"Oh, sh*t."

That's never something you want to think of in the middle of a race.

You never look around in a Dragon Boat race. Just moving your head to look affects your whole body; your head leads your torso, which won't turn as far, which means you don't bury your blade, which means you don't move as much water as you should, which screws up the person behind you...

Coach always says, "You only slow down one boat when you look around. Yours."

So I didn't really look. While twisting and reaching and burying and twisting, I just happened to see a tail off to the left where there shouldn't be a tail. If I can see a tail (the back), that means it's attached to a body, with a head, somewhere up the river. Ahead of us.

"Oh, sh*t."

The Wyeth Wyverns have been racing in the Philadelphia Dragon Boat Festival for 5 years. In 5 appearances, we've won the Pharmaceutical Cup 4 times. It is THE race for us. As a bonus, and almost an afterthought, we'd been two-time champions (2005, 2006), following up our first bronze medals in 2004.

But the Pharma Race is the one that matters. It's bragging rights. It's a nice trophy you show your sponsors. It's your picture on the flat screens around the campus. It's also our first race of the day, so all of the nerves you built up in the previous 364 days tend to fly in "V" Formation as soon as the horn sounds, and you get going. Except in our case, we weren't really going. The boat wasn't settling - it was nervous. Tight. And now, it was behind.

In these races, passes don't happen quickly. The boats are slow; it takes 20 people to get one moving, and when you sprint, it's not like you suddenly explode and pick up 10 miles per hour. You don't fly by someone - you walk. So when you're a boat length back with 100 meters to go, you call a sprint and hope for the best, even though you're pretty much toast at that point.

"THREE! TWO! ONE! C'MON! C'MON!" Joey, our drummer for the second year, sounded really pissed off. Billy, our usually really vocal steerer, wasn't saying anything I could hear. If Billy is yelling, you're close. If Billy is swearing, you're REALLY close. If Billy isn't talking, you're pretty much screwed.

For the last 30 seconds I just heard my own heartbeat in my ears; my own breathing, and the sound of our 20 paddles reaching for as much water as they could move.

"Aaand, the GSK FireDragons will WIN the Pharmaceutical Challenge!" When you can hear the race announcer calling the race before you cross the line? That's bad. We were second, but it was by a time zone - a full boat length. 4 seconds.

For the first time since 2005, we were beaten on the water. We'd lost the Pharma Cup that year, but not on the water; the boat that beat us would do so in the next heat, and it always sort of stung to know that we could have probably beaten them or at least made a real show of it. But this time? No such doubt or second guessing - we'd been smoked.

Still, our time of 2:14:22 would place us third overall out of 140 boats that would race in the morning preliminaries, meaning that we would once again be in the "A" Division - the top 16 boats in the festival. We would have two more races - the "A" Semi-Final, and hopefully, the Grand Final - the festival Championship race.

We would have nearly 3 hours to recover, clear our heads, contemplate, and get ready for Act II.
 

"We never have a good first race," coach said. "Everyone was nervous, we didn't get a good start. You get a good start, and then give me a good settle, you can hang with these guys. Get me a second on the start, and two seconds in the settle, and there are the three seconds you need to beat them." These pre-race meetings are the one chance we have to get our heads into the game, and everyone listens.

Racing anything is always a disproportionate investment. The time you spend training is tenfold the amount of time you actually race, but you accept that as part of the game. When your event is just over two minutes long, compared to your average practice of about an hour, you know your body is ready. To unlock the muscles and tear up the river means getting your mind on that razor sharp line that balances itself between being good, and being great.

The "A" Division Semi-Final would be a great chance for redemption. In a rare twist of scheduling, the GSK Fire Dragons would be side-by-side with us, with each boat in the exact same lane as the Pharmaceutical Cup. It would be a rematch - a repechage, right down to the smallest detail.

"Get out with them, and you can beat these guys."

You load the boats at the docks. You check your paddle, your vest, your seat. Nobody really talks - there's not that much to say. There's always tension in the boat, even from the veterans. Even though you've been here before, even though you might have one or two Gold Medals hanging up somewhere, you know that it doesn't matter now. You'll be judged on what you do right now, in this race.

In some ways, the Semi-Final is a much more tense affair than the Final. If you're in the Grand Final, then at least you're there - you've made it. You will be racing for all the marbles. But in the Semi, you've still got to earn it. You've got to finish in the top-4, and that's never guaranteed. You can break a steering oar. You can get crashed into by another boat. You can have a bad start, panic, and never catch up. There's a long list of things that can go wrong, but you don't think about those.

You think about what you've got to do, and coach always keeps that simple.
"Anticipate. Get that paddle in deep. Reach. Find the settle."

You paddle out into the open water behind Strawberry Mansion Bridge. There are 7 other boats circling each other in slow motion, like sharks. You don't look at the other boats, and they don't look at you, but you know they're out there. You hear others practice their starts. You do the same, and then you slowly creep towards the docks. Nobody wants to be first, so nobody moves. This means that the starter always gets impatient. "C'mon boats, let's get this race going. All boats approach the line, you have two minutes to the start."

While other steerers will give in and start moving, Billy has been steering Dragon Boats for 23 years: He knows just how far you can push it. He knows exactly where we should be, and how much time it will take to get from point A to point B. If you have 2 minutes, Billy will call out when to paddle and when to let the boat glide. You give him a two-minute warning, and he'll bring his boat into the docks in about a minute and fifty-eight seconds.

It's pretty frickin' cool.

"Lane 5, hold it here."
"Lane 1, check it down."

"ALL BOATS HOLD!"

Your blade hits the water; you hold the stretch. The silence in that last second takes forever to pass...and then the horn sounds. You take one huge pull, and start suffering, making each stroke as hard as you can. "TEN!" Joey called out the stroke count.

"EIGHT! NINE! LONG! REACH! REACH!" We hit the settle at 20 strokes, and for the first time all day, I heard Billy.

"NICE JOB! GOOD JOB! STAY WITH THEM!" Yes! Yes! We'd gotten off the line tight, and now it was down to business. For the next two minutes, I don't remember much. I just remember twisting to the left, and seeing the middle of their boat, and not the tail. With each twist, I saw the same dude. He never moved up, and he never moved back.

"YOU'RE RIGHT THERE! GOOD JOB! GOOD JOB!" Billy let us know, in case there was any doubt.

"REACH! REACH! REACH! GIMME' A SEAT! I NEED A SEAT!" Joey had the best view of where we were, because all she had to do was look over at GSK's drummer. He was looking over at her and yelling the same thing to his charges. For 400 meters, they just went back and forth, back and forth.

"THREE! TWO! ONE! SPRINT! GIVE IT TO ME! GIVE IT TO ME! GET ME THAT SEAT!" When Joey called the sprint, I thought, "This is it - this is it! C'mon! C'mon! We only need a foot! PLEASE!" By now my teeth were numb, I was soaked from the spray, and I was just about ready to enter that out-of-body plane that comes from holding my heart rate around 180 for two minutes straight. Everyone else in the Wyverns was on the same rivet, suffering as one.

It was awesome.

We crossed the line, and so did GSK. "Paddle!" Yelled Joey. She looked at Lane 4. GSK's drummer looked back at Joey. They both shrugged the same way, that universal gesture for "Any idea who won that?" The Wyeth Wyverns and GSK Fire Dragons had left everyone else behind, just the way coach said we could. We got out with them, stayed with them, and raced them hard to the line. Now we waited for the judges to review the finish line video, and tell us if it was enough.

"A" Division Semifinal 2:
1. GSK Fire Dragons 2:15.22
2. Wyeth Wyverns 2:15:50
3. River Runners 2:20.14
4. Booz Allen Betafish 2:20.49

0.28 seconds worked out to be about 2 feet. They surged at the right time to get the win, but that didn't matter. We'd found the three seconds we were looking for out there, and for the fifth consecutive year, the Wyverns would have two hours to recover and prepare for the Grand Final, the Festival Championship race.

But in that time, we found out we would have one more race to run.
 

Carol Lee, the festival director, had emailed me when the schedule was printed up in mid-September, warning me, "You'd better be ready - you're racing my Challengers!" At first I thought she was talking about the other 139 boats out there; I didn't know what she meant, until race day.

The Challengers is a boat put together each year for special needs paddlers. They had raced a 250 Meter Prelim in the morning, and they had just found out they'd be racing against the defending festival champions in THEIR final race. With a little help from some other teams, they filled out their boat and paddled away from the docks. We quietly worked our way up to their side, while the starter worked through the commands.

"Wyeth, come up a Dragon Head."
"Challengers, hold please. Right there."

One of the paddlers in The Challengers looked over at us, pointed his finger at us, and announced, "YOU'RE GOING DOWN!" to anyone within 100 yards. Dude meant business. We responded with a chorus of chatter; "Whatever! Bring it!"

"GO!" We were so busy chattering, we kind of 'missed' the start...and before you knew it, The Challengers were a boat length ahead!

"GET THERE! GET THERE!" Joey knew exactly what to do, and so did we. As Carol Lee boomed out commands to The Challengers, Joey did the same, but it was too little, too late. At 200 meters, we were still a boat length back. Carol Lee screamed out, "YOU'VE GOT THE LEAD! GO! GO! THEY'RE COMING!" Joey did the same, but we knew our place. And that would be second, by a good 20 feet. We'd been the Washington Generals to their Harlem Globetrotters...and made it look good.

The Challengers took the win, and as we glided alongside, our heads dropped in shame. Heads were shook. Faces were covered. I took a quick look up to see just who had beaten us, and was greeted with a single arm extended in a "Thumbs up" gesture, that was quickly turned to "Thumbs down," and pointed right at me.

"You LOSE! We WIN!" Smack-talk dude had a point, and would soon have a Gold Medal to back up his talk. I only hoped than in about an hour, I'd have one to match.
 

"Is there anywhere else in the world you'd rather be?" Billy asked the boat. I raised my right fist to the sky; I couldn't say anything (you don't talk in the boat!), but that part of me was enough to say, "Sir, yes sir!" The sun was getting low in the sky, and 53 races had already been run. On a day that started well before the sun had risen, race 54 of 54 would take place into the warm glow of an early October sunset.

140 Boats had started, and now 8 remained. To make the Grand Final is always a great honor. You know that everyone else on shore is watching you. You know you'll be in the tightest, fastest, most competitive race of the day. You know that there's no tomorrow. You have no reason to leave anything behind; any sense of pace or patience is abandoned, and replaced with complete and total commitment.

As we glided under Strawberry Mansion Bridge for the final time in 2007, we were pointed slightly to the left. From my seat in 5R, I had a rare chance to see the entire race course; all 8 lanes, perfectly straight and parallel. 500 meters away I could see the Finish Line and Judges Tent to the left, and smiled as I thought, "There's a Gold hanging there about 2 minutes away. Who wants it?"

GSK Fire Dragons would be there, as would Main Line Health and Fitness. The story with Main Line was a simple one: They had been coming after us for 4 years, but had yet beaten us on the water. They'd come within .20 seconds in a semi-final in 2006, but faded in the Grand Final. They were, without question, the strongest boat on the water. They were comprised of 20 fitness instructors, so power was definitely NOT an issue. Yet somehow, year after year, the boat of researchers, accountants, techies, and the occasional director and VP had left them behind.

But they had posted faster times in the morning preliminaries, and the other "A" Semi-Final.

That meant we were the third seed, and would be racing in Lane 6.

"Right here. Right NOW. Be READY! HAVE FUN." Billy kept the focus in the boat. Joey did the same. "Eyes in our boat. You guys are ready."

I tried to relax; I'd been here before. This was my 4th championship race. I had two Gold and one Bronze.

But why won't my damn hands stop shaking? Breathe. Just breathe. In and out. In and out. Relax your arms. You tense up now, you'll never recover. Doesn't the sun feel good? Warm. Magic light. We're going to give these folks a hell of a show. Bury the blade, lift the boat off the line, then leave it all behind.

"Lane 5, back a Dragon Head."

Man, this is going to hurt. So? You've been working on your two-minute test on the Erg since June. It's just four 30-second intervals. You can do that. You might not be as strong as the other guys, but you know you can suffer more. You can take more pain. Except Patrick. That dude can take insane amounts. How the hell did he pull that 447 after dinner? Next year I'm totally downing a bottle of Red before my final test.

"Lane 1, Hold it there."

Chris and Billy just got back from racing with the US Team at Sydney. I wonder if they feel like I do now, even though this race is like 20 seconds slower? Are the butterflies the same? Can they tell me that adrenaline tastes like medal? Probably. They won't leave anything behind either. Nobody will.

"ALL BOATS HOLD!"

Paddle DEEP. REACH. Are you looking at Geoff? TWIST. Breathe in! Breathe in! There! Wait. Wait. Wait. Make this stroke the best of the d-

The starter hit the horn for the last time, and all eight boats leapt out of the water together. For the first 100 meters nobody led anyone, just the way a final should be.

"GOOD JOB! GOOD JOB! STAY THERE!" Billy let us know, but Chris was seeing things he didn't like. From the stroke seat on the left side, he could see that the bow wasn't coming up; the boat was snowplowing through the water - not getting up on plane. Maybe it was the boat, maybe it was the water in Lane 6, or maybe it was just us being 'off' for a second. Billy was wondering the same thing at the back, but could do nothing about it except keep us true as he always does, and scream.

Neither was an issue.

"STAY THERE! STAY WITH THEM! GOOD!" He was cheering, but we were already a half-boat back. Was it too much? I had no idea. This time, I wasn't looking around even when I twisted. I had my eyes mostly closed - I just looked up the right side to make sure my timing was tight, and died a little more with each stroke.

"REACH! REACH!" Joey sounded way more ticked off this time. That wasn't good.

"I NEED ANOTHER SEAT!" Another? That meant we needed more than one. Dammit.

At 300 meters, things weren't looking good. When Chris called for the sprint and Joey gave it to us, I knew it wasn't good. The sprint is usually saved for the last 30 seconds of a race - about 125 meters. To call it this soon was the Dragon Boat equivalent of the Hail Mary. We were behind, and needed to give it all we had to the very last pull.

"No tomorrow! No tomorrow! Finish this sprint, and pass out - that's the goal!" I wondered if I did manage that and actually pass out, would I stay in the boat? I didn't care - I was wearing a sissy vest. I'd be fine.

"COME ON! COME ON! THAT'S IT! THAT'S IT! GIVE IT TO ME! GIVE IT TO ME!" With each pull, Joey's voice got higher and higher. Could we get back into this thing? Could we do it? I didn't want to know - I didn't want to think. With each stroke I just tried to make it harder than the last one - I just wanted to find more power from a body already at its limit, just like everyone else.

Before the race had started, Patricia had said to me, "Bob, I hope we win again. I don't know if I could take it if we don't." I knew what she meant, but I also knew that was a dangerous way to be. When you put the weight of the world on your shoulders, you can't do anything else. I knew that one - I'd screwed up so many races with that kind of thinking, I was totally trying to keep from going there myself.

"The one thing you want out of the final is to finish with no regrets. Whether or not we win, you want to know that you couldn't possibly have done any more than you could have in that race. If you finish that way, you won't care how it goes." I was talking to myself as much as I was talking to Patricia, but I knew it was true - I wasn't just blowing flowers around.

I closed my eyes, reached a little more, and made sure I had no regrets.

"PADDLE!" When Joey called the finish line, I couldn't feel my teeth. A good sign. I definitely hadn't backed off.

We all looked up at Joey, because she was the one who had some idea where we'd finished. She wasn't screaming, so we probably hadn't won the thing. Joey was looking across the lanes, back towards Lane 1, Lane 2, Lane 3, and Lane 4. When she did, only two words escaped her lips.

"Oh, sh*t."

Joey knew GSK had won it.
Joey also knew that Main Line had been second, finally beating us for the first time in their history.
Joey also knew that the Bronze medal was way the hell up in the air.

What we couldn't see was that the River Runners in Lane 1 had come roaring up and crossed the line right with us.
And so had the Charm City Racers in Lane 2.
And so had the GSK Philly Dragons in Lane 3.

Head to head to head to head.

Oh, sh*t, indeed.

"Guys, I have no idea..." Joey praised, "But you gave me a hell of a ride!"

As we made the turn to head for home, we waited for the race announcer to make sense of the photo finish. As we paddled along the seawall, we heard the announcement:

"Winning the 'A' Division Final are the GSK Fire Dragons! Second place, Main Line Health and Fitness! And in Third Place..."

My heart stopped. Every paddler on the river tilted their head over like Victor the RCA dog, listening for the very next word...

"...The Wyeth Wyverns!"

Whew. WHEW. Bronze again! SWEET! So how close was it?

A DIVISION FINAL
1. GSK Fire Dragons 2:15.29
2. Main Line Health & Fitness 2:15.87
3. Wyeth Wyverns 2:17.07
4. River Runners 2:17.37
5. Charm City Racers 2:17.55
6. GSK Philly Dragons 2:17.89
7. DC Dragons 2:21.27
8. Booz Allen BetaFish 2:27.46

From third place to sixth place was 0.82 seconds. Maybe 2 seats, at best. It could have gone either way.

But it didn't. It went our way.

For the 4th year in a row, We'd all be taking home hardware - another Bronze to bookend the two Golds on the medal rack. When we got out of the boat back at the docks, we shook hands with everyone. "It was a hell of a show, wasn't it?" Walking back to the tents with GSK, one of their guys said, "I hate when the season ends. I mean, that was f'ing GREAT! And now it's all done...too quick. Too soon."

Just then Patricia came past me, spun around and said, "Bob! No regrets!" Then she ran ahead. In my post-race stupor, I honestly had no idea what she was talking about; it took me about a month to figure it out. But on some idle Tuesday when outlining this race report, when I did finally put the pieces together, I just smiled and nodded.

When people at Wyeth ask me about the Dragon Boat team, they always say, "I'd like to try out, but I don't know. You guys are just so serious!" We're not too serious - we just know what it takes.

To have a day that ends with no regrets is about as close to a perfect day as anyone can have. I don't know how many people ever get to feel that kind of feeling; I feel lucky to have had it more than once, and the thought of having that feeling again is what will keep me racing until they close the lid on this life. Are we a serious bunch? Yes, we are. But that's because we know what it takes to feel "no regrets...", and we're willing to work hard enough to try and get there. Again.

No regrets means leaving it all behind.
No regrets means a champagne toast as the sun sets.

No regrets means the only thing to be sad about, is that there are 364 more days until you get to do it again.

I can't wait.

Hurricane Bob
* No regrets. *

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