Open
water strikes a certain
chord in all of us-- Maybe it's the
solitude, maybe it's a remnant of the old days when
seafaring maps read '
Here be Monsters' on the
boundaries of the unknown.
On
Wednesday, I was roped into joining the
NYU men's
varsity crew team as the coxswain, after the former
coxswain, who had
F=ma tattoed on his shoulder,
quit. I must be a
masochist. We
practice at 4:55 in the morning. So here I am, 5 foot 6,
female, and 115
pounds, haven't
coxed in 2 years, in charge of the
men's 8 sweep.
The
first race was on Saturday. We drove down to
Virginia for the
Head of the Occoquan. The course was 3.2
miles, with about 5 90+ degree turns-- a
coxswain's
nightmare. Around the
third turn, another
crew from
George Mason University attempted to pass us, and
fearless leader of the "
Commodore Banks" that I am, I refused to
yield. Surely enough, they
hit us, and in passing
proceeded to
beat me severely with their
oars (
on purpose). My
crew hit them back, and we succeeded in knocking their number off the
stern of the ship. I grabbed an oar and
attempted to poke the
stroke seat. By then, we were taking on a
significant amount of water (Coxswain: "How's our bow?" 1-seat: "
Fucked UP!"). I drove them to the
finish with
power 60's back to back, and we finished 3 seconds in
last place. Afterwards, my crew and I proceeded to
kick the asses of
George Mason crew.
Arrr....