Rower

It's a personal thing.

Below the surface of the spectacle and festivity, apart from the thousands of visiting competitors, the Harvard oarsman has a special relationship with the Head of the Charles.

For him it is more a ritual than a race.

Fall rites.

It is certainly a reunion. Crews from the previous spring's campaign re-assemble, and get another chance to perform...

Perform for themselves.

On the same river. In the same boat.

The summer months begin to fade.

Coach Parker provides the initial spark in early October when he suggests that the squad begin thinking about boating up. But it is only a spark. His role soon diminishes as the crews are responsible for their own training.

And this goes on for the few weeks before therace. Rowing with the Head boat in the morning,and with the team in the afternoon.

And although each oarsman has rowed the entirelength of the river many times over, he looksforward to those mornings. Alone with his crew andhis river. For the time being he is convinced that'this is what the Head is all about.'

And then the day arrives.

It's a personal thing.

Walking down to the boathouse.

Putting on the racing shirt.

Carrying the shell down to the water.

Rowing down to the starting area.

Taking a few warm-up pieces.

All of these are 'what I remember most' at onetime or another.

The start is chaotic, to say the least, 50 or60 boats trying to funnel through the narrowstarting line.

In correct order.

Ten seconds apart.

It feels like an eternity until the bow finallycrosses, but it is all quickly forgotten.

The first 15 to 20 strokes are furious. Theboat sets a precedent for itself, a pace that getsit into the race in a hurry, and something it canreturn to just before the finish.

There is no thinking, here. Only pulling.

At the end of the "start," the coxswain callsfor a settle. The crew takes the stroke ratingdown to a comfortable rhythm. Everyone isconcentrating hard on making the boat feel light.

In 15 to 20 more strokes, the boat has roundedthe first turn, and is confronted with thePowerhouse. It is on this long straight-away thatthe boats were decided last spring.

Race up. Switch. Race down.

The memories of those spring afternoons blendin with the struggle at hand. A mesh of imageryonly the Harvard oarsman is fortunate enough tounderstand. For the time being he is convincedthat 'this is what the Head is all about.'

At the end of the Powerhouse, the boat is wellinto its second mile. The coxswain has the task ofguiding the crew through a series of difficultturns. His voice echoes as the boat passes underthe bridges. A familiar sound.

The people on the bridges above recognize theCrimson color, and cheer the boat on--anunfamiliar but welcomed sound.

At the two-mile mark, the oarsman can see theHarvard boathouse out of the corner of his eye.

The long dock. The balconies. The flag.

The sight carries him well into the third mile.

Under the Eliot Bridge.

Under five minutes to go.

The oarsman remembers the Friday races when theentire squad splits up into even boats, and runsthe Head of the Charles course. He remembers theday they did it twice.

Only the sprint stands between the boat and thefinish line. Fifteen to 20 furious strokes. Thereis no thinking, here. Only pulling.

It's a personal thing.

Rowing back to the boathouse, the oarsman canlook at the spectacle and the festivity that hemissed before. He can look at the thousands ofvisiting competitors.

The race is over. The ritual is completed.

This is what the Head is all about.