Bad Ass Coxswain

I love coxswains. Really and truly. My husband listens to me talk about them, and wonders why I don't have such emotion in my voice when I talk about him. I think of a coxswain as the preacher. The mother. The liar. The dreamweaver.

A good coxswain can convince 8 individuals to believe in one thing. She can make us think we are fast. We need to pull harder. We are the best. She loves us. We are capable of the impossible. We can win Worlds! She is a dreamweaver. And, if she is really good, she can be sweet and kind and encouraging while kicking our collective butts all in the same sentence.

We are so fortunate to have so many good coxswains. I learn from each of them, and I will play the field happily. They each offer me lessons that I need to learn. But today, I confess, my rower's heart belongs to Mandi--the Bad Ass Coxswain.

Mandi is starting with us part-way into the season. Dragged along by a teammate, she shows up for a 5am practice in late April in the pitch dark. The weather is awful. Torrential rains, 30 knot winds, 6 foot swells, and 40 degrees--a recipe for rowing disaster and hypothermia.

The coaches announce we are staying inside to erg. [One coach is Serbian--accustomed to nicer Balkan weather, I guess, but the other is from Chicago--really, you would think that Matt would embrace this weather from nostalgia, if nothing else.] But we rowers are hardcore. Afterall, rowing is, in the words of a teammate, a water sport. Weather doesn't scare us. Rain isn't a problem. Wind--have at us! Waves!? Ha. Our coaches' wakes are bigger than anything nature can give us!

So we convince the skeptical coaches to let us go out on the water. All without a thought to our new coxswain. I glance over at her, wondering if she will quit on the first day.

Mandi--big brown eyes under her Smith Crew hat--smiles broadly at this new announcement.

This is a good sign. She is not afraid to get wet.

As a new rower in stroke seat, my coxswain is essential. Without her, I am dumber than a golden retriever on Ambien.  I like looking into my coxswain's face for reassurance. I hate seeing her disappointment, and I will do anything--including pull harder, or faster, or longer--just to make her smile. Today, Mandi's smile is working for me.

We are soaked through before we get into the boats. We settle ourselves into our seats, adjust our foot stretchers and spacers, and head out into the storm. The geese--who usually fight us for space on the docks--are gone--no doubt hibernating in the nor'easter'.

Our pick drill is sloppy--the waves slap at the squared oars and toss the boat to port and then starboard. We have a fierce tail wind, so the connection is hard to find. Our boat moves quickly though, as our squared oars act as sails. Before we know it, it is time to spin and do our pieces.

Into the headwind.

Over the 6 foot swells.

Through the wall of sideways driven rain.

I look tentatively at Mandi, and her reassuring smile broadens. "Anyone can row in good weather. It takes some BAD-ASS rowers to row in bad-ass rain!" she cries gleefully.

And I know that each of us, nestled into our sliding seats, oar handle crooked in our bent knees, is feeling a little more pride...a little more strength...a little more self-confidence...a little more BAD-ASS because of this tornado. (We are also shivering uncontrollably in the cold.)

So we start the piece--working hard just to keep the boat moving into the wind. Mandi cheerfully calls out the catches, and a couple of power tens. Her boathouse jacket is zipped up over her ears, and she crunches down into her seat. Her voice is soothingly rhythmic, urging us into one catch, one drive, one swing. Then, the magic begins. Suddenly, Mandi puts on her "man voice":

"Narragansett is up 2 seats on Starboard. Greenwich is up by 1 on Port. Are we gonna let that happen, ladies? I DON'T THINK SO! Let's PRESS on those legs! BIG QUADS! Let's go, ladies! We are moving on Greenwich, let's focus for ten!"

And we do. Whatever it is, Mandi has tapped into that motherlode that motivates us to pull. By creating that imaginary race, with our opponents in the lead, we press harder, swing more aggressively, and work to take them, seat by seat, through the driving rain, over the waves, through the headwind. Mandi moves us. We move the boat.

"That's IT, we are even with Greenwich and just one seat down on Narragansett. You are BAD-ASS ROWERS, Ladies! Let's make a move here! Elbows all the way back. Punch them through the wind. Hit the rower behind you. Reach for the bow ball with those elbows. You REALLY WANT IT! Let's take this boat forward!"

And we move. I feel Greenwich's boat on my port. I feel the splash of their oars. I sense their mounting frustration as we pull through them. I want to pass Narragansett. I rotate just a little more around my rigger for more water. I press harder. The whole boat follows. We all want this. We are stronger than the rain, bigger than the waves, more powerful than the wind. We will beat Greenwich. We will beat Narragansett. Because we are BAD-ASS ROWERS!

"That's it, ladies! We have moved past Greenwich and are walking through Narragansett! Let's take ten to push on through! And ONE..." and she rallies us with her count. She makes us push harder. She makes us happy that the weather is crappy because it means we are tougher, meaner, badder, faster. More HARD CORE.

Mandi calls out encouragingly, cheering us on "We've done it! We've taken Narragansett! Well done ladies! Let's head for the finish!" as she calls out the final ten. Eight strokes in, she calls "Woo-hoo! Let it FLY!"

And it does. Into the wind. Into the driving rain. Into the 8 foot waves.

Our boat flies through the water. Or at least that is what we believe. That is our dream.

Today our preacher, mother, liar and dreamweaver is Mandi. She is bad ass.