WORLD CHAMPIONS.

Heats Start

Butterfly: Now.

Two races, nine days, and as many more practices after landing in Prague, I've got to say: my legs are feelin' it. Regardless of all the weeks spent training on Mercer Lake, and the many months before that leading up to the Selection process, the physical demands of Worlds are truly unlike any other at the junior level. The racing is only part of the trouble; the combination of thousands of miles of travel, unfamiliar foreign diets, and high levels of stress simply breaks the body down. Most years, athletes have been known to lose more than just a pound or two over the course of their stays abroad. Given that I'll eat virtually any kind of food that's put on my plate, and that I'm morally opposed to not eating all of the food at my table (including other people's), I can't say that weight loss has rung true for me, thankfully. The food at the venue has continued to be terrific (especially for absurd amount they must produce every day), and though I leave full every day, I have nonetheless felt empty inside after a number of meals because my very soul has been defeated by the sheer quantity of nourishment. The hot food was certainly a friend today, though; without it, I may quite possibly have frozen to death.

As one may have deduced from my small hint at the end of that paragraph, today was more than a bit chilly. In between the morning and afternoon race sessions today, we took out the eight for two laps of the course, fine-tuning our plan in preparation for tomorrow's race. I was under the impression that it was against international law for it to be cold during the summer; apparently I was erroneous in that regard. While the temperatures weren't too too cold (around 60 Fahrenheit), the torrential rain was not whatsoever enjoyable, particularly after we stopped rowing. In typical New Englander fashion, I refused to wear my splash jacket and instead opted for a uni and longsleeve only; even after we got off the water, I remained in those clothes, which was probably not such a good idea, in retrospect. Regardless, I lived to write the blog; that's all that matters.

I am now led into the final part of said blog, into what will most probably be one of the last posts I make. I thus feel obliged to offer some sort of lesson, to convey some higher knowledge that I have acquired during my time with the Junior team. I feel obliged to put forth what I have learned from coaches and experiences, in a concentrated puff of my idea of how a junior crew can become "special." The truth is, rowing is a very simple sport. If you win your seat races, you will earn your spot in the boat; if you put your bowball in front, you will earn your spot on the medal stands. Go faster than everyone else, and you win. Simple. Earn what is yours, and you will have it. But what of that enigma presented by our sport, that it relies on absolute teamwork for victory? That, my friends, is more difficult to resolve. In spite of one's greatest attempts to earn one's goals, the synergy of rowing may seem to flutter away, exactly when it is needed most. The phenomenon is exactly like.. a Butterfly. The butterfly is that inexplicable flow, that "Eywa" of sorts that yields incredible boatspeed. The butterfly is ephemeral for most. For novice crews, the butterfly can be seen from afar and is attractive, but proves too difficult to coax in. For JV crews and the majority of junior crews, the butterfly continues to operate on its own will, though the crew's utmost efforts may attract it now and then. For the best crews, the butterfly is commanded. "Butterfly: Now." Come where you belong. This brings boatspeed; this brings victory. If you want to race at the highest levels of the sport, this is what you must attain. We will need the butterfly dearly in our race tomorrow. If we lack complete command, we will fail; but if we do something truly poised, truly mature, we will demand the butterfly's presence, and it will carry us to victory. That is precisely what we need to win, to be "special".
Butterfly: Now.

'MERRICA in Račice

Thanks to Dr. Walkley, as well as our USRowing Press Officer, for supplying the photos.

POZOR VLAK

On the USJMNT, we like to think of ourselves as one singular, massive, freight train, barreling unyieldingly down the tracks at whichever poor soul might be in our way. We are a fearsome bunch; just as with a train, one can easy detect our presence from many leagues away. When we pass other crews on the water at Račice, it seems as though the very liquid on which they rest is raging and quaking, as if the world as they know it is descending to the wrathful gates of Hell. Such an occurrence cannot be reproduced by our foe; at the same time, though, the Czechs have a phrase which I think adequately describes the phenomenon, as they are the host nation and thus must be prepared for these things. This phrase is “POZOR VLAK.” Appearing on train-traffic-stop-signs galore, we believe it translates loosely as “ATTENTION. TRAIN.” Given the amount of times this appears along our route to the course, it seems only logical that this should serve as a spiritual indicator to us, reinforcing our aforementioned locomotive status. It is also a warning to other crews. “ATTENTION. The AMERICAN freight train is comin’, and y’all best get out the way.”

I think that pretty much sums up our Račice experience thus far. If you would like a more complete assessment, please dial 1....

>

>

>

>

1.

We’ve been in the Czech Republic for a few days now, and our daily practice schedule is steadily becoming more and more normalized. At the beginning, I got up at 6:20 every morning for the early breakfast shift at 6:30; since then, the entire schedule has been pushed back a half hour, and I now wake up in roughly the middle of the day, at 6:50. Coach Campbell generously offered for the sweep boys to take the earlier of the two breakfast shifts, which actually did not bother me at all, because my internal clock is so discombobulated from waking up before 5 and changing through 6 timezones that I most definitely would not be able to sleep any longer anyway. At this hotel-supplied European continental breakfast, we enjoy an assortment of breads, meats, cheeses, sometimes fruits, always carrot salads, and frequently apple juices. There is also unflavoured yogurt, which I personally fancy when spruced up with honey and some sort of underground black-market Czech granola. None of us really need worry about digesting the foods quickly before practicing, because the shuttle to the course does not technically leave until 9:00 (but apparently here 9:00=8:53?). Yet I digress. In the mornings at the course, we typically go on an approximately one-mile warmup run, on which we conduct small bouts of surveillance, and mix in a tad of international relations along the way. One day a Canadian coach said hello to us; it was very flustering, because the genuine niceness of the gesture threatened to overwhelm our utmost concentration at remaining stone-cold killers. Of rowing. Anyway, we continued on our merry way, and went out for a regular row similar to those back in Jerz. Between this morning row and the afternoon row at about 2:30, we do not return to the hotel; instead, we loiter around the course. Thankfully, the grandstands and the cafeteria in which we eat are both geared with free wifi, so I can essentially kill two birds with one stone, and loiter while simultaneously meeting my daily requirement for Facebook stalking. During this in-between time, another integral part of competition unfurls; eating competitions. The athletes all eat lunch in one area, so our competition always knows when we are displaying weakness behind the fork and knife. This is where our efforts at the Americana and elsewhere truly come in handy; rather than let the Germans believe we are incapable of downing the last bit of chicken and rice, we show them up by getting another plate. Folly, you might say? Absolutely not. Mind games. We Americans are champions at mind games. You don’t believe me? Fine, don’t obey the sacred POZOR VLAK. You’ll be sorry. Trust me, when the American Pain-Train hits you square in the face, you’ll be real sorry. POZOR VLAK: train inbound. 'MERRICAN style.

Račice: Day 2