This morning, I have a meeting to present (and get people to use the process I and
others have been working on for about the last two months. So this is a Big
Deal.
I knew in advance this would be another killer rowing practice,
and I was thinking that it might be more professional if I could walk vertically
into my meeting, not be shaking, and could stand up and talk if I have to (someone
else is doing the brunt of the talking, but I'll be joining in on a lot of
it).
Also, I've really been wanting to ride the coaches' launch and
take photos, while we still have lots of daylight. I don't have many good rowing
shots from here, and I want some for a project I'm starting. So I took the camera
along, and asked YSam if that would be ok for today. He said yes, but later
changed his mind and said he needed me to cox. Fair enough; he has to put practice
ahead of my photography, and coxing would still leave me fairly alive for my
meeting.
Except that what I didn't know was that this practice,
consisting of decreasing distance full-pressure pieces (2000m, 1500m, 1000m, 500m,
250m, 100m), would be done as a series of races. There were 5 boats participating:
my heavyweight mixed eight, a lightweight Masters' mixed eight, the Junior womens'
eight that's training for Nationals, the Junior mens' four ditto, and Rudder and
T2's double, now starting their training for the Charles. The double kicked ass;
they were ahead in every race. The four beat us in the longer piece, then we beat
in the shorter ones (those high school kids don't wear out as fast as us geezers).
The other two eights were way behind. (All other things being equal, an eight
should beat a four, and possibly a double; a good double might beat a four.
Clearly, all other things weren't equal.)
Racing other boats involves
a lot more screaming for the coxswain than a regular rowing practice would. So now
I can stride firmly into my meeting, move with decision, and appear bright-eyed
and alert. I just can't talk. Oops.