April 2011
We'd recently raced at the Head of the River Regatta in London and in all honesty hadn't done very well. I think the race could have been summed up as Great 2K, shocking 4.8K finish. However, a this was rowing, we'd all had a hard winter together, racing in temperatures of minus 10 degrees Celsius, suffering the continual 'encouragement' of our coach. We were a crew and in this together. Northwich was to be the last head of the season, a last hurrah before the sprint regattas started.
The release of the draw the previous week had generated a buzz in the squad. We had one opposition, my old club Mersey. We had traded blows over the winter, one winning over the other at different races. We would be racing an 8+ in the morning and splitting into two 4+s for the afternoon. Northwich is only 2350m, a 'sprinty' head race, only one or two real turns to speak of.
We lined up at the start, Mersey were to set off first. I was stroking the Grosvenor boat. I loved the stroke seat, it could be a bitch at times, but there is nothing like the feeling of the power of 8 being laid down behind you as the boat sails through the water. I think there's a bit of mother hen in there as well - I like to make sure everyone was okay.
The stroke of the other boat, Andy was/is a very good rower and was/is of very similar temperament to myself. More so than either of us will probably admit. Someone once asked "Is he your Moriarty?" I shall leave that unanswered. He would be setting a good rate and had the extension of the famous "Coyne Go-Go-Gadget Arms".
At the start line you try and eliminate everything out of your head in preparation for the race. As stroke, I was there to set a good rhythm and rate and not worry about anything else. Mersey set off, once they sailed away, it was our turn. Just like in practice, we wound up the strokes to get to maximum speed at the start of the clock, ready for lengthening into the race.
About halfway along the course, I remember thinking "Hmph, we haven't passed them yet. They must be having a good row". But of course, that didn't matter and I was in the middle of doing what I had to do. Also, Mersey had the advantage of being able to see us. I scotched the thought as soon as it appeared.
We came alongside some boats that were moored at the side of the river; I knew at this point we were about 500m from the end. All of a sudden there was a cry from behind, something had happened, I wasn't sure what. The speed suddenly seemed to drop from the boat. There was another cry. In the panic I thought about turning round for a split second.
"Mitch, look at me. Don't you dare"
Being barked at by the cox was just what I needed. In all the races she coxed us, Gemma knew exactly the right thing to say. The value of an experienced cox is immense, especially for a novice crew.
We carried on and finished the race. There was an eerie silence at the finish. We hadn't passed the Mersey boat so we didn't know what the gap was. I don't remember asking Gemma. We all stuck our heads down. In hindsight, Mersey were very quiet as well. We got the boat out of the water and took it back to the trailer. Hushed conversations were had about the race. It turns out that someone had come off their seat and crabbed. It's something that could have happened to anyone, and indeed had happened to me in the past.
But over the course of the morning, the rumours started. Had we done enough?...It filtered through to us that Mersey had thought we'd one. The fact that they had sight of us counted a lot to back that up, but it was still rumour.
About lunchtime, word came though. We had done it. We'd won.
It was our first win as a crew. The sense of relief and euphoria was immense. It's true that all those hours of training and hardship melt away in seconds. We had done it.
But we couldn't celebrate too long; there was still a coxed four to race.
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