I had my first session in an actual boat on the actual river being actually filmed, today. It wasn't something I'd been looking forward to. They are very much throwing us in the deep end (not literally, well not yet) on this show: rather than waiting for us to learnt the basics, they are giving us very quick blasts of instruction followed by making us do it for real. Which is OK and probably an efficient way of going about it, but it's also a great way to get loads of footage of us (well me) doing stuff really wrong and looking like an uncoordinated idiot.
Which is what I am, so I suppose that's fair enough.
I have to remember to keep my arms straight, find the point of resistance in the water, think about where my legs are, relax my shoulders (I knew Nelson would come in handy - I haven't seen him for a while: I've been too busy with my other training), keep my grip light, keep my blade (sorry, that's what we rowers call the end bit of the oar that goes in the water) at the right angle and keep together with all the other people in the boat. It's a nightmare.
Everyone else in the Oxford boat has been given jazzy rowing kit to wear and a heart monitor watch, but because I was in Nottingham last weekend, considering my humdrum life, I missed getting all that. I thought they might give it to me today, but I took my own stuff along as well just in case. Which was lucky because they hadn't got me any stuff (I think they are trying to make all the others feel like a super-rowing team and me like an outsider who can't really row very well and whose mum couldn't afford to buy him the proper kit. I suspect the others think I have fleas, and claim that I smell of spam.
Absent-mindedly I had forgotten to bring my track-suit bottoms and for a horrible moment I thought I might be punished by having to do the rowing and the filming in just my pants. Or be forced to wear some over-sized white shorts with a big brown stain on them from out of the lost property bin. But our friendly trainer Tim lent me some of his.
We were going out in a boat for four people (plus a cox, ha ha, I said cox), two of whom were proper big rowers, one of whom was controversial columnist and restaurant critic, Toby Young and the other one of whom was me, in my mufti kit. Emma Kennedy is taking the secrecy thing very seriously in her blog and not naming the other "celebrities" (who are largely so unknown that naming them won't really give people much clue of who they are). I don't care about the "rules" and will tell you everything (well, OK, maybe not the result). Maybe this is why the TV people haven't given me my kit.
Last night I'd emailed Toby to ask him if he'd rowed on Saturday. He replied that he had and that he was so good that he was going to whoop my arse. I wrote back asking if given that we were on the same team we maybe shouldn't be trying to compete against each other. Perhaps we should be working together. But he was having none of it. I am sure he will be more cooperative once (if) I'm in the same team colours as him, or at least once he's seen how good I look in lycra shorts.
Eventually we got to putting the boat in the water. To get in I had to take off my shoes and step into the rat-syphillis filled Thames (that I love so much) so I could hop into my seat. It was pretty cold, but it was nice to feel as one with the river. Hopefully I would not get to a point where I was totally at one with the river because I had overturned the boat.
I was put at stroke, which meant I was at the front of the boat. This had two repurcussions. It meant I couldn't see any of the other rowers so was unable to copy what they were doing and it also meant that everyone had to follow the pace that I set.
With so much to think about and so much responsibility and the unforgiving eye of a camera upon me the whole time, it was very difficult to get things right. I was mainly really, really rubbish.
But by the end I was only really rubbish.
I have about four or five more weeks to turn that around.
It was sort of enjoyable (but only because I slightly get off on being humiliated) and I got my first injury (a small piece of skin on my right hand got scraped off).
As I wobbled back up the stoney shore in my bare feet, slightly shaking from the whole experience, Martin, our coach said, "Welcome to rowing!"
I think I am going to enjoy this. Christ knows I can only get better.
