Rowing in December is an invigorating challenge for some and absolute insanity for others. ‘Cold’ is a description most would agree on however, and the morning of December the 6th was no exception. Yet the boaties of the Cam are hardy folk, and so when at 11.20 W2 arrived at the boathouse we were greeted to the sight of a river full of crews all shivering slightly in their coordinated lycra, and all with the same look of gritty determination in their eyes.
It could only mean one thing: Fairbairn’s.
With our boathouse position for once being advantageous, we took our time with the warm-up and got Owen out in a leisurely fashion. A nearby Robinson boat provoked some discussion as we settled into our seats- gold tinsel had been wrapped around each rigger, with the cox dressed as Santa. While some appreciated the effort as ‘cute’, others deemed the frivolity a folly: ‘Fairbairn’s is no joke’.
It was soon time to leave the shelter of the boathouse behind and push out ourselves. By this point, we had a full complement of coaches (2- Alex and John, the latter of the two having just raced the course himself) and a respectable bank party. With a wave from the college President and a deep intake of breath as we removed the last of our fleeces, we were off.
Jesus boathouse was seemingly suddenly upon us and the race had begun. We started off strongly and settled into our race pace. It was after the first few minutes that the realisation dawned upon me and I suddenly realised exactly how long five kilometres was- namely: really really long. The cold wasn’t helping- soon the muscles in my lower arms were protesting loudly and numbness was spreading from my fingertips. Visions of amputated fingers due to frostbite crossed my mind…what an infallible excuse for not handing in an essay!
But I deemed it was too high a price for the loss of limbs and so resolved to finish the race as quickly as possible. I’m sure everyone in the boat felt similarly. At points my mind started to wander, filling up with images of warmth and comfort- duvets, mugs of hot chocolate, volcanoes… At other points, parts of my brain were just screaming ‘WHY?’, while the parts controlling my muscle movement carried on regardless. However, cox Nadia’s calls kept us focussed and kept my internal existential inner monologues at a minimum. Timely input from our bank party also ensured that we kept up our power but didn’t forsake our technique. The sight of Ying’s infamous video camera forced us all to sit up a little straighter.
We knew we were being chased distantly by Corpus, and so were anxious when on the Reach a similarly dressed crew appeared to be gaining upon us. If anything, this stiffened our resolve (Mollie had made it very clear that we were NOT getting overtaken) and we kept pushing hard against the footplates. With some excellent corners from Nadia we were through the stretch of river I know only as ‘the wiggly bit’, with an excellent burst in front of the Plough.
Then Nadia uttered the words we had been waiting all race to hear…’I can see the finish!’. I now fully realise that on this straight stretch of river, the eye can see a pretty long way. We rallied valiantly and prepared to empty the tank (not that there was much left at all in my tank at this point). Digging hard, and with the mystery crew in front still bearing down upon us we sailed through the finish line, which thankfully wasn’t a mirage (in my delirious state mid-race I had wondered if this was a very cruel joke and we were actually going to have to row forever and ever).
Calls to wind it down were music to our crew’s ears as the identity of our mysterious chasers was revealed: a Fitz alumni boat! Worthy opponents indeed. We paddled down and settled next to our W1, with Octopussy and Owen slotting sweetly together like sibling boats. With some deft acrobatics, Mollie was able to manoeuvre herself out of the boat (having to run off to be a Varsity rep) and Pauline joined the crew for the row home. After replenishing our energy stores with copious amounts of Haribo, we set off back to the boathouse.
All in all, an exhausting yet rewarding experience- and one that affirmed for me what rowing in December (and year round) is all about- certainly the cold (which I think I’ve mentioned once or twice in the above paragraphs) but also overcoming the cold and working as a crew in the face of muscle cramp and even frostbite (cold fingers for the less melodramatic) to row across the finish line. A heart-warming and frostbite-dispelling feeling indeed. Brrrring on next year I say.
Nina Jones, W2