Triumph and Disaster on the Isis

Unidentified Men's Novice boat on the Isis

Today was one of Triumph and Disaster, and trying to live up to Rudyard Kipling’s adage to “treat those two imposters just the same.” It was the novice rowers' prelude regatta, Nephthys (named because the Oxford section of the River Thames is called the Isis and Nephthys is Isis’s sister in Egyptian mythology), which is something of a warm-up for next week’s annual Christ Church regatta, where all the colleges’ novice boats will complete to be king of the river. Most of the St. John's Women's A's had never seen a rowing race, much less competed in one so there was quite a bit of tension as we walked down to the boathouse. Two of our regular rowers were out of town so we would be borrowing girls from other boats throughout the day as availability permitted. We arrived just in time to see the Men’s Novice B’s and the Women’s Novice B’s win their races. By the time we stepped out onto the dock, all three of St. John’s boats had won so the pressure was on. Our start was a bit, shall we say, erratic. This was largely my fault, as I sit in the stroke position and it is my job to set the tempo for the rest of the boat. For the first twenty strokes we only made it to half slide, which is probably because I sped everything up in response to the uneven momentum radiating up the boat. But eventually we settled down and over the course of a 400M course, we beat New College C’s by several boat lengths without ever really using our full power. The second race against Wolfson B’s was considerably smoother and won in equally decisive fashion. One of the girls caught a crab (the oar gets caught in the water and goes flying out of your hands) in the home stretch but she managed to regain control of it and we didn’t sacrifice too much of our lead. Somehow I managed to get two enormous blisters under my calluses- how that happens in the span of three minutes is beyond me but in the afterglow of victory it seemed like a trivial concern.

We advanced to the quarterfinals to go head to head with the Merton A boat. Not only were the stakes higher, but a fellow American Rhodie sits stoke for Merton so there was some added pride on the line there. Unfortunately, the St. John’s Novice B’s had the race immediately before us and since we normally share a boat, the A’s had to improvise. At first this didn’t seem like such a big problem, but then we met Carol. All of the boats are named for the donors (or wives of donors) and Joyce, our trusty vessel of choice, is a sleek carbon composite shell- she’s not the racing boat used by our senior team but she is a reliable ride and we have gotten to know her quite well. Carol is more like a bathtub, a bathtub that hadn’t seen action in many months, and for good reason. She weights about twice as much as Joyce and I’m fairly certain the frame is lead posing as wood. As we heaved her into the water I think we all sensed that rowing her was going to be like pulling a barge up the river, but as soon as we settled in we realized that wasn’t the half of it. The runners jabbed into my legs and the seat was fitted for someone much shorter. I reached down to adjust the footplates but the screws wouldn’t budge. I was a few inches short of full leg extension but there wasn’t much I could do so I slid my bum a few inches further back on the seat and hoped for the best. Then I realized that the Velcro on the shoes didn’t stick well and the gate that holds the oar in place didn’t lock properly. And as soon as the cox stepped on board it became clear that we were several inches deeper in the water than usual- that means less clearance when you pull the oars out of the water, and since even Joyce is usually tilted so far to my side that I have trouble clearing the water, I knew that was going to be a problem. All of the rowers have to take a swim test in order to participate but obviously the vessels we use don’t get an annual check to make sure they are seaworthy (or Isis-worthy, as the case would be.) But with no other alternative we shoved off from the dock and slowly made our way to the start line, making jokes at Carol’s expense to lighten the mood.

As we neared the start line, the speakers that transmit the cox’s voice down a boat over fifty feet long kept cutting out. Soon they essentially stopped working all together. No one would be able to hear Ian count off the starting strokes, call for more power or ask for a higher rate. Not that we could measure the rate either, because, of course, the sensor that registers the stroke cadence was broken too. Everything that could go wrong with a boat was and I was increasingly worried about how low we were in the water so I turned around and told Melissa and Gaelle, the two rowers behind me, that, if my oar got stuck in the water, they should keep on rowing as best they could. Just as we lined up for the start someone realized that Harriet, one of our borrowed rowers, didn’t know the stroke sequence for the start so the coach hastily shouted instructions from the bank. God help us. And the gun went off.

“Draw 1. Draw 2. Draw 3. Wind 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.” We hit maximum rate within the first eight strokes and began to lengthen the pulls for race cadence. Carol bounced around quite a bit and the my oar was rattling loose in the gate but we were neck and neck with Merton as we rounded Boathouse Island. Just as we pulled within view of the spectators I felt my blade slip in the gate and the momentum of the boat wrenched the oar violently through the water. I managed to keep hold of the handle as it whizzed past my head and lay on my back working furiously to clear it from the water and bring it back into position. Meanwhile the girls behind me struggled to maintain speed and Merton quickly overtook us. Finally the oar was back in position and I tried to get back into sync with the other rowers. After a series of choppy strokes we settled into a rhythm and the cox began calling for power. Merton practically had a full boat length lead and we had already eaten up half the course. One of the guy rowers told me afterward, “Your face was priceless! You looked straight at the Merton boat, glared at them as if to say ‘F#ck this!’ and then opened up the throttle.” We drove with the legs and lengthened out our stroke, maximizing our power for the first time all day. “Catch! Finish! Catch! Finish!” We soared through the water and quickly began eating into Merton’s lead. By the home stretch we had not only pulled even, we were leading by a few meters. Then déjà vu. My oar slipped in the gate a second time and I was once again on my back struggling to bring my oar down past my head and into position again. We righted the boat more quickly this time but Merton had pulled ahead again and there were only meters to go. We hit full power and sailed across the finish line neck and neck. Viewers on the bank had mixed reports but most agreed it was too close to call. The race marshal sided with Merton.

I was furious! To catch a crab and then take the lead in such spectacular fashion only to be stymied by Carol’s low sit once again. And yet it was still my fault. I slammed my oar handle against the hull and positively shook with rage. In the moments while we waited to spin and paddle back to the boathouse, the adrenaline began to subside and my hands began to sting. I looked down to see that what had been blisters a few minutes before were now flaps of skin hanging loosely over raw flesh. I bit back a moan. The 200M paddle back seemed like the longest of my life. It felt like a fitting penance at the time. When we got back to the dock most of my teammates were in good spirits. No one faulted me, except me. My two crabs aside, it had been an excellent show of strength and everyone decided to blame Carol for the mishaps. “What could we do,” said Gaelle, as we hoisted her back onto a rack in the boathouse. “She’s fat. She’s a fat b!tch!” Laughing felt good and I suggested that we scuttle her- just drill a hole in the hull to save any other crew from similar mishap and misery. But that was a project for another day. For now we are going to focus on dominating at the Christ Church Regatta next week. We have a chip on our shoulder and with Joyce as our trusty steed Merton better watch out.