There’s some good food for thought in this video.
Author: readyallrow
How to cox a boat in and out of the boathouse
Walking the boat in and out of the house is something you’ll do every single day so it’s important that you understand the process, calls, and terminology that go along with it. Each team will have their own subtle variances but this should give you a general idea of what to say and do. If you’re a more experienced coxswain then how get your boat in and out will probably be a lot less regimented than what I’ve laid out below and that’s totally fine. This post is written with novice coxswains in mind though which is why the minutiae of the process is laid out a bit more systematically.
Remember that everything you say should be said assertively. You also need to speak loudly so that your crew can hear you – don’t assume that the echo or reverberation of your voice off the walls and boats will carry your voice. You can never be too loud, especially as a novice.
When giving instructions about where to go it’s important to know which way to tell the rowers to go too. “In the house” means to walk inside the boathouse/towards where the boats are stored and “out of the house” means to walk outside the boathouse/away from where the boats are stored. Vague directions such as “move that way” or “come towards me” aren’t helpful so avoid using ones like that and instead say things like “take two steps to your left” or “walk it towards bow”.
Coxing the boat out of the house
Before you begin, make sure there are four people on each end and each side of the boat. It is easiest to carry the boat if the rowers are bunched up at each end or spread out evenly throughout the length of the boat. Do not have the rowers all bunch up in the middle. This minimizes the support on the ends of the boat and makes it much heavier to carry.
Another thing to be aware of when the rowers line up is their height. You don’t want to have a tall person be on the direct opposite side of a short person because then it forces all the weight onto their shoulder. If you have a range of heights going from stroke to bow, you can have the rowers switch where they stand when they’re carrying the boat down so that it’s comfortable for everyone. (This also eliminates a lot of bitching and “get it on shoulders” from the taller rowers.)
If you’re in a boat that is fairly new to the sport or has varying levels of upper body strength, your best bet is to have two tall people on either end, that way each end will be able to push the boat up and over heads. If all the stronger people are on one end and the weaker are on the other, that spells disaster in the making. Long story short, know the individual strength of your rowers.
To get the boat out of the house, the italicized words are the calls you’ll make to tell your crew what to do.
“All eight, hands on.”
This is the call that lets people know you’re ready to go. When you get hands on everyone should be quiet so they can hear what you’re saying and then do it without wasting time. If people are talking or not paying attention, that’s when boats get damaged.
“Lift it up, slide it out.”
This is the command to get the boat off the racks. When you give the command to “lift it up”, make sure you’re watching the fin. Some people have very liberal ideas of what an inch is and will lift the boat too high, causing either the fin or the hull to hit the boat, riggers, or racks above them. This can do various sorts of damage to the boat (ranging from dents in the hull from the racks or riggers to knocking the fin loose) so make sure when you say an inch, your rowers know you only mean an inch.
Sliding it out is the second part of this command. Once the boat is lifted off the racks this is when the rowers side step it to the middle of the bay. I like to say “slide it out” instead of “walk it out” because it’s (apparently…) easy to confuse “walk it out” with walk it out of the house instead of just walking it to the middle of the bay. Keeping the calls separate just avoids confusion, boat damage, and/or injury.
“Shoulders, ready, UP.” or “split to shoulders, ready, split.”
This call is only necessary if you’re bringing the boat out of a rack that isn’t already at shoulder height. If you’re bringing the boat up from rollers that are on the ground you’ll need to say “waists, ready, up” first before giving the command to go to shoulders. Don’t go from the boat being on the ground straight to shoulders. If you’re coming down to shoulders from over heads, you’ll want to give the call to “show sides”. This tells the rowers to indicate which side they’re splitting to by leaning their head in the direction they’re going to move. Ideally they should be splitting to the side opposite their rigger.
“Watch the riggers, walk it out.”
Once you’re at shoulders, tell the rowers to watch the rigger in front of them to make sure it’s not going to hit anything and then walk it out. When walking it out, you should always be standing at the BACK of the boat. You should be able to see the entire length of the boat in front of you, regardless of whether you’re standing at the stern or the bow. The “back” of the boat will be dependent on how you store it.
The reason you should be at the back is so you can see if your boat is going to hit anything, which includes but isn’t limited to riggers on other boats, bay doors, random people standing around, etc. By following the boat you can pull it to the side if you need to in order to avoid clipping a rigger or something. Don’t count on your rowers to pay attention to whether or not the riggers are going to hit something (even though you’ve told them to “watch the riggers”) – you have to assume responsibility for your boat.
You also don’t want to stand beside the middle of the boat because if you have to make a turn coming out of the boathouse, you won’t be able to see what’s going on with the back end. If the crew swings too early, that end can hit the boats on the racks, a wall, etc. Additionally, your field of vision for what’s in front of you just decreased by about 50% because now you can’t see what obstructions might be in your way on the other side.
Coxing the boat in the house
For the most part, walking the boat in the house is the exact opposite of walking it out.
“Watch the riggers, walk it in.”
When the rowers are walking in, make sure they’re walking in in a straight line, not at an angle or anything. This is directed more towards crews who can’t walk directly into the boathouse from the dock. The back of the boat is going to follow the front, so if the front walks in at an angle the bow is going to follow, meaning that if/when the front swings around to straighten out, the bow of the boat won’t know what’s happening and will continue to try and walk forward. This typically results in the front of the boat getting pushed forward into another boat or into a wall. More experienced crews can get away with walking it in like that as long as they’re cautious but it’s not something novice or younger crews should do.
The easiest way to bring the boat in is to walk up parallel to the boathouse, weigh enough, and then side step the boat over so that it’s in a straight line in front of the bay. The key is to make sure everyone side steps it over together so the boat stays straight. Once you’re in front of where you want to be, you can walk it in.
“Weigh enough.”
Once your boat is in front of the racks you can tell the crew to weigh enough. A good way to know when/where to weigh enough is to put tape on your boat to mark the spots where it sits on the rack, that way whenever you walk in the house you always know exactly where to tell them to weigh enough. If you go in the house too far or not far enough, see where the tape is in relation to the racks and say “walk it in one step” or “walk it out three steps”. Always give the rowers specific directions so there’s nothing left open for interpretation. Don’t ever say “walk this way” because … which way is “this way”?
“Waist, ready, down.” or “up and over heads, ready, up.”
Be mindful of your position in the bay so that when you go over heads you don’t knock the riggers on other boats on the racks or the fin on any small boats you might have hanging from the ceiling.
“Side step it over, lift it up, and slide it in.”
Same as before, make sure when they lift the boat to get it on the racks, they’re not lifting it too high. Be aware of where the fin and hull are in relation to the boat above them. It’s important that everyone walks it over and puts the boat in together so that the rowers on one end aren’t already walking away from the boat while the other end is still trying to get it on the racks. Before you set it down double check that none of the riggers are sitting on the racks either because it can bend them or cause damage to the hull. If you’ve got tape on the hull to indicate where it should be on the racks, make sure it’s still lined up before everyone disperses.
The most important things to remember when bringing the boat in and out are:
Speak loudly, slowly, clearly, and concisely
Make sure your crew can hear you and clearly understand your instructions. They should never have to yell “what?!” or “we can’t hear you!”.
Pay attention to everything around you
Watch out for people standing in your path, boats that might be in slings in the boat bay, riggers on other boats, etc. It’s your responsibility to communicate to them that there’s a boat coming out/in and they’re in the way.
Don’t get frustrated
Coxing a boat on or off the racks can be nerve wracking, especially as a novice. Stay calm and be in control of the situation. Don’t let the rowers start telling other rowers what to do. Make sure everyone is quiet and listening to your instructions.
This whole process really is incredibly simple once you get the hang of it. Sometimes it requires being in a few different places at once but as you and your rowers become more experienced, both you and they will learn how to make it a smoother process and your instructions won’t need to be as nitpicky.
Image via // @rowingrelated
College Coxing High School Racing Recordings
Coxswain recordings, pt. 2
St. Ignatius (USA) vs. Shrewsbury (GBR) 2006 Henley Royal Regatta
Something I like that this coxswain does is tell them when they lost a seat and WHY. The subtle shock in his voice when he says “they’re challenging US?!” is great because that kind of tonal change in his voice gets the rowers thinking about it and ready to make a move to stop the challenge.
He also doesn’t lie at ANY point during this race – when they start moving, he lets his crew know that Shrewsbury is walking on them and it is not acceptable. Once he tells them to push the rate up they start making their move and he tells them every time they take a seat while continuing to ask for more on every stroke – “7 seats, gimme 8!”
Something I wouldn’t do that he did was count out the timing like he did at the start of the race – not just because it’s pretty amateur but also because at this rate, it’s not going to make much, if any, of a difference. There are way more effective ways of doing that than saying “2-3-4 cha”.
Other calls I liked:
“Let them burn their wheels…”
“Show them the thunder…”
“Load up on the catch, drive the legs, send it back…”
Bucknell Men’s Freshman 8+ vs. Holy Cross
At the start of the recording you’ll hear him say “My hand is up. I have my point. My hand is down.”, which is something you should get in the habit of doing as you’re getting your point before the start of each race.
When he calls the sneak attack at 3:07, there wasn’t really anything “sneaky” or subtle about it because he was yelling out the numbers like he was with every other ten they took. If you’re gonna take a move like that, it’s gotta be a pre-planned thing that you’ve discussed and practiced ahead of time so that all you have to do is say a phrase or a word and the crew knows that the next ten strokes is that move. Your tone and calls should remain normal and not give away that you’re taking a surprise move.
Other calls I liked:
“We do not sit…”
Radnor Lightweight 8+ Mid-Atlantic Regionals 2012
First thing I have to say about this video isn’t even about the coxing … it’s about the stroke. Seven strokes into the starting sequence and he’s already looking out of the boat and he does it throughout the entire race. This coxswain does a decent job of telling the crew where they are in relation to the other crews so there really shouldn’t be any reason for the stroke to be looking out of the boat like that.
One call he made that I liked goes back to the stroke looking out of the boat – he said “heads forward, I got your back”. When I see rowers looking out of the boat I automatically assume that there must be a some reason why they don’t trust their coxswain, otherwise why aren’t they listening to him when he tells them where they are? Establishing trust between yourself and your crew is critical in times like this. The only other thing I would have done is said the stroke’s name so that he gets that he’s talking to him.
He took several tens but there was one spot where I think a move could have helped them … he says “Morristown is fading” and then goes back into his regular calls. Don’t do that! If you can see a crew is fading, make a move and capitalize on it. Another thing that he said a lot was “top 3”, he wanted to be in the “top 3”. Instead of being saying that, I would have added an extra punch of motivation by saying “We’re sitting in 4th by five seats, let’s go for 3rd. In two we take a ten to even up the bowballs, ready to go, on this one.” I think specifics like that are important when you’re sitting just off the podium.
Something he does a lot that I would really caution you to avoid doing is saying “I want…” or “get me…”. Separating yourself from the crew like that just makes it seem like you’re a slave driver or something who’s just there to tell them what to do. You have just as much responsibility for getting your bow ball ahead as they do so whatever calls you make should be “let’s do X” or ” we want Y”. Calls like “I want a medal” are bullshit because you’re making it all about you and that’s not the case.
One quick note about the rowing – if you watch the stroke, you can see him losing his neck and hunching his shoulders at the catch and on the first part of the drive. If you see that, make sure you point it out and remind them to stay horizontal, engage the lats, unweight the hands, etc. so they’re not wasting energy by engaging the wrong muscles.
Other calls I liked:
“We’re clicking on all cylinders…”
You can find and listen to more recordings by checking out the “Coxswain Recordings” page.
College Novice Rowing Teammates & Coaches Training & Nutrition
An Irresistible Pull
I found this a few months ago and thought it was a great story, as well as good motivation. There’s definitely a lot parallels to be drawn between it and most of our own rowing careers.
During freshman week, he saw his first racing shell. The crew captain was recruiting and stepped forward to introduce him to it. The magnificent lines of the shell seemed perfectly sculpted. How could a boat be so beautiful and narrow, the freshmen thought. The captain said it was 64 feet long and held eight men. The freshman noticed the captain’s weathered face and his developed quadriceps. When they shook hands, the freshman felt the captain’s calluses. Come row, the captain said.
The freshman went to the boathouse and tried it. His first float onto the river filled his with pleasure. He assessed the world from his sliding seat. The river was wide and gray. His coach told him that soon he would learn every turn of it. He liked the idea of being a river man but knew little of what it meant.
He began long rows, experiencing the yoke of the river. When he pulled hard, his car dove too deep into the currents. He concentrated on rhythm. The coxswain banged the stroke count on the gunnels. Slowly, he learned to pull with power. Afternoon practices ended in early darkness. Half the freshmen quit, in doubt. The captain said everyone must pull harder.
At Christmas, he shook his father’s hand and his father commented on his blisters. He tried to talk about rowing but his tongue grew swollen and dull.
In April, the skim ice buckled the shoreline. His boat was launched in light snow. The varsity shaved their heads and wore T-shirts. At spring break, he stayed for double practice. His legs were always tired. In sleep, he dreamed uneasily about water, of the river scrolling by.
His family came to the first race. They stood a mile and a quarter from the start. Because of a bend in the river, they only saw the last 20 strokes. In victory, they thought it looked easy. Two men vomited. The freshman’s sister said she would never come again. He threw the coxswain into the river, and the shirt that he wagered he collected from the opposition. It was washed in collegiate sweat. It was the finest trophy he had ever seen, and he wore it for a week.
Sophomore year, only six of his boat returned. He was still green, and the competition was greater. He, too, thought of quitting. He still resisted the river and blamed her when it hurt. He imagined that his face looked troubled. He wondered how much more he could give. He saw the upperclassmen pull hard, sometimes even with pleasure. He didn’t know what he was learning, but he suspected the lesson was patience.
In the junior year he rowed on the varsity. They wagered and won many shirts. He accepted the equation of practice to victory. He grew mature about pain and work. He saw the river as a strict teacher, helping him grow stronger. His technique was exemplary. But he did not row to win. He rowed for a motion called swing. In swing, he found a clearing to rise above grueling circumstances. He suspected it was transcendental, where life became more than it seemed. He suspected that if he got to know this clearing, he could find it again, away from the river.
He started his last year aware of an ending. He went to the gym during freshman week and stood by a new shell with his quadriceps bulging. His lobster hands engulfed the hands of recruits. He was tanned and ready. He was cordial but did not try to tell them why he rowed. Instead, he explained the boat and the river.
In his fourth fall, he was bored. He became intrigued with the perfect stroke. His roommate studied physics, so they spent a week diagramming torque. They discussed an oar’s effect on ultimate boat speed. They placed values on leg drive and arm strength, and he graphed the motion on paper. He was tested for body fat and had almost none. He was training harder than ever because he could not do less. The river was ever-changing, but he trusted her mass. He saw a picture of the Harvard crew in Sports Illustrated, and wondered about the Olympics. Then he looked at the seven-man and wanted his shirt.
His boat was chosen to win the league. They won races but the swing was elusive. He sensed that there was a struggle in the bow seats, but nothing was said. His coach studies the ancient Greeks. The motto of the boathouse was When dying, die in virtue. But first, they were taught to endure. Then they could die. Of the two, enduring seemed more difficult.
Before his last race, the river was brown and foaming. In a practice start the bowman crabbed his oar, throwing the boat to port. He heard the strike to the bowman’s ribs.
They drifted in the current, waiting. They had bet shirts, winners take all. The opponents rowed by to impress them. He stared at the seven-man, measuring the size of his shirt, a tall basketball washout from Michigan’s Upper Peninsula.
A race is six minutes. Thus, a season is thirty-six minutes. But he had practiced two hours a day, from September to June. When icicles dripped from the oar locks, they went to Florida to row double sessions. In addition, he ran stadium steps, lifted weights, and practiced in the tanks. It seemed a dismal, inequitable equation.
Before the start, his stomach hurt. He eased up the slide, legs sprung. He heard the ripping of the water. Waiting was harder than pulling, harder to contain. His heart, which had strained to starting commands for four seasons, pounded for the gun. When the pistol cracked he lashed out in relief.
At 500 meters the race was even and he longed for swing. The starting sprint was over, but the coxswain had kept the cadence too high. The boat struggled, not yet fluid. He knew fatigue came in stages, but there was already too much in his legs. Steadily, he shadowed the stroke before him. His ears filled with static. He wondered if the bowman was pulling.
At a thousand meters the coxswain wanted more. At each catch the boat jumped, and he felt awake, lightened. They responded-all eight-with legs and backs in symphonic motion. The coxswain rapped the gunnels, sounding the beat with his hands. He wanted more lead-another deck length-but the rowers only wanted rhythm, to hold the cadence, to extend their pleasure.
At the 1500-meter mark, there was a wake. The boat twisted to port; and in a moment, they felt the swing depart.
With new pain, he searched the shoreline for clues. How much farther? How much longer? How much more? The stroke gasped to raise the beat by two; but slipping, it only went one. His legs were gone, his back burned, his throat was numb.
With 20 strokes to go, he heard another coxswain yell that they were dying. He thanked him, needing anger to penetrate his numbness. He began counting but thought that 20 was too far. He told himself to quit at ten-quit the race, quit rowing. He was in deep suffering. He once dreamed of falling off bridges in locked cars. He was now back in the river, on the bottom; the inexorable swim to the surface was far.
On the eighth stroke, he heard his raspy coxswain, hoarse from a season’s yelling, calling his men to their oars. The voice without panic. It reminded him of his connection with the others. He renegotiated with his legs, which hurt the most. He asked his heart for tolerance, his back to bend.
He counted each stroke to the finish. He felt his own last surge, making the oar shaft bend.
They drifted to regain their breathing. Their coach yelled that they had won by a foot. They wondered when, in their years on the river, they had learned to go that much faster.
At the dock, a small crowd was cheering. After throwing in the coxswain, then the coach, the oarsmen quickly jumped in. Himself, he floated in the brisk current, looking at his family on the bank. The water was cold beneath the surface, but he barely felt it. He was certain that this race was his last, then he thought better of it.
Image via // @benrodfordphoto
Video of the Week: Moments
Question of the Day
I was wondering what the difference is between checking it and holding water. I think checking it is just once side and everybody holds water? But I’m not sure. and then also what do you think is the easiest way to turn around? I usually have my stern or bow four row with ports backing. Is that pretty standard would you say? Thank you again so so so so so much.
For the most part there is no difference between checking it and holding water as they both mean pretty much the same thing. You can tell all eight to check it down or just the ports or whoever … it all means to slow the boat’s speed and bring the boat to a stop. Some coxswains use the terms interchangeably, some use them for different purposes. I typically say “check it down” when I want to stop the boat and/or spin around. When we’re sitting stationary and the current is moving us, I’ll have everyone “hold water” to try and keep us in place. When the rowers are checking, they square their blades about 3/4 of the way while they’re in the water. When they’re holding, everyone squares their blades all the way and lets them just rest in the water.
It’s up to you to decide which one you want to use/how you want to use it, but once you choose, make sure you stay consistent. Don’t say “ports check it down” for two weeks and then decide one day to switch it up. It confuses the rowers. They’re fragile creatures and can’t handle that kind of shock.
The easiest, most textbook way to turn around is starboards row, ports back. If you can’t have all eight rowing at the same time, have four people row and four people set the boat. The quickest way to spin with four people (in a port stroked boat) is to have bow and 3 row, 6 and stroke back. In a starboard stroked boat, have 2 and 4 row, and 5 and 7 back. That way you’ve got people in both the front AND the back of the boat doing work.
Question of the Day
Hi there! I have the unfortunate issue of missing water/not getting my oar completely buried before my drive. My knees go down faster than the rest of my boat, and it’s hard on the timing especially when I’m stroking. Why is this happening? I know how it should feel like on my legs if I get the full drive (it’s more pressure, it’s like how strokes feel on an erg), but my hands don’t seem to get it. What are some things I can do? Thank you in advance.
When you’re missing water or not getting the blade buried before the drive it usually means that you’re starting your leg drive before you’ve unweighted your hands at the catch – this is also known as shooting your slide. Doing this will cause you to miss water and only take half or three-quarters of a full stroke, and/or in some unlikely cases, catch a crab. Novices tend to not focus on applying pressure through the water, but instead focusing on how much “effort” they’re exerting. You’re probably feeling something in your back and thinking that you must be putting a lot of effort into the stroke when actually all you’re doing is working your back more, making it tired more quickly, and translating that tiredness into perceived effort. Solution? Effort AND focus. Legs, back, arms. Try doing the reverse pick drill to work on isolating each part of the drive.
With regards to getting your legs down faster than the rest of the boat, you are definitely shooting your slide (see above). At the same time though, your boat has to follow you. If they’re significantly behind you in timing, that is their issue to worry about, not yours. Everyone needs to get the “one part drive” thing down and once everyone has that concept mastered, stroking should be a little easier.
It sounds like you know the different parts of the stroke, you just need to slow it down and concentrate on each part individually. Don’t try and master everything all at once. Work on the leg drive and once you have that mastered, add the back. Once you’ve got that down, add the arms. Talk to your coach and see if maybe he/she can record you while you’re in the boat one day and then go over the video with you to point out what you’re doing wrong and where/what you can improve. I think actually seeing yourself is the best way to make corrections. You can hear people say you’re doing something but you don’t really understand it until you see it for yourself. If you can erg in front of or beside a mirror, that would be helpful too.
Question of the Day
Advice for coxing a 5k on the erg? There are only so many times I can remind my boys to keep their back straight and drive with their legs.
Ugh, I feel your pain. Here’s some suggestions.
Talk to your rowers
Ask them individually what they want/need to hear and when. Does one of them start to forget his body positions as he gets more tired? Does another one just need you to ride his ass so he doesn’t quit in the last 300? Take notes and write it all down in your notebook.
Be aware of the rowers who don’t want you to say ANYTHING to them
Erging is a different beast than the boat and everyone has their own way of tackling it. If a rower yells at you to go away while he’s erging or tells you beforehand that he doesn’t like being coxed while he’s on the erg, respect it. Don’t take offense or ignore their request. They get themselves in that zone and you coming up behind them and reminding them about leg drive and such can throw them off.
Don’t try and correct their technique in the middle of the piece
If they haven’t figured it out by now, their times will reflect it and their bodies will feel it. Only tell them what you would tell them in the boat.
Drive: connect with the feet, press, feel it in the lats, etc.
Recovery: control, light on the seat, steady speed into the catch, sequencing, etc.
Body prep: body set early, get the hands and legs to speed, etc.
Bodies: chins up, cores tight, relax the upper bodies, stay light (especially important as they get towards the end and the bodies become sluggish), BREATHE, etc.
Motivate them without being a cheerleader
There are few things in rowing I hate more than perky, peppy, cheerleader coxswains. Get under their skin. Push them. Remind them what they’re doing this for. Are they trying to get one of the top eight times to be in the first varsity boat? Remind them of that when they’re starting to give in at the end. Tell them this is what they’ve been working for over the last few months, do NOT let the last 500m keep them out of this boat. Are they setting out to PR? Tell them to pace themselves, let the time come to them, not them going to the time. Are they trying to lower their times so they can submit them to colleges? Figure out what their top school is and use that to motivate them. When they’re looking particularly strong, get behind them and say “YEA!! That’s what a Dartmouth man looks like!” or “That’s how a Cal Bear attacks it!”.
Know the “science” behind erg strategy
When should they sprint, when should they “make a move”, etc. so you can make the appropriate calls when you cox them. This is also something they should know. Each rower might have their own strategy or your coach can give them a strategy, but it’s up to you to know whatever that strategy is. One rower might say he wants you to come over at 1000m to go to give him a 20…he’s relying on you for that, so you’ve gotta know WHY he wants it and be prepared to give it.
The first 500m, they should go ham just like they do at the start of a race. Get a good start, take a high, hard 20, and then another 20 to settle into their pace. If the pace is capped, make sure no one goes higher than that. 32-34 is probably all the higher they need to be going, although it varies by person.
By the middle 2000 (4000m – 2000m) they should have found a pace and settled into it. Make sure no one is flying and dying. They’re going to start getting really, REALLY tired as this middle 2k progresses because of the lactic acid building up in their systems. This is where you’re going to have to start pushing them and motivating them to not hit the wall – they’ve got to knock it the fuck DOWN.
Watch their splits and make sure they are sustainable, but not 30 seconds over where they should be. If they need to be pulling 1:45 splits, make sure they’re not pulling 1:49. If they back off a few splits during this middle part, the chances they’ll be able to get back down to the original split is going to be nearly impossible (from a physical standpoint but more so from a mental standpoint).
Around 1500m to go they should start pushing the splits down little by little every few hundred meters. Don’t “save” anything for the sprint. If they’ve “saved” their energy, they’re going to have too much to make up in order to get manage a decent time. Remind them of that. Don’t let them fall behind.
Start pushing that split down and then once they’re around 350m to go, drive up the stroke rate and fucking DROP THE HAMMER on the splits. EVERYTHING they have left should be going into this last 350m and it’s up to you to pull that out of them because at this point, if they’re pushing themselves the way they should be, they’re going to want to die.
Pay attention to your tone of voice
If you sound bored when you’re coxing them, they’re not going to listen to you and it can actually drag them down. You’ve got to stay upbeat, concise, direct, and have a good inflection in your voice. When you’re coxing individuals, you don’t have to yell at them 100% of the time. Get right by their ear when they’re at the finish and talk quietly but intensely to them. The person on the erg beside them shouldn’t be able to hear them. Talk quietly for a few strokes then say something like “Now GET IT” or something similar that causes you to raise your voice. You only really need to raise your voice if you’re walking behind them and see they’re going strong (YEA whatever their name is) and when they’re about to sprint (NOW’S THE TIME TO GO!). The rest of the time should be about 75% intensely quiet and 25% intensely loud.
I usually spend more time walking around just quietly observing during erg tests than I do talking to the guys. I’m gonna get more out of doing that than they are from me saying something in their ear (most of the time) so I only try to say something if it really needs to be said.
