Rowing is for Life (not just for the Boat Race)

I never reached the dizzy heights, nor indeed the sickening pain thresholds, of the Boat Race, but rowing was a big part of my life at Oxford forty years ago. No one forgets those 5am starts, climbing over the high gates into Port Meadow, running with your crew to the river and heading off for an outing. For the next ninety minutes there was nowhere to hide. Every limb had to wake up fast to get with the programme, and your body had to be perfectly aligned with the rest of the team in an exercise that was as much about symmetry as strength. At one level you felt very human, sweating, panting, having a forceful conversation with your muscles to keep going. On the other hand, the aim was to strip all mortal weakness out of the mix and become part of a slick machine.

A full fry-up back at college was well earned though I invariably fell asleep afterwards when I was meant to be working. Rowing demanded a routine, and though it could be tedious as well as challenging, it gave shape to my student life. The camaraderie was powerful, yet each of us was in fierce competition with each other for selection before we got anywhere near competing with other crews.

Circuit training was brutal and the scores for the first Eight were displayed at the entrance to the dining hall so everyone at college could see if you deserved your place. Success was celebrated, and a separate table was laid up twice a week with steak ‘n chips for the lead boat, with a pint of full fat milk each to wash it down. Nutrition has moved on now, but if your performance slips, you’ll still get dropped, and the crew only wins when every member is at his or her best.

My rowing these days is a different affair. It’s solitary for a start. Not many of us can juggle family, career and friends whilst committing to the rigid demands of a squad. So, I’m now in my own beautiful boat, a treat to myself on turning fifty, heading out when the tide is right and compatible with other demands. There is no stroke to follow, no cox to direct, and no coach demanding more effort.

There, in many ways, lies the joy of single sculling; an hour or so of “me time”, when you’re off the grid and cannot answer a phone or shout. I become acutely aware of nature, slotting into the ecosystem of the Thames, as I pass a heron, dodge some debris, disrupt the ducks and, invariably on the Tideway these days, navigate through a bank of swans. There’s ebb and flow, the stream can be gentle or a force to be reckoned with, and the weather sometimes changes mid-paddle.

The physical benefits are obvious, but the positive impact on mood and mental health is even greater. I have a masochistic streak professionally that has made me seek out situations most people would avoid at all costs. Many of those for me have been in politics where rowing provided a metaphor that somehow lightened the load. When you are sculling you are very conscious of the forces around you, vulnerable to being hit, and alone. In any boat, no matter how much effort you put in, you can’t really see where you’re heading and you are almost always moving backwards. Frontline politics in recent years has felt a lot like that – only worse.

There are times, of course, when all of us feel overwhelmed, and after one difficult and public setback, I felt a pressing urge to lock the door, cancel all engagements and pull up the duvet. The temptation to surrender and shut out the world can be strong, though rarely wise. So, in my case, I headed for the river, climbed into my boat, and sculled in the sunshine until I was exhausted and sore. Putting the boat away was a real struggle. Then came a large glass of wine, some hearty food, and a couple of hours of deep sleep. As I drifted back to consciousness the world seemed a far better place, and I was eager to re-engage.

So good luck to this year’s crews. They have earned this massive moment of recognition and their participation – win or lose – will be an achievement for life. And the sport – if they want it to be – will be an ongoing source of physical and mental resilience, comfort and pleasure.