Tag: 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: 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

Coxing Q&A Racing

Question of the Day

Hi! I’ve been coxing in high school for 3 years and coxed Head of the Charles last year with my school team. This year however, I was told that I am going to cox an international team that had done well last year. I do not really know anything about them and I will only have the day before the race to practice with them. I was wondering if you had any advice about what I should do to prepare. Thank you!

That’s pretty cool, albeit definitely nerve-wracking. Your best bet would be to reach out to them via email (somebody has to have the contact info for one of the rowers) to introduce yourself and get a sense of their experience levels, if they already have a race plan in mind (or at the very least, certain things they want to do at specific points along the course), what they’ve been doing during practice, etc. The four I’ve coxed the last three years is from the PNW so I stay up to date with what they’ve been doing through an email chain that generally starts sometime in the late spring. Once we meet up to practice that Friday morning before HOCR, I’ve usually already got a good idea about what they want to do so all I’ve gotta do is fill in the gaps based on whatever I see/feel during that 90 minute practice. It’s definitely an unconventional approach but as long as you communicate beforehand, even if it’s only over a couple emails, you’ll pretty much have all the info you need to have a decent race.

If for whatever reason you can’t connect over email or Skype or whatever, just plan on asking those same questions before you launch. I get why coxswains are nervous about going out with a crew they’ve never met before but your job is still the same (steer effectively, don’t hit anything, etc.) so all you’ve really gotta do is just execute whatever practice/race plan they give you. And if they don’t have a plan (which is unlikely but still possible), just say “This is what I did when I raced here last year and it worked really well for us, are you guys open to trying it today and then we can tweak it if necessary once we’re back on land?”. That’s basically my go-to whenever I’ve encountered that situation and the crews are usually happy to default to what I’ve done in the past with minimal adjustments to fit the current lineup.

It’s highly unlikely you’re gonna have to come up with any sort of plan solely on your own though, which I think is what trips a lot of coxswains up. Nor should you, since you know nothing about them. Either they’ll already have something they want to do that they’ve been doing for awhile or you can just default to something you’ve done previously. When you’re jumping in a boat like this nobody expects “perfection” the way our actual crews do so don’t think too hard about all this.

Since you mentioned that they’re an international crew, I’m assuming there’s not a language barrier of any kind but even still, the best piece of advice I can give you is to make sure you use the terminology they are most familiar with when it comes to basic stuff like port vs. starboard, calling for them to stop or hold water, etc. I know in some places it’s more common to say “easy” or “easy oars” instead of weigh enough, port/starboard are more frequently referred to as “stroke side” and “bow side” outside the US, etc. I talked to a coxswain last year who collided with another crew on the course because the people she was coxing didn’t immediately process that when she said “ports, ease off” she meant stroke side (or whatever one it is, I really don’t know…) and when she said “weigh enough, hold water” she meant hard stop.

Related: Head of the Charles

Beyond all that, just prepare the same way you normally would. Review the bridges and turns, listen to your audio from last year, and … that’s pretty much it.

Coxswain recordings, pt. 44

College Coxing Racing Recordings

Coxswain recordings, pt. 44

St. Joe’s Prep 2016 Head of the Charles Men’s Alumni 8+

Like most HOCR recordings, the biggest takeaway is gonna be getting a look at the course and observing how each coxswains takes the turns and bridges. There are some gems in here as far as calls goes but what you’ll really want to pay attention to is how he handles the clusters of crews between Weeks and Anderson. He pretty savagely cuts in front of a crew right before Anderson and I’m pretty sure the only reason he was able to do that without more than a minimal clash between his stroke and the bow man of the other boat is because he committed to it early and never hesitated. (As I was watching it I was thinking “where is he steering … oh damn, he’s doing that…”.) That’s kind of the name of the game with steering HOCR too – commit or get screwed.

Related: Everything you need to know for Head of the Charles

Circling back to the beginning, when they’re passing bow #46, they’re close enough to them that you could probably signal to your bow man to yell at them to yield as well if they’re not responding to you. Granted, you have to be projecting your voice loud enough for them to hear you in the first place but if your bow seat if right beside or off of the coxswain, having them yell “yield to starboard” can be helpful. This is something that you should discuss with them during practice and/or before you launch though, not something you should spring on them during the race. Just give them a heads up that if you’re close to another crew and they’re not yielding, you’ll say something like “Ben, yield!”, which is their cue to tell the coxswain to yield. And – ahem, junior men – not in a rude way either. Don’t yell “fucking move!” or anything like that. Repeat whatever your coxswain is saying, which shouldn’t be any more complicated than “46, yield to starboard”.

At 3:56 he says “picking up the buoy line again, get ready starboards…”, which I think is a good call just to alert the starboards that they might bump a buoy as he shifts back over. Obviously if you’re taking that tight of a course you want to make sure the buoys are either under the oar shafts or just off of the blades … you shouldn’t be hitting the buoys on every single stroke. That defeats the purpose of being on the buoy line.

When they’re in front of Riverside, you hear the stroke say “we need to yield”, after which the coxswain turns around, sees where the other crew is, and then makes and adjustment. This is good communication between the two and, for the stroke seats in the back who have missed this the other 30,480 times I’ve said it, your responsibility since your coxswain doesn’t have eyes in the back of their head. That’s not to say that they shouldn’t have their head on a swivel but you’re looking at what’s behind the boat, just give them a heads up if they need to yield. See the video below for more on this (different regatta, same principle).

Related: Disqualifying Sydney Rowing Club

At 6:55 he says something about taking advantage of the fact that the crew beside them (Columbia, ironically) was taking the wrong arches. The Columbia eight was going through the Cambridge arches, which you are allowed to use in the Powerhouse Stretch, and in some cases can actually give you a strategic advantage if there’s a lot of crews going through the middle arches. Your “plan A” should always be to take the middle arches but if you come around Magazine Beach and see that there’s just a cluster of crews down the center of the Powerhouse, by all means, go for the Cambridge arches if they’re clear and use that to your advantage. This is one of those “split second, in the moment” decisions so you’ve really gotta be paying attention here.

As far as meters go, if you line yourself up right coming down the Powerhouse and positioning yourself into Weeks, it should only add one meter to your course based on measurements done by the HOCR organizers. It should still be your “plan B” but it’s a good option to have in your back pocket and if it does tack on a couple extra meters, it’s nothing you can’t make up by having solid turns through Anderson, Eliot, and Belmont Hill.

Other calls I liked:

“Get on the gas, let’s go!”

“I’ve had it with these amateurs!” (Same, dude. Same.)

University of Michigan 2016 Head of the Charles Men’s Collegiate 8+

This was a recording that Michigan’s coxswain sent me after the race last year. They started 15th in a pack of 37 and were the highest finishing American crew, coming in second overall in the collegiate 8+ event behind a Dutch crew. Below is what I said included in my email reply.

” I think one of your strengths throughout this race was your ability to maintain your composure and focus while steering through what sounded like a decent amount of traffic. (Side note, he said: “It was definitely a hectic race starting so far back. We went into Anderson four across with Wesleyan, Holy Cross and BC, suffice to say that did not work.”) It’s easy for coxswains to get overwhelmed and just completely shut down when that happens but you did a good job of continuing to communicate with your crew without losing the rhythm or intensity in your calls. I also liked how you gave them targets and said who you were passing, who you were moving through, who the next crew ahead of you was, etc. On an easier course that’s a simple thing to do but the Charles can get so chaotic that it becomes a lot tougher and requires a lot more awareness to be able to do alongside everything else. You nailed your management of the race though and there’s no question that it played a huge part in how well you guys did.”