“Harvard Ready, Yale Ready... Mason Ready... Attention... Row!”
The launch picks up the pace alongside the Mason rowing shell. The crew's cadence increases. faces of determination, poise, and gritting teeth move back and forth from stern to bow. The oars lock together into the water and make a strong thud as they are tapped out and brought back for the next stroke, slicing through air and the odd whitecap.
“Catch... Send! Catch... Send! Catch... Send! Get ready to make your move.”
Bob looks down at his stop watch that passes over two minutes.
“One minute to go! Last piece of the day!”
“Alright, Guys. Harvard is walking on us. We need to take a ten to build to the rate. On this one, One!... Two!... Three!... Four!... Five!... Six!... Seven!... Eight!... Nine!... Ten!...”
With the first count, the boat surges forward and all of the determination that was in the faces of the eight men is brought back with renewed vigor and added tension. The boat mimics the sound of the
coxswains initial cadence and the last minute winds down.
“Stay firm guys, less than twenty seconds to go, let's take a finishing ten. One!... Two!... Three!... Four!... Five!... Six!... Seven!... Eight!...”
“Paddle!...”
The oars slow down through the water and gasps of air are taken in. The lone boat on the Occoquan continues down river toward the burgundy boathouse. The oars don't sync up as they did before with the pressure behind the strokes, and the boat shifts from side to side. Clearly, the eight rowers are worn, and most try to hide it. Bob raises a traffic cone by the smooth block of wood on the bottom and tells the crew to row to the dock.
The coxswain lifts her hand in recognition, and the crew is silent; except for the sound of the oars catching and releasing the water slower than before. She tells the two rowers sitting closest to the bow of the boat to drop out. They press their oars now acting as eight foot long out riggers for the boat. The even keel of the boat comes back much to the relief of the exhausted oarsmen.
The shell glides to a stop nest to the wooden dock, desperate for repairs. In unison, the rowers exit the shell and pull the oars across onto the dock; sweat and rain steaming off of their shoulders.
“That was a decent last piece,” the stroke says to seven-seat, the rower directly behind him, “but the higher rate felt a little rushed and our set was terrible.”
“It was probably me. I had some trouble getting my hands quick out of bow,” say four-seat as he removes his oar from the oarlock.
“I am sure we will work on it again after lunch...”
It is spring break for the George Mason crew, and this Thursday morning is one of the twelve two-hour practices they will have during the week. Five-seat, starts to rub his arms to stay warm as he waits for one of the other rower's oars.
Bob walks down from the launch dock and tells his crew to clean the boat before they put it away. The steam that was rising off the shoulders of the eight rowers has stopped, and all but the coxswain reach over the boat to take it out of water.
“Up and Out of water... And Up.”
The boat is swung out of the water and over the heads of the eight men, in a motion that resembles a classic Olympic weight lift done in unison.
“Split to Shoulders... And Split.”
Each of the rowers splits to opposite sides of the boat and places it on their shoulders. And with slow strong steps, they carry the boat back into the boathouse; stopping before to whip off any scum that the river left behind.
After the boat is put back onto its racks, the rowers walk slowly through the garage like boathouse to their bags and pull out their lunch. Little is said between them so early in the day with the
only common desire of getting calories back into their bodies and recover as much as possible before the next outing.
Noon comes by, and Bob asks the coxswain for her to get the crew's “hands on the boat.” Those lying on the pavement peel their bodies off where they leave an imprint of sweat resembling an ink blot. They all walk to their position on the boat and carry it down to the water in the same manner which they had removed it.
The oars are brought back and put into place, and the rowers sit back into their seats, still wet from the splashing water of the morning's practice.
“Hands on the dock, Shove in two; One, Two.”
The boat glides away from the dock and the eight rowers begin to lightly row up river, with more balance than when they came off the water. Each lengthened out as they warm their bodies up for the final workouts of the day.
The rain has subsided, the sun has cut away any lingering mist, and the Mason rowers continue to train on the Occoquan.
