Ready All, Row

By Lu Tysinger

Twas the night before MSRA, and all through the house, not a rower was stirring—wait, scratch that. The rowers are definitely stirring. Perhaps scrambling to throw clothes into a bag they should’ve packed hours ago, or lying in bed, jittery with nerves. And if you manage to fall asleep, the painfully early alarm isn’t far behind. We huddle outside Door 3 of ETHS, preparing to board the buses before the sun has even peeked over the horizon.

Spring bus rides are always long. The MSRA ride is nearly six hours. So what do you even do for six hours? The first few hours are quiet, but as sleep wears off and caffeine kicks in, we begin to stir. I personally enjoy listening to music, reading, or attempting to finish schoolwork (though, to be honest, that’s usually saved for 11 p.m. on the Sunday after the regatta…). I also have a pretty great bus buddy who always helps make the time fly.

Somewhere along the way, we stop to stretch our legs and grab a bite for lunch. Once we arrive at the racecourse, the rigging begins, followed by a quick paddle. Then it’s off to the hotel for some much-needed dinner, followed by a race plan talk, and finally up to the hotel rooms for a bit of milling around before an early night. The next morning is time trials. At a big race like MSRA, where some categories have nearly 30 boats, Saturday determines which boats make Sunday’s finals. Most of these run in a format similar to fall head races. Boats go down the course one at a time, essentially racing themselves for the fastest time, trying to land a spot in the finals. I have a feeling we’ll see most, if not all, of our ETHS boats making a splash in the A finals.

Our copious amounts of free time between the end of Saturday’s racing and the start of Sunday are often spent at the merch tents (doesn’t everyone need new USRowing gear?), grabbing a bite to eat, or cheering on our teammates. Back at the hotel, we occupy ourselves with henna, card games, napping, and futile attempts to get schoolwork done.

Sunday morning, we head back to the racecourse. An hour and fifteen minutes before the race, we meet at the boats to work out the last few tweaks in our race plan. Then we go for a jog and land warmup, shed our last layers, and maybe grab a bite before it’s hands on. Then we row down to the start line.

For me, sitting at the start line is always the most nerve-wracking part. The announcer calls, “Attention, row!” and we’re off. Our coxswains call us through a few half strokes to get the boat moving and some high strokes to pick up speed. The middle 500 is always my favorite because it’s when we pass boats. Then the sprint begins somewhere between 500 and 250 to go, depending on your boat’s race plan. The race is truly done before you even realize it’s started. Between the coxes screaming and boats surrounding you, the chaos makes it fly by.

No matter what place we cross the line in, I am so in awe of the work the team has put in this year. I don’t know if I’ve ever met such a hardworking group of people, and I can’t wait to see how it pays off on race day.