Continuing from yesterday’s part one post…

Not apologizing after doing something wrong

First, what mistakes can coxswains make during a practice? Here’s a few from my list (no promise they won’t happen again): Forgetting the meeting spot after the launch, counting extra strokes, confusing port/starboard, confusing bow/stern, cutting into someone else’s lane, making the team wait longer to start a piece because of my point, hitting a buoy, missing the dock……

It is always too hectic for me to even think about uttering, “I am sorry.” There are so many thoughts going through my head, and I often miss the chance to apologize before the team moves onto what’s next. Then I feel like I should just let it go.

However, when I was rowing in a boat with a coxswain who was primarily a rower, I heard her point out her mistake and owning up to it every single time it happened. As someone sitting in the boat, her acknowledgement let me know that she knew what she did, and most of the times, it wasn’t even that big of a deal. If she didn’t say anything, though, I know I would’ve been like, “Ugh, seriously?”

Not listening to my own recording

I realized that my problem with listening to my own recordings was that I always wanted to analyze it and find the good and the bad parts about them. I used to want be sitting down with the notebook, pause every now and then to think about what just happened, find the line-up and workout from that practice, and yes, it was an exhausting process.

Now, I just do it. The way to make sure I don’t stress over listening to them is to listen to the entire recording without stopping at least the first time. It doesn’t even have to be the only activity I am doing. I might be driving, doing the dishes, etc. Once I go through it once, then I can dive into it deeper.

Being useless during rigging and de-rigging

I am afraid of being responsible for equipment damage. I would rather carry every single boat to the trailer than cox rowers on and off the trailer. But am I really being useful carrying a boat with seven other people who are five inches taller than me? Nope.

I just had to grow up and learn the coxswain’s job on the day of rigging and de-rigging. I sometimes ask someone (coaches are usually busy so I pick a rower who’s been there done that) to watch me cox a boat on and off the trailer. I also find it beneficial to quickly go over what’s going to happen with the boat carriers before we start moving. Something like…

“We are going to face the bow and walk towards the tree. We need to go to the left side of the trailer and put it on the top. There will be rowers waiting to get the boat from you at the top, so we just need to hand it to them when we are in position, okay?”

That way, everyone is on the same page and even if I miss a command or they can’t hear me well because I am at a regatta with hundreds of people, the process is a little smoother.

Not wearing the uniform

I have strong opinions about rowing gear —particularly team gear— and its cost. I used to show up in my colorful shorts or my favorite baseball team’s sweatshirt to regattas (Go Padres?).

When I attended Laura Simon’s clinic last winter, however, it made me realize how I should be part of the team if I wanted to be considered as a serious athlete. I know that the masters rowing world is much more laid back, and it’s entirely possible that none of my rowers or coaches cares about what I show up in. However, when Laura was showing us photos of coxswains with their hair down and coxswains who just looked like they didn’t belong in those team photos at regattas, it was a light bulb moment for me.

It’s about being part of the team, part of the crew, and part of the commitment to represent. And now I get that.

Missing the buoy color change

This one hits hard. I know that some of the “mistakes” in these posts are subjective, but there is no arguing what a stupid coxswain mistake missing the buoy color change and therefore not calling the sprint is. I know what you’re thinking, “OMG, how do you miss the buoy color change?” I can’t explain that to you, but I tell ya, it happens.

I did this at the masters national championship in 2018 with the club that I’d just joined that winter, and it cost our boat the opportunity to go to the finals.

Could you imagine rowing your heart out and feeling your legs burn… Waiting to hear your coxswain call the sprint… Gearing up to empty the gas tank… But never hearing the call then realizing that the race is over and you’re not going to the finals? Yes, there are at least eight people on this planet who had to go through that disastrous race experience because of their coxswain.

It hits hard right now because this year’s national championship was going to be my redemption since we didn’t go last year, but the regatta is officially cancelled.

Of course, it happened on the first day of the four-day championship, and my poor roommates had to watch me lose it in the hotel room. At some point that evening, I came to my senses and reset. Nothing I could do about the race that already happened.