The Club's Results

As I was planning to claim that my attempt at the fancy dress for this race was "pretending to be someone who can remember how to scull", I wasn't expecting much; my plan had been to get an outing in or two during the week to remind myself what to do with two blades, but the river decided to be frozen for most of the times I fancied going out.

I discovered on the way down that my finishes were, as expected, abysmal if I put any pressure down, but not so bad if I kept the rate high and tapped it along.

After some banter with the two pairs crazy enough to be racing, and a Hughes Hall/Lucy Cavendish mixed eight who kept asking me whether I knew Saulty, I set off in a very wobbly fashion at as high a rate as seemed plausible.
It quickly turned out that having persuaded Tom O'Neill to come along to steer was crucial; I came round half the corners to find myself unable to see anything (including the banks) on the next straight due to the low afternoon sun.
By the white footbridge (designated as halfway) my combination of no fitness and no technique were starting to drag the rate and the speed down, until I realised there was a real possibility of being caught by the Hughes/Lucy eight who had started a minute behind me.
Not relishing the prospect of having to row the last canalised section in their wash, I decided to pick up the pace and hold them as long as I could. It turned out they couldn't sprint very fast, and only went from a (single) length down to 1/4 of a length down from the Emma footbridge to the finish outside Goldie, at which point I conveniently collapsed onto the bank.

Top tip for the day: It turns out returning the three cheers of the crew you've just raced to the line sounds really pathetic on your own, particularly when you run out of breath after two... (Peter)

They definitely got two a canvas, definitely three whistles, maybe even continuous coming past Tit Hall boathouse. (Thomas)

You had a banksteerer??! Surely that's cheating...! (Ulrike)