XXXX

I love rowing the quad. The "quad" or Quadruple scull, or 4x. Because there's no cox, it's light. Because each oarsman has two oars, it's even faster than a 4-. And because each has two oars, each can adjust the balance of the boat. So it's stable, light, efficient. And your arms separate at the catch, like this:


So it's a different feeling of connection, of the stretch of the sinew in your back. (By the way, I know the chicks in the above photo. They're light weight national team development camp folk from my old club. Ah, lightweight women. They're so fucking hot. And so fucking grouchy because they're hungry all the time from working out and not eating. But damn. Finer asses I have never seen. And rowers are usually suited up in tight fitting shorts of some kind, so it was pretty hard not to notice.... What was I talking about again? Oh! Right, the quad...)

This morning, since our 8+'s were away at a race for the high school kids, we used all the smaller boats. As soon as I heard there was an option on the 4x, I let it be known that, as always. I'd row whichever boat was best for the team to have me in, but I'd prefer the quad.

I stroked the 4x, with Tom, another ex-Boston rowing scene guy (Yale lightweight, Union Boat Club) in bow. Jack, age 73, and a regular quad rower in 2, and Ari, my age, maybe 5'9 and my weight (not even close to the same shape I'm in, but a good guy who knows how to row, and is just working on getting his fitness back) in 3.

We kicked ass.

There were two straight 4's out with us (4 oarsmen, one oar each, no coxswain) and we blew them away. First piece, we rowed maybe 24 strokes per minute while they continued to raise their rates, and we continued to move out. By the end we had maybe a 200m lead. We started even. Over 7 minutes. Crushed them.

But the best part was the 8+ we were out with. It's our top master's 8+. 5 seat has a bronze from the 1960 Olympics. Stroke is ex-Ukrainian national team. 6 is former national collegiate champion 8+ from the 1960's. 4 of the guys in the boat have won the Veteran's event at Henley, and have finished in the top 2 at the Head of the Charles for the last three years. For a boat with an average age of 55, they're international caliber.

And we, a few young dudes, some of whom are fit, and some not, and one super old dude who grabs his mortality by the throat every morning and thrashes it, kicking it in the face and screaming at it. "Fuck you, mortality, I will not get old and die, so fuck off!", largely kept up with that 8+. They were faster than we were. But just by a little.

Our final piece was base rate 30, with 20 stroke flutter moves up at 36 strokes/ minute. Probably 2500m piece. We started behind the 4-'s and ahead of the 8+. About half way through, the 8 took a high 20 and moved up on us. Tom, in bow, being the racer he is and captaining the boat, called for us to take our 20 right when they finished theirs. Brilliant call. They sprint up, feel good. We then drop the hammer. And we did. And we took about 4 seats back. A little act of defiance. We had no business keeping up with that 8+ as well as we did. But we refused to be overtaken with ease.

I rarely get primitive in the boat. Takes more energy to make a sound than not. But when we came off our high 20, settling back to a 30, and I hit the first stroke of the 30 as hard as I could, this battle cry of defiance left my chest. Knees together, arms open wide, ass and quads on fire from pressing. You shall not pass.


God, I love rowing the quad.