As I stood in the booth chatting to people, it occurred to me that besides good racing, the Crew Classic provided an ideal setting for the brotherhood of rowing. The brotherhood connects real rowing people. Teammates who haven't visited in years came together, and so do former opponents who once battled like mortal enemies. Suddenly they discovered they have much more in common. Long live the brotherhood of rowing.

I slapped my face two or three times with both hands, as hard as possible. The slapping hurt. It snapped me to attention. My adrenaline started flowing... the Yugoslavs, sitting in the next lane stared at me in disbelief. The harsh slapping made me angry-exactly what I wanted. I did my best work when I was angry.

Rigging is like Zen meditation. You must bend over the boat until your back is breaking, until your brain is filled with numbers and fractions of numbers, until you can accurately measure an oarlock's pitch without bothering to use the pitch meter. Only then will you see the way of eternal rigging happiness.

As I stood in the booth chatting to people, it occurred to me that besides good racing, the Crew Classic provided an ideal setting for the brotherhood of rowing. The brotherhood connects real rowing people. Teammates who haven't visited in years came together, and so do former opponents who once battled like mortal enemies. Suddenly they discovered they have much more in common. Long live the brotherhood of rowing.

Big guys like you and me aren't allowed to whine.

Like any good drug, anger can mask all reality. But anger is not an easy emotion to call up on demand, which is why an enemy is so wonderful. You're tired. Didn't sleep well. You have zero energy. Then you get lucky. You pull into the boathouse parking lot and see your favorite enemy. Celebrate. Your workout is saved. One look at that chowderhead can put you into the angerzone. As you turn off your car, you can feel your whole physical being change. Respiration increases. The dull look on your face is magically transformed into the power-stare of a true rowing warriot.

One training device is the ergometer. I never owned one, never trained on one, and practically never used one. The few national team tests I took on ergs were dismal failures, which worked wonders to further my dislike of these beastly creatures. Boring. Tedious. Noisy. Ergs have greatly cheapened rowing. Graceless. Greasy. Grim. The erg is to rowing what having sex by yourself is to having sex. Stop it!