closer to them and to the 1500m mark, we can now hear the cries of “Go St. Bedes!” or “Go Christchurch Boys!” or “Go Shirley!” If we strain our ears, we can just hear our supporters making their voices heard, but by now, we’re too tired to care and are only interested in finishing the race as soon as possible. As a result, the crew begins to actually respond to Ryan’s calls of “10 on the legs” as the end comes in sight. Perhaps that’s a little unfair. It would more accurate to say that now we’re more motivated to put as high a pressure as we can into the stroke since we’re closing into the 1750m mark and entering the last stretch.

Well, anyway, I can’t tell what place we’re coming now as I can barely see the boats behind us. There’s meant to be eight boats in a race, but a few dropped out or were late to the start, so I’ve actually got no idea how many we’re racing against. Maybe I should have paid attention when the official read out the boats.

“How much longer to go?” gasped the guy in front of me. I feel the same way. A race takes about five or six minutes, but it feels we’ve been rowing for more than twice that long. I suddenly start hearing the commentator over the loudspeakers. That’s not good. If we can hear the commentator, that means we’re going slow and not going hard enough. Everyone in the crew has the same thought as me, and we simultaneously pick up our rating and pressure.

“Keep it up boys!”

Ryan again. Well at least he’s encouraging us instead of swearing at us like some of the coxswains from other schools, like Shirley, St. Bedes or Marian.

“Honk”

That was an air horn, not Ryan. It goes off when a boat crosses the finish line, which means someone’s already won the race. It sounded pretty close so we must be near the end.

“Honk”

“Honk”

There goes two more. I’m not too sure what position we are roughly, so I can’t tell whether we’re the next boat or not. In any case, we can’t stop until Ryan tells us too, and he’ll probably get us to keep going further to get out of the way for the next race.

“Last few hundred boys!”

As you guessed, Ryan. I hope he means strokes and not metres, otherwise we could be further behind than I thought.

“Honk”

Not us just yet. We must be getting near the end though. I can see the VIP Box and the medical station. The Meridian logo is over everything; the barriers, the speedboats the officials use, almost all the buildings. The schools often have sponsors as well and their logos are displayed on the boats. The richer schools don’t need them, and we haven’t got around to it yet, but some include Pakn’Save, Mainfreight, LJ Hooker and, for some bizarre reason, Christchurch Colorectal.

“Honk”

“Honk”

“Honk”

And finally…

“Easy there boys!”

There we go. Now we’ve finished. I can see the official in the box by the finish line, waving the airhorn.

I don‘t know what position we are though. We all stop rowing and use our oars to balance the boat so we don’t tip in front of over 500 people. Our momentum still carries us for a few metres as we slowly round the corner and drift out of sight from the crowd. Several of the crew leans back in their seats and stretch. They shouldn’t really be doing that in front of all the other schools, but I think they’re past caring.

“What position did we come?” called one of the guys to Ryan.

“Fifth” he replied.

Fifth. Not bad, considering we up against some strong crews, and now I can see that we beat the two boats behind us by a large margin. Looks like they did make it to the start in time after all.

“Alright let’s get moving” called Ryan “Stroke side touching away, this time…now”

Slowly, all the rowers on the stroke side of the boat (that’s the right side, or the left from Ryan’s point of view) begin to row using only their arms. Touching is used when turning or in other delicate situations. When one side touches, the other side is meant to balance the boat. This means putting your outer arm over the end of your oar and tucking it under your armpit, and your inner arm under the oar, effectively locking the oar in place. When you’re all doing that, as long as you don’t literally or figuratively rock the boat, or do something stupid, it becomes almost impossible for a boat to tip.

“Backing on bow...now!” called Ryan.

Backing is essentially touching in reverse, and as you might have guessed, is used to back the boat up. When done in conjunction with touching on the other side of the boat, the boat turns a whole lot quicker.

“Easy there. Bow four rowing away…this time now!”

Oh, this can be a little confusing for first time rowers. In rowing, bow can refer to either the left side of the boat (from a rower’s point of view) and it can also refer the front half of the crew. Earlier, Ryan told bow side to back, which means everyone on the left of the boat starts backing. Then he told bow four to row, meaning the first four rowers in the boat had to start rowing properly. Including me. Stroke refers to only the right side of the boat, and for the last rower in the boat, the guy who sets the pace. The rear half of the boat is called the stern half. Well, these terms vary for different clubs, but that’s generally it.

We must be coming up to the pontoon if Ryan just wants the bow four rowing. Since bow four can turn quicker, they’re used more for tricky manoeuvres.

Fortunately, the pontoon is relatively empty, and we can quickly get a spot. There’s a trick to climbing out of a boat, which involves balancing it and standing up, but I never got the hang of it and I tend to simply flop out like a stranded fish. Standing up and stretching, I see Angus coming down the hill towards us. Well, he’s just going to have to wait if he wants to say anything because we have to get the boat out of the water quickly before all the other boats turn up.

“Alright” called Ryan, holding onto the oars we all piled onto him, “left hands over”

We all bend down and put our left hands over the boat.

“Lifting…now!”

As one, we all slowly lift the big eight boat up from the water. This is always an awkward moment. The boat is heavy and unyielding to move on land, and if we lose our grip, a $20,000 boat could slip from our grasp and smash into the concrete of the pontoon. Muscles straining, we eventually get it on our shoulders and slowly start trudging up the hill. Annoyingly, I’m one of the tallest in the crew, so I end up taking a lot of the weight. I feel like it’s about to break or dislocate my shoulders when thankfully we reach the top of the hill and stop by the dumps. Dumps are what you would call stands for the boat. Carefully, we lift the boat over our heads and with a sense of relief, finally roll it onto the dumps.

“Not bad boys” said Angus, walking up “How did it feel?”

“The timing was really off partway through” sighed Ryan “It picked up near the end, but a couple of boats still got in front of us”

“Alright” said Angus “Still a good result though. You’ll probably get into the A Final, even if you’re one of the lower entries. So that timing can be something to work on if you’ve got any races until then”

“When is the A Final?” asked Ryan.

“Should be about 2 or 3, this afternoon” Angus replied.

I sighed with relief. I don’t have any other races today, so I’ve got a six hour break until the final. Some of the others aren’t so lucky. I know a couple, including Ryan, have another race in 45 minutes.

“Should we put the boat on the racks?” asked Ryan.

“Nah, we’ll be using it again soon. If you’re in that quad that’s racing at quarter to 9, stick around. If not, go to the tent and relax for a bit”

With that, Angus turned to talk to Ryan and the rest of us moved off.

The tent is roughly a kilometre away, down by the 1500m mark. The idea was that parents could more easily come up to the tent if it was by the course, rather than the boat park, where they’re not really meant to go. Annoyingly, that also means a long walk after a hard race, and our legs feel like lead by the time we reach the white canopy and collapse by the water cooler. While the others converge with their bottles on the cooler, I lie back and stare out onto the water. Rowing’s not exactly a spectator sport, so even though the bank is lined with chairs, people are often talking to one another and wandering up and down. They only really look at the water when a boat they know rows past. And one does, after about twenty minutes. The quad, with Ryan as the coxswain, goes past, and heads up the course towards the start. Although I can’t really see much, I can guess that they’re still in the warm up stage. Knowing that it’ll be a while before their race starts, I lie back and shut my eyes. “You coming down to the edge to watch the quad?” one of the guys ask me.

“Nah” I reply “I’m gonna rest for the A Final. I’ve seen those guys race hundreds of times before”

There’s no reply. I can sense that the others have moved off. Probably to lie by the water and watch the others.

I know I’ve got six hours until the race, but I want to get as much rest as I can. I’ve found if you move about all day, it can suddenly take a toll on you in the middle of a race. Plus, I don’t really want to get sunburnt again, and I’m not sure if my sunscreen will work. Putting up with sunburn, with blisters on your fingers, with hardly any social life, with a constant feeling of tiredness in your muscles and with spending days on end with a raging thirst is all part of what being a rower entails. And I won’t lie; there are times, such as in the middle of a 5km erg, or a long run, or your fifth course out on the water, when you start to regret taking up the sport.

It doesn’t matter how fit you are. You’ll get fit over the season. What rowing really boils down to is your sheer willpower, your determination. Not determination to do well or something vague like that, but determination to make it to all your trainings. Determination to drop another ten seconds off your erg time. Determination to not leave anything on the water, to give everything you’ve got to a race, even when you’re in last place and every fibre of your being screams out protest, you grit teeth and keep pushing. That’s what makes a rower; that single minded, stubborn, determined nature that’s so rare in any group of teenagers. Not a single person here regrets joining the crew when they finally cross the finish and realise that their seven months of training has paid off and they’ve done well and have absolutely no regrets.

Rowing’s sure one unique sport and has a culture unlike any other I know. It’s a culture of constant training, where a regatta is, rather than a big event, a part of every day life. Honestly, though, the biggest part of the rowing culture is the crew culture. When you spend six days a week in the same place with the same group of people, undergoing exhausting training together, going to events together, staying at the same house together, you either get really close to them, or start hating their guts. Usually both, if our crew is anything to go by. We get into fights sometimes, there are bad days and you feel sometimes as though you can’t stand another minute with those people, but you still develop a close bond, both inside and outside of training. That’s my lasting impression of rowing, my final word on it. I can’t think of any other sport or club that creates those bonds amongst young people.

Jeez, can anyone?

From one rower to another.

-Jim J.W. Little

Ashby High Rowing