August 17, 2006 - Confidence, Tiff! Confidence!
“The Amateurs” is undoubtedly one of the best and most widely-read rowing books of all time. As the author, David Halberstam, chronicles the quest of four scullers on their quest to represent the United States in the Olympic games, he goes into great detail about their personalities, their backgrounds, and the other traits and life experiences that carved them into elite level rowers.
One of the stories Halberstam tells is of Tiff Wood: the tough, outspoken favorite to win the men’s single. In college, though, rowing with Harvard’s “rude and smooth” crew, Tiff was not always sure of himself. In one race, in particular, his boat was given orders to take an early lead and hold it. The directions were followed, but, in his worry that they might be caught, Tiff started screaming for the stroke to take the rating up and pull away from the other boat. All the while, Tiff’s coach was riding alongside the race course on a bike yelling simply, “Confidence Tiff! Confidence!”
Out of the whole book, that’s the one quote I remember, and it’s the last thing that goes through my mind before every race. This morning we had a mock heat against a double of former international national team heavyweight men. They took us off the start—which I expected—but they managed to hold the lead and win by about a seat and a half, which I did not expect.
It was frustrating, because we rowed well. Personally, this was the first one kilometer piece on the water during which my legs felt the same level of pain that they do on the erg. I really thought we’d be faster.
So here is the realization: all the motivational talk, goal-setting, and eloquent writing are just an exercise in semantic gymnastics if you can’t anchor your blade in the water and pry your boat past it faster than your competition. A lesson hard-learned, I will not forget it during the next 9 days or probably during my life time.
I might sound a little morose; I’m not. A heavyweight men’s pair without coxswain, especially one composed of elite level rowers, should be able to beat a mixed four with coxswain over 1,000 meters. There was much to be happy about, too. Our start was very nice, our rating came up easily and our settle felt awesome. The rate didn’t creep down at all during the piece. We took water during our mid-race move, and we felt really long and relaxed, so much so that our coach was surprised to see how high the stroke rating actually was. Most importantly, we absolutely did not lose our cool and never, never broke. There was no let up whatsoever, and that is very satisfying to me.
I just hate losing, even in practices. I’m not shaken, not worried, not upset (anymore). I just got a little taste of the bitterness that I train so hard to avoid. I don’t think anyone would like me to be any different, though. A stroke should hate, maybe even fear, losing more than anything else in the world. For me, there is no thought of second place when I’m at the starting line or during a race. There is only driving the boat, looking for a way to win, holding out hope until the finish is past. As I told my dad before selection camp, I have no contingencies for failure.
My focus is higher than it has ever been. The trust I have in my team mates is unflappable. Though I know that I’m far from being a perfect rower, when I sit ready at the catch waiting for our first race, I will believe that I’m unstoppable, unshakeable, unbreakable, and invincible. That’s the only way I know to approach a race. Confidence, Jamie! Confidence!
One of the stories Halberstam tells is of Tiff Wood: the tough, outspoken favorite to win the men’s single. In college, though, rowing with Harvard’s “rude and smooth” crew, Tiff was not always sure of himself. In one race, in particular, his boat was given orders to take an early lead and hold it. The directions were followed, but, in his worry that they might be caught, Tiff started screaming for the stroke to take the rating up and pull away from the other boat. All the while, Tiff’s coach was riding alongside the race course on a bike yelling simply, “Confidence Tiff! Confidence!”
Out of the whole book, that’s the one quote I remember, and it’s the last thing that goes through my mind before every race. This morning we had a mock heat against a double of former international national team heavyweight men. They took us off the start—which I expected—but they managed to hold the lead and win by about a seat and a half, which I did not expect.
It was frustrating, because we rowed well. Personally, this was the first one kilometer piece on the water during which my legs felt the same level of pain that they do on the erg. I really thought we’d be faster.
So here is the realization: all the motivational talk, goal-setting, and eloquent writing are just an exercise in semantic gymnastics if you can’t anchor your blade in the water and pry your boat past it faster than your competition. A lesson hard-learned, I will not forget it during the next 9 days or probably during my life time.
I might sound a little morose; I’m not. A heavyweight men’s pair without coxswain, especially one composed of elite level rowers, should be able to beat a mixed four with coxswain over 1,000 meters. There was much to be happy about, too. Our start was very nice, our rating came up easily and our settle felt awesome. The rate didn’t creep down at all during the piece. We took water during our mid-race move, and we felt really long and relaxed, so much so that our coach was surprised to see how high the stroke rating actually was. Most importantly, we absolutely did not lose our cool and never, never broke. There was no let up whatsoever, and that is very satisfying to me.
I just hate losing, even in practices. I’m not shaken, not worried, not upset (anymore). I just got a little taste of the bitterness that I train so hard to avoid. I don’t think anyone would like me to be any different, though. A stroke should hate, maybe even fear, losing more than anything else in the world. For me, there is no thought of second place when I’m at the starting line or during a race. There is only driving the boat, looking for a way to win, holding out hope until the finish is past. As I told my dad before selection camp, I have no contingencies for failure.
My focus is higher than it has ever been. The trust I have in my team mates is unflappable. Though I know that I’m far from being a perfect rower, when I sit ready at the catch waiting for our first race, I will believe that I’m unstoppable, unshakeable, unbreakable, and invincible. That’s the only way I know to approach a race. Confidence, Jamie! Confidence!
posted by Jamie at 3:45 PM
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