* Poink *

4:59AM. 

I reached over and flicked the alarm off before I needed it.  No sense in waking up the house when I was already immediately awake and alert.  I guess I might have been a little nervous.

It wasn't the sound of rain pounding the roof that scared me awake (though that didn't help things):  It was that this day would bring my third Philadelphia International Dragon Boat Festival with the Wyeth Wyverns corporate team, and this year, we wouldn't be sneaking up on anyone.  We'd finished 4th overall in 2003; 3rd overall in 2004, and last year the Wyverns skipped the silver medal, winning the festival championship by 0.78 seconds.  Out of a field of 128 boats (including some year-round teams), we'd taken the whole thing.

Not bad for a bunch of desk jockeys, geeks, accountants, research folks, and the occasional information security chief.

This year we knew the entire field would be gunning for us, so we'd just have to take things once race at a time.  To make things even more interesting I would be racing with a second team:  The "Eyes of the Dragon."  What started out as a feature article for Liberty Sports magazine (a Philadelphia-focused sports magazine), had turned into quite the opportunity:  All the paddlers in their boat were blind and had been practicing together since June.  I would be one of 4 sighted paddlers in the boat, paddling blindfolded. 

But first things first, I needed coffee.  I had piled all my gear in front of the front door the night before so that in my traditional early-morning stupor, I couldn't possibly leave without everything.  I'd be hitching a ride with Coach Chris, and he planned on being at my house at 6:15.

6:05AM:  I open the front door and keep an eye out for the Coachmobile.

6:07AM: Finish first cup of coffee.  Check pile of stuff for 3rd time; paddle, vest, cooler, backpack, hats, 3 changes of clothing, snacks, all piled up in a perfect stack my friend Eric would call a POC (or pile of cr@p).

6:08 - 6:14AM: Recheck gear 4 times, drink more coffee.  Having the French Roast today; uber-strong.

6:15AM:  A car whizzes past the house, and stops in front of the neighbors place.  I figure it's coach off by one house;  I grab the POC, juggle my coffee mug for added difficulty, and walk outside into the rain.  As I'm wobbling towards the car I see the brake lights dim, as the car moves forward.  "COACH!"  I whisper-yell (still not wanting to wake anyone), "Coach!"  He's leaving!  I start running after the car.  He passes the neighbors house, and stops.  "Whew!"  I think, "He saw me..."  Then the drivers-side window rolls down, and a single newspaper flies out.

6:15:10AM:  The paperman, seeing what appears to be an overly-caffeinated homeless guy coming up the street full-tilt-boogie with, inexplicably, an oar, rolls up the window and bugs out with a burnout that Shirley Muldowney would envy.  After standing in the rain for a moment or two to reflect, I make my way back to the house, put down the POC, and make another cup of coffee.  This time, Decaf.

6:20AM:  Coach arrives.  I load the POC in the Coachmobile, and we take off.  It's 47F, raining, and dark.  I tell Coach the story of the homeless guy with a paddle chasing some poor Philly Inquirer delivery guy.

6:50AM:  We arrive at the parking area over Kelly Drive.  After unloading our respective POC's, Coach asks me to carry a table, chairs, tent, and I think one chaise lounge, down the hill. 

6:52AM:  Arrival at the Wyeth Tent.  Most of the team is already here, wearing all of the clothing they can.  It's still dark, raining, windy, and cold.  We won't race for another 3 hours, so just staying warm is on everyone's mind.  A Nor'easter normally doesn't happen the first weekend in October, but what can you do?

7:45AM:  The first 8-boat heat of the day, scheduled for 8:00AM, starts to line itself up.  In the wind (blowing 20-30mph at times), getting all 8 boats in their docks and parallel is tough.

8:33AM:  The 8:00AM race starts.  Uh-oh.

8:36AM:  The 8:03 heat is trying to get into the docks...

8:45AM:  8:03AM race starts.  Uh-uh-oh.

9:00AM:  Pre-race meeting for the Wyverns.  This will be the Pharmaceutical Cup race - one heat of two made up of Pharma companies, winner-takes-all (a nice trophy).  We'd won it in 2003 and 2004, and then lost it to GSK in 2005.  First order of business (and Coach had said this from the start), "Win the Pharma Cup.  Everything else after that is just a bonus."  Coach reminds us to remember the race plan; to stay warm; to keep our heads if its a tight race.

9:45AM:  We walk down to the starting area as a team.  Our race, originally scheduled for 9:39AM, is somewhat behind schedule.

10:15AM:  PHARMACEUTICAL CUP RACE - Heat 2.

The first heat sprinted down the river as we walked down to the docks. We watched them, knowing that even if we managed to win our race (as we had last year), we wouldn't know if we'd won the cup until the times were posted for the other heat.  Best time wins - it gets no simpler.  As we loaded into the boat the rain had finally stopped, but the wind was relentless.  Getting warmed-up would be tough, but it'd be tough for the other seven boats, too.  No sense in worrying about it. 

Plus, we had Billy.  Billy steers for us every year.  Billy has enough energy to power a small Vermont town.  When Billy speaks, you listen.  "READY ALL!"  He barked.  "PADDLE!"  He took us up river (into the wind), and after about a minute, called for some power work.  "THREE IN THIRTY IN ONE...TWO!"  Three to build, then thirty hard.  Normally you'd get loose doing such a thing, but today, we barely crept from "hypothermic" to "lukewarm."

Billy steered us into the docks, and Joey, sitting in the drummer seat for the first time after paddling for three years, reminded us all, "Eyes in the boat.  None of these other guys matter."  In the silence during those last seconds, those are the worst moments.  You practice, you suffer, you prepare.  You drill.  You repeat.  You repeat again.  You get up early.  You get home late.  You put in your time, but you know that regardless of what you did in practice when nobody was watching, the next two minutes will be all that matters. 

Nobody talks.  You don't look at the other boats - you don't need to.  They're just as nervous as you.  It wouldn't help anyway - they're busy ignoring you, too.  The only thing you hear is your drummer, your steerer, and the starter over the PA as he tries to get the boats lined up.

"Lane 4, come up please."

"Lane 5, come back a Dragon Head."

Gloves tight.  Hands, loose.  Relax your shoulders, Bob.  Don't sit locked - stay loose.

"Lane 8, good."

"Lanes 6 and 7 - hold."

Don't rush.  Just watch Arturo's blade, and be a mindless moron.  Remember - hard, long, not rushed.  Loose grip on the blade, don't be too enthusiastic with the recovery.

"FIRST THREE, RIGHT SIDE DRAW!"  Billy works to make sure the nose is pointed to the center of the lane, so the first three blades on the right pull to bring the bow across. 

It's amazing how quiet it gets right before a start.  There are just the sounds of wind, water, and total focus.  There are 8 boats of 20 paddlers each, and 500 meters of dead-straight, empty river waiting to see who's got it today.

"All Boats HOLD."

Here we go.  LAST BREATH.  No more waiting, c'mon, c'mon...let us go, LET US GO.

"ATTENTION PLEASE..."  When the starter says that, you snap your paddle up and bury the blade - the next sound you hear is all that matters. 

Silence.  Airhorn.  Explosion.

"GO!"  Billy screams from the back, as Joey booms the cadence for the start.  "ONE!  TWO!  THREE!  FOUR!  FIVE!"  I love this sound - the roar, the screaming.  In the first 50 meters of any race, all you hear is screaming, splashing, and unleashed desperation.  Hopefully, this will be as close as any boats will be to us all day long.

"TEN!"  I'm watching nothing but Arturo's blade.  As long as I stay in time with him, and he stays in time with Karenlee, and she stays in time with Chris, you get the idea.  It's why coach says you only need to be a mindless moron; you take care of your 2 feet of water, and trust your 19 teammates to do the same.

"TWENTY!"  So far, so good.  The timing feels okay - the boat isn't rocking.  Billy and Joey aren't screaming anything we didn't expect.  We're off to a good start, and nearing the settle.  350 meters to go.

"EIGHT!  NINE!  LOOOOOONG!  REACH!  REACH!"   The settle is where the early turnover of the start slows just slightly, and the boat will settle into a plane.  If you're in the lead, this is where you hold it.  If you're behind, this is where you start calling for power-tens or up-two's to try and get over the lead boat's wake.

In our boat, there is no call for either;  just Joey and Billy cracking the whip. 

"REACH!  BURY!  REACH!  BURY!  GOOD!  GOOD!"  While the race seems to be going our way, there's just one thing - the boat feels like junk.  I feel tight; the boat isn't popping.  The easy, graceful glide of a settle just isn't there yet.  The boat is moving, but it's not flying.  Regardless, since I'm a mindless moron, I just keep paddling as hard as I can.

"REACH!  BURY!  REACH!  REACH!"  250 meters to go.

There's a boat to the right - I can hear it, but it sounds like it's dropping back.  Our boat still feels like it's filling with water.  What's wrong here?

200 Meters to go.

"REACH!  REACH!  REACH!  REACH!  TWIST!  TWIST!"  Joey and Billy are both barking the cadence, but even as there's silence all around us - even as I'm pretty damn sure we're going to win this heat, it feels like the first interval during an early morning practice - it's not pretty.  Tight.  Graceless.

"FIVE! FOUR! THREE! TWO! ONE!"  The sprint call - Coach said we'd have one, even if we were winning.  We're now racing the clock - everyone else is well behind now, just like last year.

100 Meters to go.

"C'MON!  C'MON!  GO!  GO!  GO!"  Everyone is emptying the tank now.  Twist, bury, catch, explode, recover - Twist, bury, catch, explode, recover - the pain won't last too much longer.  At 72 strokes per minute, the water moves pretty fast; on my twist to the left I catch a glimpse of the finish line tower...

"PADDLE!"  Joey holds her hands out, and waves them downwards, gently...her body language saying, "Easy, easy, easy..."  We're done.  All I can hear is breathing, wind, and the splash of a boat slowly coming back down.

Starting the day with a win is always great, but our boat is silent.  During practice we'd all felt the difference between a good settle and a bad settle - this was a bad settle.  We got the win for the heat, but it was ugly.  There is real fear that we were too slow - that perhaps the Pharma Cup will be gone, again.

As we paddle back to the docks there are some cautious smiles in the boat, but that's about it.  As we pass our tent we give our friends and teammates a "Paddles up!" salute, but we will all have to wait and see what the timing board will say. 

Luckily, I can't worry for too long - I've got another race to get to.  Through truly comedic scheduling, the "Eyes of the Dragon" first heat is scheduled to go off 6 minutes after our race, so after a quick dropoff at the St. Joseph's Boathouse Dock, I'm running back to the lineup area while pulling a blindfold out of my vest pocket.

10:34AM: EYES OF THE DRAGON - Race 1.

I spot Mark Glemser, a fellow sighted paddler.  He was kind enough to hang onto my team shirt, and tosses it to me while we're lining up (the third layer of clothing feels momentarily great).  I now have to switch from paddling right-sided, to paddling left.  When Carol Lee Lindner (the festival organizer and captain for the Eyes of the Dragon team) asked me what side I wanted to paddle on, my answer was instant:  LEFT.  Even though I'm not left-sided, I figured it would be the best way to make sure I didn't burn myself out racing 6 races in one day.

After getting the entire team into the boat, Carol Lee came rushing down to jump in at the last minute - just like me - arriving soaked from her previous race.  "Ready!  Ready Ready!"  She chirped, just like in practice... "PADDLE!"  It all seemed so familiar, and of course, it was.  I mean, I'd just done this all not 10 minutes ago.

The goal of the Eyes of the Dragon was simple:  Don't be last.  In 2005, their first attempt at racing in the festival they were the last boat on the charts, taking over 4 minutes to cover the 500 meters.  From my first day with them, Carol Lee had told me, "There's no way they'll be last again.  Not this year."  In my short summer experience with them, I knew she was right.

With the blindfold on, my ears stepped up even more than they had when I was trying not to see in the Wyvern boat.  I could hear the wind still ripping up the river.  I could hear the steerers and drummers working to try and keep their boats cool, and most of all, I realized that the starter sounded just like Gary Owens (cartoon voice guy, Laugh In, and about 6,000 other things).

While I was marinating on that fact, the starter crooned out, "ATTENTION, PLEASE!"

Snap, splash - go time!  "GO!"

Carol Lee called out the start, which was a 6/16. I suddenly remembered that on the 7th stroke. Whoops.  So the settle came up MUCH more quickly.  While not as fast as the Wyeth boat, the effort from everyone behind me was the same - 100% is 100%, no matter where you go.  Despite their level of effort, to keep together the entire team counted out loud. 

"ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE, SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT, NINE, TEN, AGAIN!"

"ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE, SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT, NINE, TEN, AGAIN!"

"ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE, SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT, NINE, TEN, AGAIN!"

The counting didn't amaze me; it was that they could all paddle and count and breathe at the same time.  I tried it during one practice, and damn nearly passed out and fell out of the boat.  When I counted, I forgot to breathe.  When I breathed, I couldn't count.  So I went with breathing and just followed their tempo.

"ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE, SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT, NINE, TEN, AGAIN!"

"ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE, SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT, NINE, TEN, AGAIN!"

Somewhere around the 300 meter mark the water around us got quiet, and stayed quiet.  Despite the counting, I could tell that we were either really far ahead, or a bit behind.  When we crossed the line and Carol Lee told us,  "Seventh, guys.  You were seventh!"  It was good news.  There was someone behind us!  

NOT LAST - Mission one, done.  Not only were they not last, but their morning time was a 2:52 - nearly 1:20 quicker than their 2005 split.  When the morning was said and done, they wouldn't even be close to last - they'd be 4th seed in the "H" bracket - 4 boats up from their 2005 position.

After helping some of the team off the boat and up the steps to dry land, I met up with my Dad - he'd come down to take in the entire day, and he'd filmed the first two races already.  We walked back towards St. Joseph's boat house and looked for the timing board - the final word on the morning races.  There had been 16 preliminary heats, so all 128 boats had raced.  Each boat would be assigned to a bracket of 16 based on time (A, B, C, D...down to H), with the "A" Bracket holding the top 16 boats.

I found Wyeth's name right away - we'd gone 2:09.72 to win our heat.  As I skimmed the other Pharma Cup heat, no other boat had broken 2:14.  We'd won the cup - we'd gotten it back! 

But there was still more business to attend to, as I started looking at all the other preliminary times.  From the bottom, to the top, back to the bottom, back to the top.   "This can't be right..."  I got that funny taste of adrenaline in my mouth again.  I couldn't believe it.  It couldn't possibly be what I was seeing.

11:25AM:  I couldn't say it, so my Dad did.  "2:09.  Nobody else went under 2:12.  You guys were the fastest boat."

11:26AM:  I'm still staring at the heat sheet.  I still can't believe it.

11:30AM:  I finally leave the timing board.  Dad and I walk back to the Wyeth tent to get some lunch.

11:45AM: The race officials make an announcement.  Due to the shambles of the morning prelims and the races now running nearly 90 minutes behind schedule (the Police will open Kelly Drive at 6:30PM whether we're done, or not), there will be no lunch break.  The "H" Division Finals will be started at 12:39PM, and all boats in the "H" through "E" Divisions will not be racing their semi-finals.  Instead of racing 3 times (Prelim Semi-Final, and Final in each division) now, they'll go just twice: Their next race will be their last.

That means the Eyes of the Dragon have one race left.  After 4 months of practices - practices where team members had to arrange paratransit rides 2 hours in advance; practices where Michelee Kemp had her husband drive her up with their little girl from Ocean City, Maryland, in a van with no air conditioning - 2.5 hours each way - after all that, they'll get to race about 5 minutes, total.

Dammit.  That's just not fair, but that's racing, especially in bad weather.

12:01PM:  When I walk down to the Eyes of the Dragon Tent to deliver the news, they take it really, really well.  "So the next race is it?  That's okay.  Do you have any idea where our pizza delivery is?  We're still waiting for lunch!"  Priorities, priorities, priorities!  As an Italian, they make me proud.

12:10PM: Dash back to the Wyeth tent, down power lunch (one Diet Pepsi and a bite size 100 Grand bar), and then run full-tilt Lambada to the line-up area.  When I arrive, Mark tells me, "Bob, we can't find Judy!"  I go, "Right!" and take off back up the Athlete's Village to find her.

12:12PM:  Return to Mark.  "DUDE.  Who does Judy paddle for?"  He yells out, "Main Line, I think?  They're up that way!"  'Up that way' means any one of the 128 tents along the 500 meter course.  Once again, I'm off and running.  It should be noted I'm in full race gear:  Bib shorts, paddle, shirt, Teva Sandals, Life Vest, and Headsweat bandana.  This means I look like a fancy pirate running up and down Kelly Drive, but at least I'm getting warm with the extra mileage. 

12:20PM:  Re-return to Mark and the rest of the Eyes of the Dragon, including Judy, who I've somehow passed three times during my pirate-interval session.

12:49PM:  "H" DIVISION FINAL - Eyes of the Dragon.

After the traditional mayhem of working boats into their docks, slight tailwinds, checks, re-checks, and a few cases of pizza-breath (these guys barely had time to eat), the Eyes were ready for their last dance.  My only hope for them was that they'd be in the middle of things - right there with a real chance to be IN a race, not just a part of it. 

"ALL BOATS HOLD."  Here we go.

"ATTENTION PLEASE!"  Bury the blades...

"GO!" 

Carol Lee started wailing on the drum louder than I'd heard all summer long.  "ONE! TWO! THREE!  FOUR! STOP! STOP! STOP! STOP! STOP!"

Stop?

"HOLD WATER!  ALL BOATS HOLD WATER!"  With my blindfold on, I had no idea what had happened, but we'd all stopped.  Everyone in the back was confused; I was sitting in the front row, and I was confused - I asked Carol Lee what happened.  "St. Joe's - something with St. Joes."  I would find out later that the 'something' was hardly a little thing.  One of the steerperson's responsibilities is to hold the dock line in one hand, and the steering oar in the other.  At the start command the steerer will drop the dock line, and the boat takes off.

Through one of those misfires that tend to happen during a cold, long day, the St. Joe's steerperson managed to drop the dock line AND the steering oar on the start command.  Yes, that would qualify as "not good."  Of course, the entire boat would know nothing of this, and carry on with the business of taking off down the river.  This would qualify as, "very much not good."

Luckily she managed to get the attention of the starter (probably by waving both hands around, which sharp-eyed Dragon Boat spectators would notice, a steerperson should not ever be capable of doing), and the race was stopped.

There was some grumbling from the Eyes, but I threatened to bore them with the story of Wyeth's "A" Semi-Final from 2005, a race in which one boat attempted to pass the entire field by way of Kelly Drive (which, as they found out, is devoid of water, which makes paddling really, really hard).  Instead of stopping the race right-away when that boat turned hard left (and ran out of river with a mighty thud), they let us all carry on for a full 500 meters and THEN told us, "Sorry!  Our bad.  Do-over in 5 minutes, okay?"  That sucked.  A restart after 4 strokes?  Not so bad.

A few minutes later we lined up again, and I remarked to Carol Lee, "Hey, we'll get in 3 races after all, huh?"  This time, everyone held onto everything, and we were off.

"ONE!  TWO!  THREE!  FOUR!  FIVE!  SIX!  GO! GO GO! GO! GO!"  This time, the boat felt better - after the morning race and whatever jitters they had coming into this race, the Eyes of the Dragon were moving better.  Again - I focused on breathing, and the rest of the team counted out the cadence.

"ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE, SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT, NINE, TEN, AGAIN!"

"ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE, SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT, NINE, TEN, AGAIN!"

"ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE, SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT, NINE, TEN, AGAIN!"

At 250 meters I could hear other boats - boats on BOTH sides.  We weren't 8th, or 7th: We were in the middle of the race, holding our own.  As I reached and pulled while trying to keep up with the stroke rate, I just hoped it would last.

"ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE, SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT, NINE, TEN, AGAIN!"

"ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE, SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT, NINE, TEN, AGAIN!"

"ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE, SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT, NINE, TEN, AGAIN!"

Without my eyes to tell me, I had no idea where we were.  I just kept listening for the race announcer, to the boats around us, to Carol Lee.  We had to be close - where was that line? 

"PADDLE!"  Whew.  I could feel Mike, my stroke partner on the right side, was totally spent.  I felt him lean out over the gunwale - he had nothing left.  "Good Job, good job.  It's supposed to feel bad - you did great!  Carol Lee, where were we?"  I asked.  I kept my blindfold on as we turned around and headed back to the docks - had to keep it fair. 

"Third?  I think we were third?  I'm not sure - there was another boat way over in Lane 8..."  If she was right, silver medals?  Could the Eyes of the Dragon go from lanterne rouge to hardware in a year?  In two races?  Alas, no.  When the results were posted they were close, but in 4th place, two seconds out of the medals for the "H" Division.  Despite that, there were no dropped heads in the boat.  They came in, took two minutes off of their first year performance, and have already started talking about how to get even better in 2007.

AND, they got their pizza.  That's a good day in my book.

1:40PM:  Pre Semi-Final Meeting for the Wyeth Wyverns.  Coach reminds us that we need to have a good settle; to remember to not rush the start, and to not lose our heads when everyone stays close to us.  Since this is the "A" Division and we're in the faster of the two semi-finals, we're going to be side-by-side for all 500 meters.  If we finish in the top-4, we'll advance to the Grand Final for the 4th year in a row.  He ends with, "It's 1:45, you've got 45 minutes.  Eat light, stay warm."

1:50PM:  I eat a power lunch of one Diet Pepsi, three chocolate chip cookies, and a 100 Grand (bite size).  When my teammate Sue sees my excellent nutrition plan she goes, "You're not eating all that now, are you?"  I reply, "Sugar is fuel!  Rocket fuel!"

2:00PM:  We walk down as a team, again.  When we lineup in the chutes we have Main Line Health and Fitness on one side, and Pittsburgh Paddlefish on the other.  Beyond the Main Line boat is GSK; we'd all met in the Grand Final in 2005.  Main Line has had us on their radar since 2004.  They'd entered two boats - Team Intensity and Team Power.  They'd been on the water twice per week since June.  In the same Liberty Sports magazine where I'd written the article on Eyes of the Dragon, Main Line was profiled as the "Team favored to win the Philadelphia Festival."  After all they were made up of people who worked for the fitness center.  Strong, powerful, focused, and mostly buff and/or ripped.

And despite all that, they were yet to beat us head-to-head.  This would be their best chance.

3:15PM: THE "A" DIVISION SEMI-FINAL, Race 2.

After three starts already on the day, this time I felt pretty comfortable paddling away from the docks.  As Billy took us through a quick warmup and quicker settle, already the boat was feeling better.  "Good!  GOOD!"  He yelled out.  "Much better!"  As usual we wandered slowly through our turn, entering the docks as one of the last boats.  No sense in getting there just to wait.

"Eyes in here.  Listen to me.  There's no-one else here."  Joey brought us all into focus. "Breathe!"  Billy reminded us.  You could hear everyone let their breath out; funny how you forget.  I looked over at Jack Tierney - my seatmate - and tapped his fist.  He tapped mine back and said, "I did that when we left the docks, but you were off in your own space."  Whoops.  We smiled.  Jack gets me.

Meanwhile, the dance continued.

"Lane 1, up.  Up more."

"Lane 3, hold."

"Lane 5, we're waiting for you.  Move UP."

"Lane 8, come back three strokes."

I smiled to myself, "Fastest boat of the day.  Now it's time to back it up."

"ALL BOATS HOLD."

Breathe.  Reach.  Bury.  Breathe.  Reach.  Bury.  Suffer.  Take your pain.

"ATTENTION PLEASE!"

Paddle in the water.  Silence. 

Airhorn blast.

"ONE!  TWO!  THREE!  FOUR!  FIVE!  ONE!"  Joey and Billy called out the start together, and immediately the boat felt better.  This wasn't the snowplow of the morning - this time we were jumping.  I focused on Arturo's paddle, locked in, and listened to the calls.

"TEN!"  The start was solid - I could feel the timing was right on.

"TWENTY!"  C'mon - c'mon - get up there!  All around us, there was nothing but screams, splashing, and barely controlled mayhem as drummers, steerers, and 160 mindless morons all fought for control of the river.

"EIGHT!  NINE!  LONG!  REEEEACH!  REAAACH!  LENGTHEN!"  Joey called the end of the start, and now we were into the settle.  This time, it felt RIGHT.  The boat was up and moving, and now we'd just have to hang on for 350 meters more.  It was here that I noticed a boat in my periphery...which wasn't surprising.  The lanes on the Philly course are tight, but this was different. 

You never look out of the boat; it screws up your timing, and coach says it only slows down one boat - yours.  So I wasn't looking, but as I followed Arturo stroke for stroke, that boat just kept moving over, and over, and over.  Soon I didn't have to think about not looking up - I could see her coming into our water.  

The boat was the Pittsburgh Paddlefish, and she was coming our way.  Just like in swimming, sometimes a Dragon Boat can catch a draft by getting on the wake of a swimmer in the next lane.  There's just one thing - you have to be careful you don't get too close, or the volume of water coming off of a 3,500 pound, 40 foot long boat can do wicked things to your ability to steer.

I don't quite know when, but somewhere between strokes, in the final seconds between thinking we were going to hit and the first impact I thought to myself, "If we're going to hit, I'm doing the f'ing hitting."

BBBBBRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAACKKKKK!

They had carbon fiber paddles.

BBBBBBRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAACKKKK!

We had wooden paddles.

BBBBRRRAAAACCCCCCCCCCCCCKKK!

You know what sound wood makes when it slams into carbon fiber?

BBBBBBBRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAACCCKKK!

All 10 of us on the right side overlapped with the 10 on the left side of the Pittsburgh boat, so now there were 20 paddles fighting for water only 10 could have.  Water flew.  Paddles slapped.  Nobody gave an inch.  While we couldn't see it, Joey and Billy were both waving their arms enough to generate lift, pointing to the lane foul so the officials could see it (as if the sounds of smashing paddles and flying spray had somehow been overlooked).

After about 4-5 hits, I lost it - I cried out, "Get your f'ing boat OUT OF HERE!"  In hindsight, that wasn't too cool.  It's not like the guy in Pittsburgh seat 5L was driving - he was a mindless moron like me, probably wondering just what the heck we were doing in his lap.  So dude, if you ever read this, it was nothing personal - I was just closer to you than I was to Jack.  When you're closer to a guy in another boat than you are to your own seatmate?  THAT'S a lane foul.  Stresses you out.  Sorry.

As we fought to keep the boat on plane, Billy steered away from the Paddlefish as hard as he could.  When we finally cleared them, we were just on the edge of Lane 3 - Main Line Health and Fitness.  They'd had a great start, and were now head-to-head with us.  With 250 meters to go, we had the lead by less than a foot.

Seeing us coming over, the Main Line steerer raised his arm to call a lane cross on us.  Billy was still busy calling a lane foul on Pittsburgh, and Joey was busy pointing at BOTH of them in a wickedly complex cross-arm maneuver, all while still drumming and holding onto her seat for dear life.  In short it was a mess, but it had to be an entertaining mess:  There were 3 boats sharing 2 lanes with 200 meters to go.

And we had the lead.  Barely.

"REACH!  REACH!  REACH!"  We were all suffering as one - despite the paddle-crashing, lane-crossing, soaking, spraying shambles, we were still together as a team.

"FIVE!  FOUR!  THREE!  TWO!  ONE!  GO!  GO!"  This sprint call was for the win - we would need every stroke, every inch.  I could hear boats on both sides screaming - everyone was at 100%; the race was playing out just as we thought it would, down to the last meter.  When that last meter came my muscles were absolutely screaming with the effort - everyone's were.

"PADDLE!"  Once more, Joey mercifully lowered her arms.  We stopped paddling, and just let the boat glide.  To the right, the Paddlefish looked shocked.  To the left, Main Line was just as gassed as we were.  Nobody knew who'd won it, but that didn't stop Billy and the Main Line steerer from exchanging views on who did what.  They weren't too happy, but it was just a chain reaction - that's racing.

Finally, after about 20 seconds the race announcers came on and told the crowd, "The Wyeth Wyverns in first place, unofficially..."  We'd won by 0.24 over Main Line - about 2 feet.  Despite the collision we'd paddled to a 2:16.12, and would be in the Grand Final - again. 

We all hoped in that race, we could get down the river with a little less drama.

4:49PM:  Pre-Final Team Meeting.  Coach reminded us to keep our heads, but said that we did pretty good under "extreme" circumstances in the Semi.  He reminded us to reach high, long, and explode on the catch.  He reminded us of the race plan.  Lastly he said, "Get out ahead of 'em, then make 'em pay at the end."  There wouldn't be long before the Championship race - just under an hour to stay loose, get ready, and go.

4:51PM:  Snack time: Diet Pepsi, chocolate chip cookie, 100 Grand.  I'm ready.

5:30PM:  We walk down to the start docks for the last time today.  Months of training have come down to this moment - these 120 seconds, just like in the previous 3 years.  The silence was because this was the way things should have been.  No surprises.  We were there as we'd planned - it was time to go to work.  128 boats started the day, and now there were 8 left to fight it out.

 5:58PM: THE GRAND FINAL - Festival Championship Race.

The sun had managed to hide above the clouds all day, and now as darkness started to fall, the chill grew colder.  The wind had finally stopped, and the water was calm.  As we paddled away from the docks one last time, Billy reminded us, "This is where you want to be, right here, right now.  There's nowhere else.  Have fun with it."  He took us out for the long loop, and asked us to hold water.  "I'm not going in first - we're waiting right here."  Just like last year - smooth.

As the other boats made their way in we crept up on the docks, barely moving faster than the current.  The started warned, "For this start, we want all boats held by the steering locks."  We drew into Lane 4, Billy brought us up to the dock, and then the waiting began.  Things were tense; ahead of me in seat 3L, Patricia had been messing with her hat since we'd left the docks, trying to get her pony tail just right.

The boat was quietly gliding when she reached up, snapped it off, threw it to the floor, and sat ready.  Amazingly, her hair was perfect.  It was pretty damn impressive.  I looked over at Jack and nodded; he smiled.  "She's ready."  He said.  We all were.

"Lane 4, we're waiting for you."

"Lane 4, Lane 5, please hold."

"All other boats, thank you for your patience."

"Lane 4, back one stroke."

"Lane 5, please hold."

"ATTENTION PL-!"

I took one breath and went to lower my blade...when the horn sounded.  The starter had barely finished the word, "please...", and we were GONE.  After 40 races, the guy had probably had enough and just wanted to go home. 

"ONE!  TWO!  THREE!  FOUR!  FIVE!"  Once again, we kept things together really well at the start, and got out of the docks better than anyone else.

"TEN!"  Joey and Billy worked the count.  We knew this was it - there was no tomorrow, there was no sense in saving it.  I told Arturo one day at the gym that my dream race would be one that we'd win, and I'd pass out at the finish line, totally empty.  As the stroke count came up, I did everything I could to make that perfect race happen, just as my teammates did in their seats.

"TWENTY!"  I could feel the water rushing past the hull; I could feel the hits of 20 blades on the catch.  This was a GOOD start.

"EIGHT!  NINE!  LOOOOOONG!  REACH!  REEEEEEEEAAAACH!"  The settle.  There was one boat to the right, and that was all I could hear.  It was Steel City Dragons - a Pittsburgh team that had beaten us in the "A" Semi-Final last year, then finished 4th in the Grand Final.  After missing hardware by less than a second in the two previous Championship races, this year they wanted the win - badly.  Off the start, we had them by 2 seats.

"GOOD JOB!  GOOD JOB!"  Billy worked it from aft; he could see the lead.  He could also see we had 300 meters to go - a lifetime in a Dragon Boat race.

At halfway, I heard something I'd never heard before in all the years I'd raced:  The announcer over the PA called out, "And with 250 meters to go, the Wyeth Wyverns have a bit of a lead!"  I didn't want to hear that.  I didn't NEED to hear that.  250 meters means about 60 seconds to go.  I was at that point where every second was starting to feel like a minute.  Each pull was starting to hurt - I knew it would only get worse from here.  Everyone did.  That's the way it goes.  You train for it.  You learn to embrace it.  The pain is power, and power is what wins races.  It won't hurt forever - it just feels like it.

"REACH!  REACH!  REACH!"  Joey kept the cadence going, and looked over at the Steel City drummer - she was now eye-to-eye with him.  Where they hell did they come from?

"REACH!  REACH!"  150 meters to go.

"FIVE!  FOUR!  THREE!  TWO!  ONE!"  The earliest sprint call of the day, and we needed it.  Only Joey and Billy could see it, but Steel City had come roaring up and was going to take the lead if we didn't do something.  There was no tomorrow, there was nothing to save it for. 

"GO!  GO!  GO!  GO!"  Billy rocked back and forth, doing everything he could to add momentum to the boat.  Years of experience have taught him how to do it better than anyone, and we needed every inch of water we could get. 

100 meters to go.

I didn't look.  I didn't want to.

50 meters to go.

Joey could see they were still there.

25 meters to go.

We're head-to-head.  They were still there.  During my left twists I could see the finish tower coming closer, closer, closer...not much more now - not much more.  Like the last seconds of a two-minute test, the pain is all encompassing.  Every muscle in my core is maxed, breathing feels like fire.  It's only two minutes of hell, but if you do it right, it can feel like heaven when it ends...

"PADDLE!"  Joey called the line - it was over.  In silence, we looked over.  I was in seat 4R; to see where you are when a race ends, you just count how many seats there are in the boat next to you.  If there are less, you win.  If there are more...

1, 2, 3, 4, 5...Oh, man.  Oh, oh, man.  We lost it.  We lost it by a seat.  Oh, man.  We always knew this could happen, and here it is.  Second, and not by much.

Strangely, nobody in the Steel City boat was celebrating.  Last year when we'd won, we nearly crashed the boat.  Here the Steel City boat was absolutely silent - impassive.  The race announcers made no call; the spectators that had stayed through the long, cold, windy day had absolutely no clue who'd won.  In complete silence we all turned our boats around, and made our way past the tents towards the docks. 

It was weird. 

There weren't too many spectators left.  The tents of the athlete's village were mostly empty, as those who had raced had left long ago to get warm.  It was sad; after the euphoria of our previous years, the silence seemed so odd - so out of place.  We paddled by and saluted our friends and family just the same with a "Paddles UP!"  After all, we'd done all we could and been beat.  It happens!  "Hey, Silver works. That completes our set, right?"  I said.  After a Bronze in 2004 and a Gold in 2005, now I'd have a Silver.  Nice!

We'd raced our best races.  We'd just been beaten in the sprint, right? 

Well, not exactly.  The silence at the finish line was because at the 50 meter mark, the steerer for Steel City had crossed her lane and entered ours.  The officials called it right away, and Steel City know as soon as they got back to the docks.  A lane cross is a foul (even if you don't plow into the boat next to you), and is usually given a time penalty.

As a result, Steel City Dragons were given a 0.50 second penalty.  They'd won on the water by 0.27 seconds.

That meant with the penalty, The Wyeth Wyverns were awarded the win and the Festival Championship by a margin of 0.23 seconds.

1. Wyeth Wyverns              2:12.17

2. Steel City Dragons          2:12.40

3. DC Dragons                    2:13.20

4. GSK ~ Fire Dragons         2:16.04

5. MLH&F TEAM INTENSITY 2:17.04 

6. Pittsburgh Paddlefish      2:17.25

7. MLH&F TEAM POWER      2:17.54

8. GSK ~ Spitzfire               2:21.96

It was strange to find out we'd won after the fact, and I’ll admit, it was a little sad.  We've always had a great time racing the Steel City team; they've always been friends and have invited us to come out to the festival they put on in Pittsburgh every September.  To win this way was tough.  Sure, rules are rules, and the steerer for Steel City was an experienced woman who knew what she was doing, but still.  I think we all felt that it’d be best if races were always settled on the water.  Unfortunately, things don’t always work that way.

Regardless of how that last race played out, we had a lot to be proud of.  As a corporate team we'd swept our races, set the fastest time of the day, and won back the Pharmaceutical Cup.  We did it as a team - working as one, sticking to the plan.  Mindless, through and through.

In 2007 we'll be returning to defend our title, but you can bet Steel City and Main Line Health and Fitness will be right there with us once more, as well as D.C Dragons, GSK, and who knows who else.  The festival will surely draw 128 boats, plus a waiting list of 30 or 40 more.  You never know who’s going to be there, so you have to assume whomever shows will be bringing it.

For now as I think about next year I know just one thing:  Our view is clear – the water is calm, and wide open.  There is nothing ahead of us. 

That's how it is when the entire field is chasing you.

I just hope we settle it on the water next year, for better or worse.

Hurricane Bob

* Bronze, Gold, Gold.  Next? *