Rowing Tidbits

Apparently, I am not the only one to notice how non-ideal the Charles River is for rowing.  The official Head of the Charles regatta blog has noted a very calm river this weekend here.  The caption reads, "Please water be like this in 28 days."  Good luck.  If you are going to the HOTC, 26 days now to find more speed!

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Great Britain's men's quad for Worlds 2011

Ever wonder why you row?  Here are some of the reasons why you row.  Ask Steve Rowbotham of the British men's quad and you will get, "I might have quit rowing if it wasn't for my stubborn streak...now all I want to do is win a medal at London."

He also said this about rowing and erging, "Rowing is not very glamorous...I have had some pretty dark days, particularly in the winter when it snows. You spend a lot of time outside in the cold and wet doing a lot of training and the rowing machine is probably one of the worst things that you will ever do. I will never get back on one."  

Bostonian Weather

Just another day in Boston...

There is a saying in Boston about the weather, “Don’t like the weather, just wait a minute and it’ll change.” What Bostonians do not tell you is that the weather usually changes for the worst.

The morning after the Petaluma River Marathon, my unfortunate husband woke up before the crack of dawn to drive me to the airport. (The Princess was undisturbed, asleep at her vacation home, i.e. Grandma and Grandpa’s.) New job and a new location to travel to—Boston.

I arrived Monday evening to a warm, humid Boston. Guys walked around Newbury Street, a popular tourist and shopping area, in T-shirts and cargo shorts and girls in skirts and spaghetti straps. By Tuesday morning, all the Walgreens and CVS’s in the city, had rolled out their umbrella racks, knowing that in miserable, drenching weather, anyone would be willing to pay $15 for a crap umbrella.

The rain and cold from Tuesday continued into Wednesday. With only light rain Wednesday morning and wearing all the layers that I had packed—a T-shirt, long sleeve, and jacket, I headed to Union Boat Club (UBC). UBC is located on the south side (downtown side) of the Charles River Basin.

The sheer number of Boston rowing clubs makes the Charles River THE place to row. Many of the well-known clubs include Cambridge Rowing Club, Community Rowing, Riverside, and UBC. Other teams include universities (e.g. Harvard, MIT, BU, Northeastern) and high schools.

MIT women's crew getting ready to launch in the rain

UBC is a small, but well-established club in Boston whose rowers primarily scull with a handful of members or ex-members being elite or national team scullers. The average club boat is, you know, just an Empacher!

We had 2 men’s singles, 1 men’s double, and 2 women’s doubles (of which I stroked one) out on the water with the coach in a white, sleek, official-looking wakeless launch. Rowing up river, the water was rough. The workout was 3x8minutes at 24, 26, and 28spm—two pieces up river and last piece coming back down.

Right about where we started our first piece, the river was calmer, but nothing in comparison to Lake Merritt on an average day. The slowest boats started first--my double started second. We were able to hold off the other women’s double who left third, but they were able to close most of the gap between us. We rowed past a whole armada of Riverside boats pass us and steered our way around Community Rowing boats and other singles who were stopped.

After the last piece, we were still a good distance from the boathouse, and the coach went in ahead of us. The wind and rain began to pick up, and the river turned choppy again. On the way back, my doubles partner spotted a fellow member sitting wet and curled up on a dock on our starboard side. The girl had taken out a Peinsit single and her boat, bouncing up and down with the waves, was parked along the dock. We pulled over to check out the situation.

As the weather had deteriorated and water filled the boat, the terrified girl had found it hard to row. She had managed to find safety on the dock and tried to wave down the coach as he drove by, but he was driving on the far side and did not see her.

In order to get back to the boathouse, we all played a game of switching seats. My double’s partner went into the single. I moved to bow seat in the double, and the girl sat in stroke seat. With the new arrangement, we tried to push off the high dock, which was definitely not designed for rowing shells. Somewhere in the push off, my double’s partner flipped the single. Luckily, though, compared to the rain and wind, the water was warm.

Unable to get back into the boat, my double’s partner pushed the single back to the dock and got back in. Then, I got out, ran over to the single, in my hurry slipped on the dock, pushed the single back out, and got back into the double. We shoved off the dock and rowed half-slide back to the boathouse.

If you are a rower, you know that the Head of the Charles (HOTC), in October, is THE head race. With two days of racing and over fifty different events, each with an invitation and lottery entry selection method, it feels quite prestigious and official to race at the HOTC.

It is days like Wednesday, however, that make me really wonder what is so great about the HOTC and the Charles River. In October, Boston weather is usually crap and the river is never calm and flat. When you mention HOTC to other rowers, you always hear stories of the year that it started to _(fill in the blank with snowing, hailing, storming, pouring)_ or the year that the Chinese eight crashed and sank (2006). Experienced rowers will tell you to bring a sponge because you might be bailing water out of the boat. And that despite your warm-up, you will probably find yourself sitting at the start line, shivering and waiting for your bow number to be called.

Perhaps the HOTC is the ultimate example of “misery loves company.” With over 8,000 other rowers suffering the same fate, it almost seems like THE cool thing to do. It just happens to often be cold, rainy, and windy.

Petaluma River Marathon 2011

Lake Merritt Rowing Club trailer at PVM;
one 2x, two 4x's, one 4+, one 1x

Sunday was the 8th annual Petaluma River Marathon (PRM) up in Marin County. A small, low-key regatta for two events—a half marathon (13.1 miles) and a full marathon (26.2 miles).  There was a good showing of 1 four, 2 quads, 1 double, and 1 single from LMRC.  A mix of LMRC rowers from the Women's team, Bay Blades, and scullers.  Even Chris rowed.  Results are posted here.

My mixed double’s partner is quite the enthusiast for this regatta, volunteering to organize it and volunteering to row a mixed double entry for the full marathon. I was tempted by the idea of doing a marathon, and I guess this year was the year to actually try it out. A marathon, whether it’s a running marathon or a rowing marathon, is an event that often appears on people’s bucket lists. The distance is daunting, but yet there’s something official when you can say that you have done a marathon.

A marathon is about equivalent to ten full lake loops at Lake Merritt. Two weekends before PVM, we spent Saturday morning rowing around and around the lake for a total of 26.4…nautical miles, approximately 30.5 “land” miles. Note: You should always check the units of your GPS first before you start rowing.

The start of the PRM was so causal, almost mind-boggling for rowers used to officials, stakeboats, start flags, etc. Once the coxswains/coaches/bowmen/rowers meeting concluded, anybody ready to launch launched. There was a small warm-up area, but essentially the dock was the start line—no flag, no sign. When we rowed by, I was not sure if we had started or not.

It took about 15 minutes of rowing before I felt truly warmed up and comfortable. The first half of the marathon went by fairly quickly, with other boats to look at and landmarks that my Mx2x partner pointed out. For the first 8 or 9 miles out, the water was slightly choppy, making it harder to row cleanly. There was one motor boat that drove by at mile 7 or 8. The wake was large enough for us to stop and hydrate while riding it out. As the river widened and the turns became barely noticeable, the water flattened out, making it exciting to feel the extra run of the boat.

As we approached the Route 37 bridge—the halfway and turnaround point, we saw a two-person outrigger canoe (OC2) and a men’s single already heading back. I was a bit surprised by these two boats ahead of us because we had passed most of the other marathon boats by mile 7 or 8. At the bridge, we stopped and turned while cramming a mixture of almonds, dates, and raisins into our mouths to refuel.

The first few miles back felt strong with calm water despite the slight headwind. I craned my neck around to try to spot the outrigger canoe and the single, but failed to see them. They must have been farther ahead than I had anticipated. My Mx2x partner noted that if we could keep up this speed, we could be close to the course record of 2 hours and 58 minutes. At some point, at a major turn in the river, we passed the paddle boat on our starboard side. The two paddlers looked up, smiled, and said, “Good job!” to which my Mx2x partner replied, “You too!” I was focused on the single, whom I had caught of glimpse of right before the turn.

For the next few miles, before the half marathon turnaround buoy, we chased the single, which, from a distance, had appeared to be an Empacher 1x. Once we finally pulled even, the Empacher turned out to be a light yellow Hudson, still a beautiful boat.

With less than a quarter of the race left, I was starting to get irritated. First, I had been hungry to pass that single for 6 miles and once we passed it, I had wanted us to push away from the single faster, making the single become smaller and disappear from our view. The single was quite tenacious and managed to stay in our view for some time. Second, what the PRM regatta brochure had promised to be a "fun" course with “gentle S curves” ended up being a devilish course on the way home (who wrote the brochure anyway?!). With my poor eyesight and my lack of mental ability to process the course map taped in front of me, I could not tell where the next turn was or if there even was a turn. The scenery along the course was beautiful, but everything looked the same—like one big, vast grassland. I could see where my steering suffered, and I damned the river.

In the last few miles, I thought about staying effective through the water, hanging onto technique. Somewhere close to the end, a motor boat drove by, generating a massive wake that poured almost five inches of water into our boat. We rowed the last 2,000 meters with whatever little was left in the tank. As we rounded the turn on starboard side, my Mx2x partner said that this is it—the home stretch. I only believed him once I saw the dock and even then, I was not sure where the finish line was until we heard the horn.

At the end, I was not exactly sure what to think.  I was exhausted, but even more relieved to just be done.  I was frustated with my back-and-forth steering in the second half, not knowing what line to hold.  We came in at 3:07, missing the course record of 2:58.  A difference of nine minutes--almost 2,500 meters--might sound like a lot, but where could we have squeezed out nine more minutes?  Close, but not close enough.  My thought was, "Shit, does this mean we have to do this again?"

Petaluma River Marathon 2011