First off, I’m watching Robson Green and his Extreme Fishing programme whilst writing this (I’m a closet fishing-freak and love all sorts of programmes on the subject...have even had Go Fishing’s John Wilson’s autograph when I bumped into him in the departures lounge at Lusaka Airport) and the funniest line has come out of this Senegalese fishing guide’s mouth: “None of your Geordie hankey pankey, now Robson”. Classic. I love this programme. None of the poncey “Oh, we must think about sustainability" bollocks. No sirree. Catch it. Kill it. Eat it. Probably stuff it if I can’t eat it. But catch bigger, nastier fishies, the more the merrier, and who gives a stuff that none of the people he meets has a dickybird who he is? And before anyone says anything, no I DIDN'T buy the Unchained Melody cover he did with Jerome, and nor did I have a poster of him on my wall when he was in Soldier, Soldier. (OK, I may have had a teeny crush on him, I'll give you that).
So, Turin and the Silver Skiff were a giggle (mostly). Richard and I headed up to Stansted and caught the stupid o’clock Ryanair flight on Saturday morning. I tell thee, I will NEVER fly that sodding airline again. Not only are they super-anal about hand luggage, resulting in a very hot and sweaty tussle with my mini case to get it in and then out (the hard part) of the measuring cage thing, but when they land on time or a bit earlier, this idiotic fanfare plays out over the tannoy. Not to mention the funnel bunfight to board the flight. Honestly, at one point on the return leg I was ready to kill someone. Or at the very least stuff their stupid boarding passes down their pushing in, smelly throats. OK. A bit extreme. But you get my drift!
On landing we got Rich’s bike off the belt and got a cab with Tom Carter from Upper Thames who was racing the Master’s A Single. We plumped for a car big enough to fit the bike box in, but the driver was a little, err, contrary and he wasn’t prepared to try – or listen – and no lie, we ended up with at least 7 Italians all crowding round, babbling away, “problem solving”. In the end we changed taxi and happily our driver was a fellow cyclist, so he and Rich entered into a bit of “what bike do you have” and “how light is it” and “Campag or Shimano” banter on the way to the city centre. Italian drivers are completely insane and we couldn’t work out the road rules, as it appeared there weren’t any. Still, Tom kept our minds off losing our lives on the cobbled streets of Turin by running through his Italian phrase app. Our favourites were “Where can I dance like a nutter til the early hours?” under ‘Nightlife’ and, “Are those real?” under ‘The Beach’.
We weren’t able to go out until the Kinderskiff race was over in the afternoon, so we checked into the hotel and wandered about, getting our bearings and checking the lie of the land. I hadn’t been able to find out what the weight limit was from the Silver Skiff website so we went to regatta control and it turned out that it’s FISA weight (59kg), not “winter lightweight” (61ish kg) like most other head races. Lucky for me I’m OK, but I still needed to be sure I was on so the weight-making process began that afternoon. Nice.
I went out paddling to learn the course, which is pretty straight with a buoy turn at half way. The light was failing by about 5.30 and I made it back just in time to put my boat back on the trailer, which had been ably driven over by Christy Job and co-pilot a few days earlier. The boy had gone out cycling at about 3.45pm and I had a light supper to ensure I didn’t tip the scales the next morning. He still wasn’t home by 7pm and it was really quite dark. Like a proper Mummy, I started to envisage him lying at the bottom of a ditch, having been mown down by a mad Italian driver. Happily he clip-clopped back in just before 8pm and we snuck out for a pizza. Well, HE ate pizza. I watched and drooled over his can of Sprite (I hadn’t drunk since 3pm and my tongue had started to feel like the bottom of a birdcage).
Race day dawned with the ritual plastic top and trousers going on under my lycra, leggings and several tops and we wandered down to the rowing club so that I could get a little 20 minute ergo done. Since the previous evening, the organisers had evidently gone to a chemist and bought a new set of scales! Nothing like consistency. And this was nothing like it. Weigh-in came at an easy 58.3kg. OK, so I overcooked it, but I wasn’t going to embarrass myself by not making weight!
Anyway, Tom had watched the Kinderskiff the day before and we estimated that it would take an hour for one hundred scullers to start, so I reckoned I would have enough time to chow down at the hotel and boat around 11.30, a full hour and a half after the first sculler was sent off. All went to plan until we started to take the boat to the landing stage and numbers 330 onwards were already lining up. And at 354, I was nowhere near the pontoon. Somewhere they had speeded up and the best laid plans went to buggery. We managed to wriggle down to the pontoon and boat in slight panic, and I literally did my gate up, turned and started. Just in time. Thank God for the warm up run I’d done! The person I thought would be the biggest threat, Pamela Weisshaupt (2008 and 2009 World Champion), was due to start two places behind me but she was nowhere to be seen.
I set off at a cheeky 32, and settled into a long and tappy 28 – 29 spm. Within 100m I had caught the girl in front of me and pulled away from the scullers behind me. I started to feel good, keeping well into the bank going upstream, but still feeling the pull of the stream on my bowside blade. I came up on a couple of slow junior boys, overtook one and then was impeded by the other when he steered into me as I was going past him. Lots of clashing ensued and my blades became stuck under his bows and we came to a dead stop. Grrrr. I disentangled myself and set off again, coming up quickly on the German and Italian lightweight girls who were ahead of me. I tried going one way, then another, but each time I moved they seemed to steer directly into my path. This stalemate continued from about the 3k mark onwards, and as we got to the buoy turn I took a storming line and got a cracking turn in, edging out a third sculler who had gone a bit far and wide. The Italian continued to weave about in front of me, bleating occasionally and eventually stopping in a tantrum and starting again once we’d gone past her. The German carried on weaving and clashing with me - every time I moved to go past her, she steered into me and I could feel the time slipping away from me. Eventually, around one of the bridges with about 1k to go, I steered a much better line than her and within about 300 metres I’d taken about six boat lengths out of her. I was so frustrated, knowing that I’d lost a heap of time being entangled with her and the other girl.
Coming back to the boathouses I was able to focus on rhythm and flow and I kept moving better and better, although my back was starting to fatigue. We’ve started putting together a new technique change and like anything, it will take a while for my body to get used to it. I still ache today! I had a good chat with the impeding German once we’d crossed the line, who apologised for her steering, and I was heartened to see Rich’s face smiling at me from the pontoon. He’d followed the whole race on his bike and I was so happy to see him!
I had no idea where I’d come, although I knew that I had beaten all of the lightweights starting around me as no one had come up on me. I had no idea how Eliane Waser had done as she was seeded from the previous year and had started in the 150s. Eventually it became clear that Pamela had won, Eliane in second and me in the bronze medal position. Even more impressive, both had come second and third in the overall women’s classification, taking home not only medals but cash prizes as well, and the fastest woman was heavyweight Mae Joyce Gay from the USA. I was thrilled to have won bronze, but also started to feel really flat that my time wasn’t closer to the winner. I had beaten former World Champion Daniela Nachazelova into fourth, and was tenth fastest woman overall, but I couldn’t help being disappointed as well. I suppose the day I stop wanting to be better and better is the day I ought to hang up my blades! Tom had a good race I believe, coming in fourth in the Men’s Masters A, and I think he’ll have another crack at it next year as well. We both have slightly unfinished business!
After the presentation, Richard headed off cycling and I chilled out at the hotel, before going out for supper and THE BEST pistachio ice cream I have EVER tasted!
So, onwards to the next event, which is the Indoor Champs this Sunday and then the Scullers’ Head on the 27th. I’m feeling a bit odd today, feeling like I’m fighting off a cold. I wonder if I’d sweated so much in Turin, and got chilled in the cold air, or if it’s the temperature in the gym at LA Fitness where I do my weights and core stability sessions. I’m sure it’ll all be fine, and I seem to feel a lot better about ergos after working on some issues with Jules. We did at board breaking exercise, where you write down your inhibitions, your limiting beliefs and negative thoughts on one side, and all the opposites on the other side. Needless to say, there was a lot to go on, and it took about two hours for me to get through it, with me at one point standing as far away from the board as I could get, to eventually gathering up every ounce of frustration, emotion and feeling of unworthiness that have built up over the years and, well, this is the result: Not two, but smashed into three pieces!
So I feel as though I have laid a few demons to rest!
We'll see where it takes me!
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