How+to+Row+by+Erin+Ferguson

How to Row
 * Sorry if the "crew lingo" confuses you guys... I didn't really explain a lot of the phrases I use.

Crew is not a sport where five people casually get in a boat together and paddle around for a few hours. It requires an intense amount of focus and a strong bond between all of the boat members, rowers and coxswain. As soon as everyone places their hands on the hull of the boat, we become one. We balance the boat on our shoulders and walk it down to the river, effortlessly raising it up over our heads and turning it before placing it gently on the water.

Rowing by pairs for the warm-up helps us focus and perfect our technique before we move into rowing by all four. The boat wobbles as we come up the slide to the catch; we try our best to keep our oar handles as level as possible to keep the boat balanced. Moving as one is difficult, and takes a great amount of patience. We all must place our oars in the water and feather our oars with a single click from our oar locks. We practice swinging together, back and forth, sitting up tall, as though our shoulders and bodies were connected. The rhythm of the stroke is entrancing.

The practice pieces are usually done at a slow rating, focusing on technique and balance. As soon as we get far enough up the river, we spin the boat and prepare ourselves for a race piece going back downstream. We sit at the catch, handles raised and oars in the water, waiting for our coach’s command to begin the race. Through her megaphone blare the familiar words: “This is the start. Attention: Go.”

In sync, we pull our oar handles with all our might and drive our legs down, propelling our bodies quickly down the slide to the finish. Our coxswain’s voice echoes through the speakers on the gunnels of the boat. One full stroke. Half. Three quarters. Full. Full. Twenty high. We are racing to become stronger and faster as a boat, to achieve perfect unison. Our boat is perfectly balanced, all our oar blades above the water as we swing up to the catch and square just before dropping the blades in. These first strokes are the best of the race; we sit up tall and move as one. Our boat lifts up and becomes light as we pull back with our arms. It cuts through the water, moving so swiftly that a tiny wake trails the stern.

We settle to a slower rating, not moving our bodies up to the catch as quickly as before. Our boat becomes a little unsteady, blades sometimes skipping across the water, but we stay together, dropping our blades in with a single splash. We cannot lose power or momentum; we must stay strong. Everything we worked on earlier in practice echoes in our minds; quick arms away, staying tall, keeping our handles level, squaring early, suspending on our oars all the way through to the finish.

As we tire, our coxswain screams out phrases that will motivate us. Nobody wants to be the one person that did not pull hard and cost the entire boat the race. We are not just pulling for ourselves, but for everyone in the boat. Every stroke counts; we cannot afford any weak ones. “Look at the person in front of you, and pull for her.” She channels our anger from previous practices and races and uses it to make us pull even harder. We pour our anger into the oar and all weariness drains from our body.

We near the end of the 1500 meters when it is time to bring the rating up for the sprint. We build pressure, pulling even harder than we had, because now it is time to empty our bodies of the rest of the energy we have left. We move fast up the slide and pull as hard as we can manage, pushing the water and the meters behind us. Water splashes up and sprays us, and the wind blows our hair across our faces. We swing together as though it were natural now, thinking about nothing but pulling harder each stroke. Our legs burn as we push down on our foot stretchers at the catch, driving them down the slide. Our lungs scream but we do not hear them, we barely notice ourselves gasping for air; all we hear are the oar locks clicking and the rushing of the water as we leave it far behind.

Our faces are red and our arm muscles tighten as our coxswain tells us that we have ten strokes to go before we can collapse. The perfection of these ten strokes rivals that of the first twenty five; this is our last chance to give everything we have. We pull harder than ever before, push down with our feet so hard that we almost lift off of our seats. Before we know it, the race is over and we drop our oars on the water, finally becoming conscious of how tired we are. As long as we have pushed ourselves to our fullest extent, we know that the day’s row has been a good one.

Each day of practice helps solidify the bond between our boat’s rowers and coxswain as we strive towards perfect unison. The more the rowers trust one another and can move together, the more water that is pushed behind us with every stroke. Our coxswain knows the exact phrases to say to motivate us at times when we are so exhausted that we cannot imagine pulling any harder or longer. Once union is achieved between us, our boat is destined to succeed.