For the uninitiated (and for those who enjoy reading me rambling, which is hopefully most of you because it's gonna happen a lot), rowing as a sport has two variations: sweeping, where every rower has only one oar that sticks out to either side of the boat, and sculling, where each person has two oars. Pairs, fours, and eights are sweep boats; singles, doubles, and quads are sculling. As a group, each of the eight of us has a different level of sculling experience, with me coming in near the bottom (meaning that I can count the number of times I've done it on my fingers, and the last time was well over a year ago). This, naturally, means that I'm going to end up doing it the most during small boats sessions.
Teaching sweepers to scull has plenty of benefits. Being forced to apply power equally through both halves of your body helps keep your muscles balanced out, and since the boats tend to be smaller and less stable a premium is placed on technique, efficiency, and control. Many rowers find that spending time in the single, the smallest and least stable boat, is the best way to develop the kind of boat feel that lets them move bigger boats the best they can. Sometimes rowers can even find more success as scullers than sweepers, as with this guy:
For those who don't know, the above image is the first thing that comes up when you google Mahe Drysdale, who went from being 5th in the straight four in the Athens Olympics to winning four world championships in a row in the single. Unfortunately, as I learned during my first outing in the majestic training single known as the "Grey Beast", me in a single bears a closer to resemblance to this specimen:
For those who don't know, the above image is the first thing that comes up when you google the words "drunken monkey". (That caption is technically inaccurate, since chimpanzees are classified as apes rather than monkeys, but for the purposes of this blog it's sufficient to convey my message.)
I can pinpoint various reasons for this comparative lack of grace and finesse in sculling boats. Lack of experience is the biggest factor: boat feel is something I feel like I have a decent grasp of in pairs or fours (though obviously something I'm still trying to improve), but trying to find it again in a mostly foreign motion is a whole other enchilada. On top of that, my body has become so used to rowing starboard over the last few years that one side is actually stronger than the other - a point that really got hammered home earlier today when I discovered that, during continuous rowing, I am physically incapable of turning a sculling boat to starboard. Add all this to the fact that I am in the midst of a long-standing and bitter feud with my shoulders over where they should be going during the rowing stroke, and things can get very ugly very fast.
But, for all the blood, sweat and tears that are shed during these sessions, the silver lining is that I do learn more about rowing every time I go out - things like gripping the handle, feeling connection through the oar, and engaging the various muscle groups in my back during the stroke. (My thanks and gratitude also to Austin, who was a very patient and wise mentor today in bow seat of our double.) Of course, this pales in comparison to the other silver lining, which is that tomorrow we're back in the eight - with a change in the lineup, no less. This change promises to bring some sorrow to the boat with the dissolution of our beloved bucket, but also both curiosity - who will stroke? who will bow? how will middle four function without the stabilizing force of our 4-5 bucket rig? - and excitement - maybe this time I'll be out of 3 seat!
But probably not.
Cheers,
Christian
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