Natalie and I travelled to Boston in October 2023. It was primarily to support Jake aka Man Child and the St Benedict’s boys in their two rowing regattas: New Hampshire Champs and Head of the Charles.
NH Champs are held on the Merrimack River and caters for about 2,000 local rowers. The HoTC takes place on Boston’s Charles River and is an international event with about 11,000 rowers. The regattas are held a week apart. Both courses are 3-miles (just under 5ks) long. The Head of the Charles is seen by many schools as an event which takes years to perfect.
Due to the number of boats in the regattas, prudence dictates a heads race. This means boats are seeded and fed down the river one by one a few boat lengths apart. The faster-seeded boats go first. Then everyone else. Fastest time wins.
The races are based on age groups and boat classes (sculls, pairs, fours, eights, etc). The St Benedict’s rowers raced in the competitive Men’s Youth Eights. That is a story for another time.
This story is about my sculling races at the same regattas.
I raced the Masters sculls events in the 50+ age group, an age group competitive - not in name - but by nature.
New Hampshire Champs (Sunday 15 October 2023)
My family used to attend a church in Kensington which everyone called “The Italian Church”. In addition to the priests all speaking Italian, the church was surrounded by a number of Italian delis and trattorias. Up the road in Bez Valley was a school called Sir Edmund Hillary where we endured Italian school on Saturday mornings.
One of the buildings on the Italian Church property was a movie theatre the priests had built in the seventies. I remember watching Battlestar Galactica and Heidi in that theatre. Annexed to the theatre was an auditorium behind which there was a magnificently proportioned mural reflecting the painter’s perception of heaven. There were wild yet somewhat docile animals, a festoon of flowers, a snaking river and forests that rippled through the scene. Families nestled along the riverbanks as they basked in eternal paradise.
New Hampshire, and in particular Memorial Field where the New Hampshire Regatta Champs are held, remind me of that painting. The Merrimack weaves its way through the mist and fiery orange and green trees that line the riverbanks. The water does not flow, it moves and meanders like the long-exposure of a night camera revealing the gentle swirl of the galaxy. It is the river version of van Gogh’s The Starry Night.
Mike from Amoskeag Rowing Club was kind enough to loan me the same scull I used in last year’s race: a lilac Peinert shell. Peinert shells came out of Vermont in the 70s, Mike reminded me. They are hardy, not as expensive as the European brands. Rowing a Peinert feels like riding a Raleigh Chopper in my childhood. The rower goes as fast as permitted by his technical prowess and the size of his testicles.
There were only three of us in the 50+ 3-mile sculls race. The winner of last year’s race was from Quinsigamond which is a rowing club just west of Boston. Quinsigamond was first off the start. I started several boat lengths back with the final sculler, a tall precise fellow from Maine, close behind me.
In 2022, Quinsigamond beat my friend Ben by 6 seconds in this race. Quinsigamond had one of those sneaky rearview mirrors on his cap which kept Ben – who was ahead of him - in his sights. In the last k or so, Quinsigamond employed the use of his miniature mirror to sufficiently narrow the gap to Ben to take the win. Skullduggery at its finest.
In 2022, I came 4th. Eighty seconds behind 1st place. In one year I had sharpened my technique and increased the training volume. I learnt a few rowing tactics:
· be brave
· do not go out too hard at the start
· hold the racing line at all costs
· attack before the halfway mark
· finish like your life depends on it.
***********************************************************************************
I wandered through the neatly racked boats in the Weld Boathouse looking for my scull. With the Newell Boathouse (located on the south side of the Charles River) under construction, all Harvard crews - and a few select international crews – were using boats from the Weld Boathouse located on the Cambridge side of the river. Imposter syndrome is only a problem if you acknowledge imposter syndrome.
Without my buddy, Ben racing by my side, I was in a pickle. I know very little about boats and blades and how you tinker with them to fit your frame. An incorrectly sized boat can be like riding a bike that is too big for you. Sure you can cycle it, however it doesn’t really aid performance. I went full nerd and wrote down a list of the components I needed to be aware of for my boat:
· Boat size
· Oar settings (length, inboard and span)
· Oar type (blade type, handle size etc)
· Footboard
· Gates
· Rail setting
Failing to resolve any of these points not only results in a slow row but leads to bloodied knuckles and calves.
I started the HoTC in the middle of the field and within a few minutes had overtaken my first sculler. The pace tasted like copper batteries in my mouth. A few minutes later I overtook my second. The feeling was remarkable. I had never really overtaken anyone and it did wonders for the confidence. I employed a tactic I use in open water swimming: pretend you know what you are doing and take the most aggressive line possible. It works in swimming so why not rowing?
After successfully navigating the treacherous turns under the Weeks and Anderson bridges, I knew there was no reason to back off the pace. I let in the nitrous. I overtook a pair of scullers in the last kilometre and manoeuvered my way around the last buoy under the shifty Eliot Bridge.
Thoughts of Valentino Rossi placing his knee on the inside chicane of the Mugello with the gentleness of a choir boy blowing out altar candles entered my mind as I nudged the stroke rate to 30 and then to 32.
“The Doctor,” I muttered to no one in particular, “is in the house.”
I emptied the quads and through force of will held my consciousness over the finish line. I tucked myself forward into a recovery position as the acid and mercury seeped out the body. The boat, with my body in it, drifted. The autumn trees had greyed in the last few hundred metres and the river bubbled the colour of blood.
I finished 69th in 21m52s.
Good enough, I thought. Good enough. An improvement from 2022’s 97th place in 23m24s.
Due to the number of boats in the regattas, prudence dictates a heads race. This means boats are seeded and fed down the river one by one a few boat lengths apart. The faster-seeded boats go first. Then everyone else. Fastest time wins.
The races are based on age groups and boat classes (sculls, pairs, fours, eights, etc). The St Benedict’s rowers raced in the competitive Men’s Youth Eights. That is a story for another time.
This story is about my sculling races at the same regattas.
I raced the Masters sculls events in the 50+ age group, an age group competitive - not in name - but by nature.
New Hampshire Champs (Sunday 15 October 2023)
My family used to attend a church in Kensington which everyone called “The Italian Church”. In addition to the priests all speaking Italian, the church was surrounded by a number of Italian delis and trattorias. Up the road in Bez Valley was a school called Sir Edmund Hillary where we endured Italian school on Saturday mornings.
One of the buildings on the Italian Church property was a movie theatre the priests had built in the seventies. I remember watching Battlestar Galactica and Heidi in that theatre. Annexed to the theatre was an auditorium behind which there was a magnificently proportioned mural reflecting the painter’s perception of heaven. There were wild yet somewhat docile animals, a festoon of flowers, a snaking river and forests that rippled through the scene. Families nestled along the riverbanks as they basked in eternal paradise.
New Hampshire, and in particular Memorial Field where the New Hampshire Regatta Champs are held, remind me of that painting. The Merrimack weaves its way through the mist and fiery orange and green trees that line the riverbanks. The water does not flow, it moves and meanders like the long-exposure of a night camera revealing the gentle swirl of the galaxy. It is the river version of van Gogh’s The Starry Night.
Between green leafy trees, kids string up aerial structures out of their multi-coloured hammocks as they await their races. Lines of Hudsons and Resolutes, all polished and shiny, line the pathways to the water’s edge, perched on the shoulders of scholars with their 1970s hairstyles many wearing pyjama flannels which are trending. Oars neatly stack themselves in rows of whites, pinks, blue and burgundy like a rainbow of Sharpies on the first day of school. Aromas of homemade food - sausages, onions, eggs and pancakes - waft through the campsite tents. The smoke mingles with the Merrimack’s morning mist before being burnt off by stray beams of morning autumnal sunlight.
Mike from Amoskeag Rowing Club was kind enough to loan me the same scull I used in last year’s race: a lilac Peinert shell. Peinert shells came out of Vermont in the 70s, Mike reminded me. They are hardy, not as expensive as the European brands. Rowing a Peinert feels like riding a Raleigh Chopper in my childhood. The rower goes as fast as permitted by his technical prowess and the size of his testicles.
There were only three of us in the 50+ 3-mile sculls race. The winner of last year’s race was from Quinsigamond which is a rowing club just west of Boston. Quinsigamond was first off the start. I started several boat lengths back with the final sculler, a tall precise fellow from Maine, close behind me.
In 2022, Quinsigamond beat my friend Ben by 6 seconds in this race. Quinsigamond had one of those sneaky rearview mirrors on his cap which kept Ben – who was ahead of him - in his sights. In the last k or so, Quinsigamond employed the use of his miniature mirror to sufficiently narrow the gap to Ben to take the win. Skullduggery at its finest.
In 2022, I came 4th. Eighty seconds behind 1st place. In one year I had sharpened my technique and increased the training volume. I learnt a few rowing tactics:
· be brave
· do not go out too hard at the start
· hold the racing line at all costs
· attack before the halfway mark
· finish like your life depends on it.
Before the halfway mark of the race, I opened up the taps. With oxygen aplenty I focused on the drive down of my quads. “Snap, snap”, I repeated to myself in a rapid-fire mantra. The pace was on and with each stroke I visualized my boat closing the gap to Quinsigamond.
“Thwack!” My boat was brought to a stop. I thought I had either collided with one of the shells rowing upriver or that I had beached the scull. Thankfully it was neither. My trajectory – off by a few degrees – caused my stroke blade to broadside the massive orange buoy that demarcated the up-and-down rowing lanes. A maniacal laughter escaped my throat.
“Rwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”
I sounded like the Joker who in a moment of lucidity realized the backdoor of the asylum was ajar. Relieved to avoid a swim in the Merrimack, I extricated the oar from under the buoy and reignited my frontal assault.
Alas I could not close the gap. Quinsigamond won in 18m56s. I was 24 seconds back and finished in 19m20s. Third came in on 19m49s.
I was stoked to finish so close to first place. Almost a minute closer than last year.
That’ll do rower. That’ll do.
“Thwack!” My boat was brought to a stop. I thought I had either collided with one of the shells rowing upriver or that I had beached the scull. Thankfully it was neither. My trajectory – off by a few degrees – caused my stroke blade to broadside the massive orange buoy that demarcated the up-and-down rowing lanes. A maniacal laughter escaped my throat.
“Rwa-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”
I sounded like the Joker who in a moment of lucidity realized the backdoor of the asylum was ajar. Relieved to avoid a swim in the Merrimack, I extricated the oar from under the buoy and reignited my frontal assault.
Alas I could not close the gap. Quinsigamond won in 18m56s. I was 24 seconds back and finished in 19m20s. Third came in on 19m49s.
I was stoked to finish so close to first place. Almost a minute closer than last year.
That’ll do rower. That’ll do.
Cool stats
- My heart rate maxed out at 177bpm which is 97% of my max.
- My best pace on the course - with its strong flowing current - was 1m55s for 500m.
- Crabs = 1
New Hampshire Men’s Junior 8+ Results
· St Benedict’s A – 1st place in 13m53s (A Flight race)
· St Benedict’s B – 2nd place in 15m27s (B, C & D Flight race)
· St Benedict’s A – 1st place in 13m53s (A Flight race)
· St Benedict’s B – 2nd place in 15m27s (B, C & D Flight race)
***********************************************************************************
Head of the Charles (Friday 20 October 2023)
Without my buddy, Ben racing by my side, I was in a pickle. I know very little about boats and blades and how you tinker with them to fit your frame. An incorrectly sized boat can be like riding a bike that is too big for you. Sure you can cycle it, however it doesn’t really aid performance. I went full nerd and wrote down a list of the components I needed to be aware of for my boat:
· Boat size
· Oar settings (length, inboard and span)
· Oar type (blade type, handle size etc)
· Footboard
· Gates
· Rail setting
Failing to resolve any of these points not only results in a slow row but leads to bloodied knuckles and calves.
So with my sneaky notebook, I did my best to replicate the settings from back home in the Ravens boat shed. Ravens is a St Benedict’s Old Boys and Parents rowing club which rows at the Victoria Lake Club in Germiston. After tinkering for an hour, I decided to text Ben for advice hoping for a window between our international time zones. Our conversations sound like gobbledygook and went something like this:
Rob (after noting boat measurements with a tape measure and pencil): I wangled your boat from last year. Changed span to 159. Croker blades. 286cm with inboard of 88cm. Took it for a spin today on the course. Great morning for rowing.
Ben: That sounds perfect. What are the shape of the spoons?
Rob (after a quick check of the rowing terminology book): Normal spoons I think.
Ben: Cool yup - should be all good. If headwind on day just go a little lighter on inboard.
Rob (after referencing the rowing terminology book to understand the difference between inboard and outboard and when the blade is heavy and when it is lighter and what that means if there is wind on the day): Ok cool. So 89cm on inboards if headwind?
Ben: Yup anywhere between 88.5 and 89. Then look for length you were getting in the double.
Rob (after doing an internal fist-pump of elation in having understood rowing terminology and what that means for the boat): Ok cool. Thanks my boy.Rowers are a tribe.
The Race
Having done the 2022 edition of the race, this time I felt composure. What a wonder a year makes. I focused on racing a tight line around the course without using big zig-zag turns like I did last year. The race seemed palatable.
I started the HoTC in the middle of the field and within a few minutes had overtaken my first sculler. The pace tasted like copper batteries in my mouth. A few minutes later I overtook my second. The feeling was remarkable. I had never really overtaken anyone and it did wonders for the confidence. I employed a tactic I use in open water swimming: pretend you know what you are doing and take the most aggressive line possible. It works in swimming so why not rowing?
After successfully navigating the treacherous turns under the Weeks and Anderson bridges, I knew there was no reason to back off the pace. I let in the nitrous. I overtook a pair of scullers in the last kilometre and manoeuvered my way around the last buoy under the shifty Eliot Bridge.
Thoughts of Valentino Rossi placing his knee on the inside chicane of the Mugello with the gentleness of a choir boy blowing out altar candles entered my mind as I nudged the stroke rate to 30 and then to 32.
“The Doctor,” I muttered to no one in particular, “is in the house.”
I emptied the quads and through force of will held my consciousness over the finish line. I tucked myself forward into a recovery position as the acid and mercury seeped out the body. The boat, with my body in it, drifted. The autumn trees had greyed in the last few hundred metres and the river bubbled the colour of blood.
I finished 69th in 21m52s.
Good enough, I thought. Good enough. An improvement from 2022’s 97th place in 23m24s.
Cool stats
· St Paul’s “A” – 1st place in 15m13s
· St Benedict’s A – 20th place in 16m20s
· St Benedict’s B – 72nd place in 17m58s
- My average strokes per minute was 31.
- My best pace on the no-current course was 2m06s for 500m.
- Crabs = 0
- Winner: Greg Benning 18m46s
· St Paul’s “A” – 1st place in 15m13s
· St Benedict’s A – 20th place in 16m20s
· St Benedict’s B – 72nd place in 17m58s
The "ability to yield, to bend, to give way...was sometimes a source of strength in men as well as in wood." George Pocock
Keep an even keel,
~RobbyRicc
