Photo Finish

by Hannah McLester

It was the second day of the Southwest Junior Championships. I was five minutes away from the race my team and I had been building towards all year. The freshman eight was the one category where we were finally on an (almost) even playing field with the other crew club teams. One boat, eight rowers, one coxswain, and all freshmen. We couldn’t use our one sophomore novice to help our boat glide though the water, and our competitors couldn’t use their six foot tall junior behemoths to rip their boat though the water.

I could almost feel the staggered breathing of the seven girls behind me, struggling to stay constant and deep. I ringed my fingers around my oar, steadying it against my chest. Opening my eyes, I glanced up into the face of my coxswain and friend Charley, who looked twice as nervous as I felt. People, rowers especially, often thought that the coxswains had it easy, their only job being to sit in the back of the boat and steer us down the race course, while trying to encourage us to keep pushing. However, I had tried it before and learned how hard being a coxswain could be. I flashed a brief smile hoping to reassure Charley, but I don’t think it helped much.

“Sit ready!” Charley called, just the slightest quiver noticeable in her voice.

The official had finished lining us up off the floating dock in the middle of Lake Natoma and now was preparing to start the race. I had been to this racecourse before: one thousand meters to the first bridge connecting the small islands off port side, then another seven hundred meters to the first of the big white tents lining the gold -flecked beach. All we wanted was to make it past the end of those white tents within the top three, to make it to the finals. We had no illusions about medaling in the finals. We just wanted the chance to try, a chance to know that it was all worth it, all the blood, sweat, vomit,---all of it---, was worth this little bit of victory.

My arms ached with the effort of holding them aloft in front of me. I gripped the ore tighter, feeling my heart beat in the palm of my hand. I glanced out at my oar imagining it quivering in the water with nervous anticipation, similar to the feeling in my stomach. It was.

“Sit ready,” demanded the speakers on the officials tower, “Attention …ROW!”

My previously serene surroundings exploded with the sound of slapping ores and screaming coxswains. We slammed our legs down in unison, causing the boat to lurch forward. Pulling ahead early, I had a pretty good view of the other boats. Three were even with ours, two were already pulling ahead. I struggled to keep my attention in the boat.

When you see a crew race it looks mostly physical. Athletes perform the same motion over and over, and either you pull harder than the other boats and you win, or you don’t. However, you would be surprised at the mental activity. I was thinking hard about every move I made, knowing that what I did could make or break the race. I was setting the stroke pace and my teammates were following me. I was determined not to let them down. My brain was whirling, and even though I know I’m not supposed to, I began glancing out of the boat.

The two boats that pulled ahead earlier were even farther ahead now, but that was okay because all we needed to do was stay in third place. Unfortunately, Xavier’s eight was right there with us and beginning to pull ahead. This was no surprise to me as the middle of the race has always been our weakest point. Still, I knew everyone was trying their hardest.

“Come on guys dig deep! I know you can do this!” Charley screeched, her voice getting hoarse.

So I kept moving, just hanging onto the other boat as they tried to pull away. We were a mere two hundred meters from the start of our sprint to the finish. I just needed to make it there, just a little bit further, just a little bit faster and this will all be over. Charley’s voice filtered into my brain again Come on you guys, get ready! Here it comes! All the edges in my field of view that had become blurred and soft by the rush of the race were starting to sharpen. Everything from Charley’s face to the trees on the shoreline came sharply into focus. I was more aware of my surroundings than ever. I glanced out of the boat one more time to see Xavier’s boat, now half way through ours.

“Five more strokes ‘till we start our sprint!” Charley shrilled.

I knew it was seconds before Charley gave the command for us to switch it up for the sprint. To observers, it might seem like this time would go by before you even realized it. But they would be wrong. I have felt a second stretch seem like a minute, an hour, a day.

New thoughts began to invade my mind: how tired I was; the dry thirst in my throat; the family and friends that waited for us on the beach; and the family I had made of the friends in my boat. This race wasn’t just about me. Without my teammates, I would literally go nowhere. So I took one last deep breath just before Charley yelled, “This is our sprint! Pick it up! Let’s go!”

Suddenly everything shifted. We were no longer pulling ourselves over the water, but gliding on top of it. The white tents whipped by as we inched ourselves closer to the third place boat. I could barely make out the shouts of our teammates on the shore over the roar of the wind as it whipped around my face. A blade flashed in the corner of my vision; we had moved our way up Xavier’s boat and were gaining speed. I knew all I had to do was to push myself just a little bit harder, but my mind reeled at the thought. My legs were on fire, only the momentum of the stroke keeping them from crumbling into ash. My arms felt as if they were going to rip apart. It was no longer water I was rowing in, but cement. The sweat running down my arms made me grip the ore tighter, afraid that it would slip from my hands. I could feel the new rips and blisters on my hands revolt against the wood handle. The wind teased me, giving me a taste of air then taking twice as much away, searing the inside of my throat. Still, I could not stop. We had moved up right next to the other boat, both of us rushing towards that third place finish. We would gain an inch on them; then they would gain an inch on us. On my other side I could see the official’s tent come into view, round, white, and right at the end of the race course. Just a couple more strokes. I chanted to myself. Just a couple more strokes.

The fog horn blared twice as both boats passed the finish line. I collapsed back onto Molly Mae’s legs, sucking in as much air as possible. Both of us too exhausted to say anything.

“Well done everybody! That was amazing!” Charley half laughed over the speakers with relief.

I dragged myself back up and gave her the best smile I could muster; trying to let her know that she had been great too. Her red face lit up with excitement.

“But…what happened…did...we beat…them?” I panted back.

“I don’t know, I couldn’t tell.” Charley replied her eyebrows pressed together in trepidation. “But we have to get back to shore.”

We turned the boat around and with the small amount of energy we had left, we paddled our way back to the stretch of beach in front of the Berkeley High Crew tent. We glided smoothly in, and right there to catch us was our novice coach, Emily.

“Way to go, girls. You guys did great!” She beamed at us.

I rolled myself over the side of the boat on Charlie’s command. The only obstacle keeping me from falling into the water was the support of one of my best friends, Hanna.

“That was so incredible you guys. We were cheering for you all the way down the beach,” Hanna exclaimed. Being a sophomore, Hanna wasn’t allowed to compete in the freshman category. Still we all knew that she was just as emotionally invested in that race as the rest of us.

With the help of Hanna, Emily, and a few other varsity teammates, we managed to struggle the boat out of the water, and rest it atop our shoulders. As we trudged our way up the beach to the grass fields on the opposite side of the tents, we stayed alert, straining to hear everything the announcer said as we waited for our race results. We had safely maneuvered our boat in between a couple others and were about to set it down when we finally heard it.

“And in Heat Two of the Women’s Freshman Eight coming in first is Pacific Rowing Club, followed by Marin Rowing Association, and in third,” My breath caught in anticipation, seeing as how weak I already was, I was afraid I would faint.

“Xavier Prep Crew!”

We set the boat down. Walking to the shade of a nearby tree, all nine of use collapsed into the damp grass. I breathed deep, smiling as air filled my lungs completely.

As we talked no one whined or complained. We knew that we had done our best and had had a great race. We went back to our tent, got something to eat, and relaxed into the company of our friends. We cheered other boats as they raced past our tent. Even if they weren’t our boats, it didn’t much matter. Two of the girls from my boat, decided to go look at the official race times, to see just how close we had come to making the finals. My best friend, Susannah, who always seemed to know everything, was one of the first to hear.

“Hannah! Did they tell you?” Susannah gushed as she came to a halt in front of me, her long legs vibrating in excited motion. I was heading for another round at the food table, not wanting to miss out on any time that could be spent eating.

“Tell me what?” I hadn’t yet heard that the girls were making a trip to the official’s booth.

“The times, we know how much Xavier beat us by.” It looked like she was going to explode, she still couldn’t stand still, and her eyes where getting bigger by the minute.

“And?” I wasn’t really sure I wanted to hear this. But it looked like I had no choice.

“They beat us by exactly point eight seconds.” She leaned back a bit, letting it sink in.

Point eight seconds? Who would ever guess that such a small amount of time could mean so much? This is all crazy, I thought. Maybe that’s why I love it. The drama of crew; looking out of the boat and seeing your opponent right next to you; straining your muscles to pull harder and watching the boat go faster; spending a whole year building up to an eight minute race; the quick rush of adrenalin, and then it’s all over.

Disappointed by my silent reaction, Susannah ran off to tell the other girls. A couple of seconds later I heard a chorus of “What!” and “Are you serious?” coming from a huddle of girls. I walked over to listening in and watch their expressions of stunned disbelief until they all got tired of being incredulous and flopped back down on the grass again. My older sister, who had finished all her races, walked over to where I was sitting on the tarp. She balanced her plate full of food in one hand as she plopped down next to me.

“Want to go swimming later?” she asked, her mouth full of bagel and cream cheese.

“Sure, a little later.” I responded, lying down on my side so that my head rested in her lap. I couldn’t lie around thinking about those point eight seconds any longer. What a rollercoaster of a day. I thought, smiling to myself. I reached over and grabbed an apple off my sister’s plate. It was a great day for a swim.