Remember when we got all that snow last March? One huge snowfall and then another one right after it. The Twin Cities looked like a Dr. Seuss illustration, with thick bars and long licks of snow on everything: the hoods and roofs of cars, the back bumpers, the frames around the license plates, even the long skinny front antennaes.
The University of Minnesota women's rowing team did not let that heavy snow stop them from training. The team manager would go out on the river and break long swaths of ice for practice runs. He'd cut the ice all the way from the Gopher boathouse to down past the I-94 bridge, and the crew would climb into their 200-lb. plastic shells, place their stocking feet into the fixed footgear of an 8- or 4-boat, and grab onto these super-long oars, all the while balancing a boat in the icy and rocking waters of the Mississippi. Their coaches didn't allow them to wear gloves.
I've always been afraid of the mighty river's currents. I remember the warnings from Mark Twain in Tom Sawyer and I remember my own experiences swimming and waterskiing in the river near Winona. Locals will say, "That river can just suck you under." So I was always nervous to hear about my daughter, a novice rower, going out when the river looked especially turbulent.
So this day following the two big snowstorms and the daily cutting of ice along the length of the Mississippi, one of the Novice 8 boats goes out. All the rowers face the stern; they can't see where they're going. Only the coxwain can see their course--she faces the bow. She's hooked up to the cox box, a device that shows time, stroke rate, and stroke count and has an amplifier and speaker system along the length of the boat so all the rowers can hear her commands.
Here's what some college rowers say about taking direction from their coxwains:
"Inflection, tonal changes, and motivational speaking style really does fire me up a TON when we're pulling. The coxswain can 'drown out that voice in my head which starts to say, "stop, this hurts, it's not worth it, etc." at about 500 meters to go.' "
"...the change from calm to intense was clear, direct, and it was such a jarring and interesting change of tone, that it kept us from daydreaming and losing our focus. It kept us all on the same page."
"Let your voice change. A lot of coxswains think they need to sound gruff all the time, or yell all the time. Change your voice as the cadence or the excitement of the race builds. Reel yourself in sometimes and harshly whisper into the mic. It's not what you say; it's how you say it."
So the novice rowers are on the icy river path. I don't know. It seems to me like steering a canoe down a dangerous luge run. The heavy snow muffles most sound but the icy voice of the coxwain. Suddenly she says over the mic: "oh my god." Not screaming, just "oh my god." Then louder and louder in a crescendo of "Oh no. Oh no. Oh my god." And all the rowers, who can't see what's going on behind them and never dare turn to look themselves, are yelling back, "What? What? What is wrong?" all the while pulling those long ten-foot oars through the waters.
A gigantic lip of drifted snow from below the I-94 bridge had broken off from the underside and was falling through the sky towards their boat. "Iceberg straight ahead!" British accent optional. The big slab of snow and ice came crashing down right next to them and the icy water and chunks that sprayed out from it hurt their legs and arms and bare hands.
So it is only fitting that the tenacious Gopher women's rowing team went on to win their first Big 10 Championship last spring, beating mighty Ohio State and scoring the most points ever in Big Ten Women's Rowing history, and were honored at the Metrodome a few weeks ago. Nice work, women.
Taking Big Ten Honors (daughter second from bottom)
Gopher football-weary crowd cheers line of rowers (see long line of crew members in background, wearing black shirts)
Happy Day
4 comments:
Awesome!
I miss rowing. We had a nice old wooden rowboat at the cabin when I was a kid. I'd go out plenty and just push along through the water as fast as I could. I dreamed of owning a skulling boat some day. (Still do.)
That old boat is a flower bed now.
-cK
I was always intoxicated by the sight of the sculls on the river by the U, so I took a class at the MN Boat Club on Raspberry Island. It did not go well. I brought many anxieties with me to the class, so part of it is my problem. But the instructors I had were not good.
Too bad. It looks so dreamy, that smooth fast motion through the water.
another former rower appreciating tales of the sport. Reminds me of the distance rowing trips I did in high school on the snow-melt swollen Connecticut River. Rapids in a double are super fun and scary! Wish I could still row but where I live now is too rambunctious.
cK: The snap of the oars on a quiet morning along the river is transfixing. Owning your own boat would be great.
Sass: I've heard others say the same thing. . . .Maybe you could buy a kayak?
ecs: Thanks for stopping by. I bet the rapids were a thrill in a double.
I worked with writer Bill Holm last winter, who told me all about his home in Brimnes and would call from Iceland to leave messages like this: "It's a blustery day today in Iceland. I'm sitting here watching the sea. You're there and I'm here but you will have a book from me. Did I say it's cold and blustery? Good writing weather."
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