Category: Racing

“To row was to race and races were meant to be won”

College Racing Rowing

“To row was to race and races were meant to be won”

If you follow me on Instagram then you probably saw my story from early December of the black-tie banquet that I spent most of the fall helping plan and organize. One of the bigger parts of the evening was honoring our “crew of the year” – shout out to the women’s varsity four – and one of our alums as “alumni of the year”. The alum that was chosen gave a really stirring speech that I thought you’d be interested in reading so that’s what today’s post is. I think that regardless of who we row for or where we’re all at in our rowing careers, there’s something in here that we can relate to. I hope you find something that speaks to you that you can carry with you throughout 2018, both on and off the water.

“Good evening fellow Columbians and most welcome guests.

I am humbled to stand before you here tonight and wonder why you would choose to honor me, for I have not come close to matching the generosity of Tom Cornacchia or Dean Dakolias for Columbia Rowing. Nor can I claim to have represented our program on a national team like Nick LaCava or Libby Peters or my classmate Juan Felix. I was never in a Varsity Heavyweight Eight that won the Child’s or Blackwell Cups. I did not contribute to the glory of winning the IRA like that great Lightweight Crew in 2016.

I consider my own accomplishments as a Varsity Oarsman at Columbia to be rather ordinary. Nevertheless, as I contemplate my life since graduating from Columbia, it is clear to me that the experience of rowing at Columbia has been the foundation and the forge of whatever I may have achieved in my life since leaving this great University.

We are here tonight because we share an abiding affection for both rowing and our Alma Mater.

The sport of rowing is not really easy to explain to anyone who has not invested the time necessary to overcome those early awkward moments of uncertainty and instability that are apparent when sitting in an eight and while the mechanics of the stroke itself are not especially complex, mastering the execution of the stroke in synchronicity to create power and propulsion requires a level of skill and sensitivity that may not be obvious to someone watching a shell moving through the water at speed. There are layers of mystery and subtlety that shroud our sport from the comprehension of non-rowers.

This may be one of the reasons why rowing lends itself so well to romantic imagery in poetry, photography and painting. The world of rowing is populated by arcane words and unique rituals and routines. Day after day, we laid our “hands on” the shell, lowering it to our shoulders, “counting down” from the bow, “shoving off” from the dock, and waiting to hear “ready all row”. The comforting and terrifying voice of the coxswain exhorting us to give him or her a “power ten”, obediently raising the stroke rate by going “up two in two” and then “up two more”, while waiting to hear with desperate anticipation for the “last twenty” and the final relief of “paddle” and “weigh enough”.

But I did not come here tonight to reminisce about these gentle memories or to tease you with the imagery of those tiny ephemeral whirlpools and the concentric puddles our oars left behind our sterns or the magical sounds of bubbles dancing along the hull when our boats had achieved that perfect set of balance and precision and power and speed.

A painting by Tomas Eakins we all probably first saw in our Art Hum class cannot satisfy my urge to articulate to you tonight what I felt when rowed. I need a different medium to explain what rowing for Columbia meant to me, a medium that accurately illustrates the violent and extreme feelings that I confronted as an oarsman and which have irrevocably shaped my character ever since.

The vehicle I chose to offer you this evening that I believe expresses these feelings best is The Iliad of Homer, a text I believe should be familiar to all Columbians. Tonight I would like to give you an interpretation of this great epic through the eyes of a Columbia Oarsman, who was a “walk on” to the Freshman Crew Team in September of 1976.

Now I have to confess that I was rather chubby at that time in my life and my previous athletic experiences were limited to long walks with 14 clubs over my shoulder on municipal golf courses. I assure you that I was by no means considered “first boat material” by our coach, Ted Bonnano, when I showed up for that first day of practice in the tanks below this very stage where I stand tonight.

One of the first things I noticed was the ever present underlying competitiveness of rowing. Weight training, running stairs in Pupin Hall, the Hill at Baker Field, the Double Hill at Baker Field, the Loop in Central Park and worst of all, erg tests in that dark and rancid cave off the running track in Dodge were all different metrics to establish where I stood against all the other members of our crew and which boat I would be assigned to sit in. And once in those boats we learned to race. First against each other, day after day, in that diabolical device known as “seat racing”. Next we raced against the Varsity Heavies, or the JV Heavies or the Lightweight Eights and finally against Princeton, Penn, Navy, and MIT. To row was to race and races were meant to be won.

The next and most lasting impression I had in those early days of my rowing career was the level of pain we must endure in rowing, from the first twenty strokes at the start to the final sprint. The level of pain sustained throughout a 2000 meter race is indescribable and inescapable. The burning of lactic acid and the sting of adrenaline in the back of my throat were sensations I had not been familiar with in my previous life as a golfer when serious stress may have been sweaty palms from time to time when confronting a four foot putt for a birdie. At some point around Spring Break of my Freshman Year I remember asking myself a very important question:

“Why would anyone, particularly, chubby Phil Adkins, willingly and enthusiastically participate in a sporting endeavor that is essentially a contest of who could sustain the most pain for the longest possible time?”

Looking back now I realize that what motivated me. What I relished the most, for the first time in my life, were my adversaries. Their presence in my life was a great gift and they served to fuel my deepest desires to dominate and defeat them. For me the most effective antidote for pain was the feral feelings of fury and rage that consumed me whenever I pulled on an oar.

And Homer nailed it from the very first line of The Iliad: “Sing oh Muse of the Rage of Achilles”. For me, rage worked.

Revisit for a moment your own recollections of backing down your eight into the stake boat at the start of a race, the quick glance out of the corner of your eye at your opposite number across that narrow stretch of water as the boats line up, all the while your heart is pounding and your sinews stretch in anticipation of those explosive words: “Get ready … row”.

Compare your own intimate thoughts at that moment of brutal confrontation with the words of Achilles when he squared off against Hector as their final battle commenced and shouted: “I only wish my fury would compel me to cut away your flesh and eat it raw”. As you know, things did not go well for Hector that day.

The Iliad is filled with battles, not all of them with fatal consequences and Homer had a very deep bench of adversaries and protagonists. But the essential theme of the poem is not necessarily rage and revenge. The more significant lesson of the poem is transcendent and another fight in particular reveals to us a deeper, more human and compassionate relationship between combatants that resonates well with our fundamental human need to ultimately reconcile rage with respect for our opponents.

There is a duel between Ajax and Hector that captures these two extremes perfectly and takes us well beyond the sullen and beastly raging of Achilles. The mighty Ajax says to Hector when they meet on the plain between the walls of Troy and the beached ships of the Greeks:

“Come then let us give each other glorious presents, so that any of the Greeks or Trojans my say of us ‘These two fought each other with heart consuming hate, then joined with each other in close friendship before they were parted’”.

Any of us who have exchanged shirts with our opponents or raced in England where opposing crews cheer each other after they race with the thrice shouted salute of “hip hip hooray” may wish to consider the ancient battlefield origins of these unique conventions in our sport as examples of how we can overcome rage and hatred with respect and affection.

As for me, Pain, Rage, and Fury all aptly describe how I felt when I learned to row and to race and to win. But I love the way Homer so beautifully transforms “heart consuming hate” into “close friendship” and through his poem I perceive a much more satisfying understanding of how to compete.

The “close friendship” Homer proposes to us ultimately manifests itself in the idea of camaraderie. And the camaraderie of rowers is special. It is a wonderful thing to see the different boats assembled each year at The Head of the Charles representing Columbia. In recent years I have enjoyed the privilege of rowing around the world and racing out of many boathouses. I have met former foes from Princeton and Penn and reveled in the memories of old and recent races. I never cease to be amazed by the warm welcome I have received around the world within the community of rowing when I introduce myself with great pride when I say “I rowed for Columbia”. I have received the respect of strangers for the accomplishments of our teams over the years.

Tonight I am especially grateful for the generosity of the past generations of Columbians, like the Remners, the Davenports, the Sanfords, and all great Columbians from the IRA Championship Boat of 1928 who after leaving Columbia contributed year after year to our program. They set an example of selflessness and sacrifice none of us have yet to match and one we should never forget. The greatest privilege of my life was to have rowed for Columbia where I learned to defend my seat every day I sat in the boat. I graduated from Columbia University in the City of New York, acutely aware of the consequences of losing my seat to an opponent who was prepared to work harder to take it away from me. Defending “my seat in the boat” became a metaphor for my life.

Columbia has enriched me and you have honored me. I owe you both a great debt.”

Image via // @columbia_lightweight_rowing

Coxswain recordings, pt. 45

Coxing Racing Recordings

Coxswain recordings, pt. 45

JNT High Performance Team U19 8+ Time trials

I think I’ve posted a couple of Dustin’s recordings (this one in particular is great for this time of year) but I really recommend checking out his YouTube channel and giving some of the stuff he’s got posted a listen. He’s one of the few coxswains who I wholeheartedly endorse as embodying everything it means to be a good coxswain.

Related: Tips for coxing a time trial

Time trials seem like they’ve started becoming more of a thing over the last year or two so this is another example of how to call one if you’re unsure of what your strategy, tone, etc. should be. They definitely require a bit of a different approach since they’re not quite a 2k and not a quite a head race but this recording is a good example of how it’s done.

One thing that I cannot stress enough – and I hear this from rowers all. the. time. – is you have to make sure you tell them when they’re on like he does here at 1:48ish. You can’t get so caught up in the build that you forget to tell the crew when they’ve crossed the line. How he executes that entire starting sequence is pretty solid too, both with his calls and tone.

At 2:44, this is a good way to call a quick 5 (or anything really with regards to what the burst is for) – “in two we go for five, we place the blades quicker, we engage the legs … on this one“. That’s another thing to pay attention to throughout this piece – how he calls their moves.

Similar to calling when you cross the line at the start, the importance of nailing the number of strokes left to the line at the end cannot be overstated. This is so easy to practice too, you don’t have to be racing or doing pieces to do it, just pick something that’s in front of you (like a boat docked along the shore, a bridge, whatever…) and run through the calls in your head like you would as you’re coming to the line. This was one of the things that helped me get better at judging distances too, not necessarily in the “50 meters to the line” sense but just in judging how many strokes it takes to get to X landmark. The better you are at judging the distance by eye the easier it’ll be for you to say with confidence “seven strokes to the line” and have it actually be seven strokes to the line.

Wellesley College WV8+ 2016 National Invitational Rowing Championships

This is another coxswain who I’ve posted a couple recordings of – you can check the others out here and here.

A question that came up a lot throughout the fall was how to call out your rowers during a race and I think Ale does a great job of showing how to do that here. You can hear her call out Amelia at 1:05 and 1:32, Sahar at 1:47, Molly at 2:13 and 3:13, and Katie at 3:01 and 5:18 … everything she says is super simple, very direct, and not anything that takes away from the overall point of whatever technical or strategic thing she’s trying to get the entire boat to accomplish, which is something you should be keeping in mind whenever you make individual calls like this.

Other calls I liked:

“Pry into their 6-seat…”

“In two, we sharpen our knives…”

“There are no questions, we stride with our confidence…”

“In two, we trust our training…”

“We suspend, we move … we suspend, we move…”

Racing Video of the Week

Video of the Week: Starts bad, gets worse

I’m starting to think we should start warning coxswains about the docks at CBC rather than the bridge piers at Eliot. Saw a lot of near misses yesterday, which was both hilarious and concerning. Hope everyone had a good weekend of racing and enjoyed that weather – we’re probably in for hurricanes and snow for the next five years to make up for it.

HOCR: What to wear to race in

Coxing Racing

HOCR: What to wear to race in

I get this question a lot in the lead up to this weekend, especially from novice coxswains, masters coxswains, and everyone who isn’t from Boston/the Northeast. It’s not usually warm enough to wear just a long sleeve and trou or tights at HOCR but thanks to global warming, who knows – depending on when you race, this year it might be. I think I’ve worn a varying amount of layers each time I’ve raced (this year will be my sixth) but this might be my lightest year yet.

Related: Head of the Charles

Now obviously if you’re racing with your school club or team then you’ll have “official” gear to wear but if, like me, you can basically show up and race in whatever you want (#mastersDGAF), hopefully this will give you an idea of what to bring.

This year was particularly annoying because I’ve never had to actually pack for HOCR before, which is the downside to living 220 miles away from the river now instead of 6. The urge to overpack was strong. Above is what I settled on though – low 60s at race time, mid 70s during the day. This will obviously fluctuate a lot each year depending on the weather (maybe I’ll make this a recurring series…) so consider this only applicable for weirdly-out-of-season warm-ish temperatures like the ones we’ll be treated to this weekend.

Image via // WBUR

HOCR: How to call your race

Coxing How To Racing

HOCR: How to call your race

When coxswains think about Head of the Charles their first thought is about how they’re going to steer and navigate their way through the three-mile long course. A distant second is their race plan and maybe an even further distant third is how they’re actually going to call the race. The framework that a race plan provides can take a lot of weight off your shoulders but beyond knowing what to execute you’ve also got to know how you’re going to do it.

Related: Head of the Charles

When I think about how I’m going to execute my race plan at HOCR, I first break the race up into three sections and then think about what I want my baseline tone of voice to be throughout each of those sections. When I say “baseline” tone, what I mean is that it’s what I plan to fall back to in between the normal bursts I already have built into my race plan. With an understanding of what tone is in the context of coxing (how you use your voice to emphasize what you’re asking the crew to do), I approach each section with an idea of what I want the crew to be thinking/feeling and how I can use my voice to keep them on track. Here’s how I lay it out.

Section 1: BU through Riverside

BU Bridge is notorious for funneling any amount of westerly winds right through the arches and into the backs of the crews who have just come down off their high strokes and are starting to settle into their rhythm. My teammates are all seasoned pros so I know a little wind isn’t going to throw them off but I still want to emphasize staying relaxed in the shoulders and long through the back end in order to establish our rhythm early in the race. I want their relaxation and focus to mirror mine so my goal with tone throughout this section is to keep it calm and conversational but with just enough fire in my voice to keep them on their toes. On a scale of 1-10, I want to be around 6 – 6.5.

Section 2: Powerhouse through Newell

This mile-long stretch of the course is the make-or-break zone. If you can make it through here unscathed and with the crew’s focus still inside your boat, the next section is going to be a breeze (Eliot Bridge be damned). My goal for this section is simple: we’re not chasing other crews down, we’re just gonna push the pace and see who can hang with us. Keeping the rowers engaged and their focus internal is key here, especially given the number of distractions that present themselves through this stretch, which means the underlying tone of my calls is going to have a little more fire and “push” than the first section. On a scale of 1-10, I’m shooting for a 7 – 7.5.

Section 3: Top of the Eliot turn through the finish line

Through here our goal is to maintain our speed while fighting fatigue as we drive for the line. This is where I’m using my tone and calls to keep each individual connected to the crew and not let the frenzied atmosphere around us draw them outside of the boat. You have to fight the energy a little bit and not get spastic otherwise you’ll lose the crew’s attention at one of the most pivotal points in the race. The intensity is higher here, around an 8.5, but the ultimate backbone of this part of the race is composure. You can’t be effective at a higher intensity if you lack composure so you have to keep your tone crisp and clear as the fire builds behind your calls.

This race is an equal combination of fun and stress which makes it really easy to get overwhelmed once you’re in the thick of it. If you start sensing your tone going from composed to frantic, breathe. You have about three seconds, give or take, to collect yourself and get back in the right headspace. It doesn’t seem like a lot of time but you’d be surprised at how quickly you can turn it around if you just shake out your shoulders, take a deep breath, and tell yourself to “refocus”.

You’re the leader on race day and no race is more of a performance piece for coxswains than Head of the Charles. Do yourself a favor and take the time beforehand to lay out your plan so that you go into it knowing exactly what you want to accomplish and how you want to sound while doing it.

Image via // Reddit