The mornings on boat camp are early, but we have the camaraderie of a shared breakfast in the hotel. Gandalf Aitken revealed that he was disappointed that breakfast in prison never actually consisted of porridge, which he rather likes. Instead the night before he would be given a spoon, a tiny bag of about 7 cornflakes and a small carton of UHT milk which he would eat alone in his cell in the morning. The girls expressed surprise that he could be so poorly treated, but I commented that he was in prison and it was meant to be unpleasant. Had they given him the kippers that he so loves today then he might have been in a rush to get back there.
We were a bit late out of the hotel and a grumpy Martin was waiting for us at the boathouse, angry that we would not be on the water at 8am as he planned. We felt chastised. We don't like to upset Martin. We are all desperate to please him. Sometimes he is kind and spurs us on and sometimes he is cross (by name and nature, as he is called Martin Cross) and tells us off or worse, just ignores us. He is very clever though and almost every incident serves to forge us together into a cohesive unit.
Out of the proper rowers we have all spent more time previously with Ian "Wheelie" Wheeler and we have all come to respect his power, his skill and also his encouragement. He has been patient and helpful. But increasingly as the week goes on we are getting to know Jo and Roger better and in their own quieter way (everyone is quiet compared to Wheelie) they are just as inspirational. Because the TV people are more interested in covering the "celebrities", the proper rowers sometimes seem to get left out. But for us in the crew they are a vital source of expertise and wisdom. They are also each make up one ninth of the unit that is the boat (and let's face it, in terms of efficiency they make up well over half of our power). For me the most rewarding part of this experience so far is when the real rowers start to realise how committed we are all to doing the best we can and give us their respect. It is easy to forget that they are also insecure about their abilities and that they don't have experience in front of the cameras and so find that equally nerve-wracking. Today I got a real sense that we were beginning to become a cohesive unit, looking out for each other. The rowers want to be accepted by us as much as we want to be accepted by them. They are equally cross with themselves when they consider they have performed below their true abilities. The journey is already very tough, but the rewards are there for the taking. I am really enjoying myself, despite the pain and frustration. I still don't seem to be getting things right.
Martin made some changes in the crew today: Jo was moved up from 4 to stroke (possibly the most important seat in the boat) and Anna was moved back to 4. Anna is by far our best "celeb" rower as she used to row a bit at college, but I think she was finding the responsibility of stroke a bit too much and she seems happy to move back in the boat. It also means that the bow four now consists of Helen, Emma, me and Anna: all of the hobbits. This makes us all feel rather better about ourselves and we re-christen the bow section as "The Shire".
Toby has been promoted to 7 from 5. He is very pleased with himself and us hobbits pull faces behind his back and pretend to be upset. And though I like being back with the tiny ladies there is a part of me that is a bit jealous and aggrieved. Why can't I translate my power on the erg machine into being an effective member of the crew in the boat. Every time I think I've realised what I'm doing wrong and have corrected it, I get told that I'm still not connecting with the water far back enough behind me.
After lunch we do another 2K ergo test. It is Hell beyond all imagining. I really want to beat my personal best, but this means keeping up a split time of 1.52 per 500 metres. I start well and am heading for a sub 7.30 time, but in the last 1000 metres my average split goes above 2 minutes for a short time. I fight back, swearing all the time - at myself and at the horrible machine that can inflict this sort of agony on me - and manage a time of 7.35. I've taken three seconds off my previous best, but feel disappointed that I flagged in the middle, especially when I seemed to have some energy left at the end. All the other non-pros beat their personal bests too. It's already been an arduous of a day and we're promised that the final session will be a short one.
But Martin and Tim (our other coach) have lied to us. The final session takes us all the way up to Chiswick Bridge and then all the way back to Putney. Which then means we have to get back to Hammersmith too. I'm guessing it's a total of about 20km and the morning session and the erg test have already exhausted me. Along the way we get into an unofficial race with a couple of men in their forties who are rowing in a pair. They hold the eight of us off for some time, but we finally triumph over them. This gives me a buzz, until I hear Tim shouting that we are half way through the course. I feel like giving in and jumping out the boat and swimming ashore as we cruise passed our boat-house. Tim seems to appreciate that we might be feeling this way. He tells us that we can take it easy if we want. We can let others take up the effort that we should be putting in. If we want we can stop rowing and not worry about Cambridge beating us. Or we can work as a team and get through this together and maybe we'll win the race next Wednesday. His psychology is surprisingly effective and though I am ready to drop I carry on trying my best, probably increasing my effort. Though I can't imagine how we're going to be able to turn around and paddle back to St Paul's on top of all this.
Yet, we manage it. We are short and old and fat and weak and five of us are asthmatic, but we seem to want to give this ridiculous enterprise our best. It is rather inspiring and I finish the day on a bit of a high, even though my muscles ache and my bum has gone to sleep on the cold wooden seat.
I hadn't meant to drink on boat camp, but I feel that we've earned it and bonding over dinner is as important as bonding over breakfast. I drunkenly discuss religion with Jonathan and Martin and try to reconcile my atheism with their faith. I somehow manage to achieve this, but I'm not sure how. Essentially it is clear that we all want the same thing, we just take our inspiration from different sources.
A few of us end up watching a DVD of "True Blues" which is a poor account of the Oxford crew's mutiny against their coach in the late 80s. The film is stupidly one-sided and badly written and in many cases acted. A more balanced account might have made a truly fantastic movie, but the American rebels are depicted as almost cartoonish villains. But watching the race sequence and recognising landmarks that we have passed and that we will pass in the race suddenly brings home the reality of where we're going to be next week. I head for bed a bit too drunk and wondering about whether this is such a good idea after all. The drink helps send me to sleep, but I have a disturbed night and wake up at 5 am in a bit of a panic.
I really want to beat Cambridge.
