Course Correction by Ginny Gilder Read Free Book Online Page B

pair of pillars standing different widths apart. Not only did she have to avoid the bridge obstacles, our coxswain had to exit the bridge without crossing the line of buoys that started on the other side of the bridge on the shore side. We came through cleanly, our blades touching nothing but water, and the coxswain set our course just off the starboard buoys as we rowed past Magazine Beach.
    Things got serious right after that because I started to feel winded, which helped calm me down. Can I do this? Although the wind was not a factor, all the boats rowing ahead of us rippled the water’s surface, creating unsettling wakes. When our shell rocked side to side, I had to think about how to adjust my hand height to help steady it. Thank goodness for our coxswain, who reminded the starboards to pull in high and the ports to lower their hands.
    The first big turn approached. The port rowers rowed extra hard to help the coxswain power the boat around the corner that ended at Riverside Boat Club. This steering adjustment put us into the Powerhouse Stretch, a three-quarter mile section of race course devoid of turns. We passed uneventfully through two low, arched bridges with spectators leaning over the sides, snapping photos and cheering loudly.
    The first mile marker bobbed between the bridges, and our coxswain took note. “We’re a third of the way through! Let’s take a power ten for the legs! On this one …” I made sure my next catch dropped in with extra crispness and my legs powered through the stroke in spite of the tiredness that had already crept into the edge of my consciousness.
    As we came through the bridge near the end of the straight stretch, we overtook our first crew, forcing its coxswain to steer away from the buoys and take a wider path along the course. We cruised by them like they were standing still. Seeing the effect of our collective effort was thrilling. I felt reenergized. I wanted to pass someone else.
    A giant turn lay ahead, where the river swerved hard to port under the Weeks Footbridge, the race’s halfway point. Our coxswain maneuvered us into perfect position at just the right moment, and the crew we overtook veered into the middle of the river while we took the shortest route. Our boat felt strong as we headed into the second half of the race, but I could feel my legs tiring. I concentrated on keeping time with the rest of my crew.
    We rowed under the Anderson Bridge, near Harvard Square, and caught another crew. Our coxswain warned us as we started to pass, “This is going to be tight on port.” Sure enough, our port blades clashed with their starboard ones as our coxswain fought for the course she wanted, asserting her right as the overtaking crew to choose her line: “Don’t stop! We’re almost by them.” The boat rocked unsteadilyas the port rowers struggled to hold on to their oars and keep rowing. My left hand banged on the starboard gunwale. Ow!
    We finished passing and won a clear shot to the start of the next big turn, a full 180-degree, half-mile-long curve to port. The entire starboard side would need to help pull the boat around for a couple of minutes, just as I was starting to flail. I concentrated on pushing my legs down and finishing each stroke. But I couldn’t block out the rising desperation as my muscles cataloged their aches and broadcast repeated requests to ease up, warning of imminent breakdown. I struggled to keep my focus and not to speculate about how much longer I could pull hard.
    One more bridge to get through and one more big turn, and we would be done. As we emerged from under the Eliot Bridge, I heard cheering for Yale. That was for us! I heard, “Go Gilder!” and almost smiled. My first-ever cheerleaders! I hunkered down and kept my eyes on the back in front of me, even though my arms were ready to fall off.
    We rounded the last turn and took our last forty strokes. That minute-plus took forever …