Streaking through the water, the boat hit its rhythmic pause in progress as all eight men shift their weight forward, preparing for the next stroke. In that moment I realise there is no other sport like rowing.
I can see our place in the world. Sitting stroke, setting our pace, I can see past our coxswain screaming at us, I can see to the boats we were racing, the boats we were beating.
Muscles screaming, lungs full at the catch, lungs empty at the finish. Repeat.
There is no other battle like it, no battle that lets you stare back to see who you are beating. I can see you, I am beating you, I think as I dig my oar in again and again. This gives me strength. Runners don’t know where they are in the world, they cross the line with a look of fear in their eyes. Where are they? Their eyes scream. Did I win?
Not me. Not my boys. My men. We are winning and we all know it. We punish ourselves as we punish them, breaking the finish line a boat length ahead.
The cox looks at me with a smile, “Great race Victor.”
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