By David Campbell
"Don't worry about the other boats," our coach said. "Just row this one as hard and fast as I know you can."
The big day. "This is it men, this is the race we've been shooting at for three years.
"Just remember what I told you: 2,000 meters is a long race, and the last 500 meters will be won in your head and in your heart. Now let's get out there and row."
We knew if we won this race we would go on the Princess Elizabeth Cup in England. We also knew that the competition was strong, especially the teams from British Columbia and from a local high school. It would be a tough race.
We hefted the boat onto the dock and into the water.
A man who lived sportsmanship
My rowing coach from 1966 to 1968, in my high school days, was the best example of true sportsmanship I have ever had the privilege to see. His name was Neil Campbell.
Neil Campbell never lectured us about sportsmanship, he lived it. He coached a novice team of oarsmen into National Champs in three seasons. Along the way he taught us true sportsmanship and he taught us to be men.
Despite being the lead oarsman, or "stroke," of the Canadian Olympic Rowing Team in 1964, he was a humble man. He'd say, "If you lose, say nothing. If you win, say less." That set the tone. If we bragged or showed off after a win he would chew us out.
He worked us hard. Training began in January, as soon as we came back to school from winter break. He had us run five miles before breakfast. After school we lifted weights and did calisthenics in an unheated building on the edge of campus.
Everything he told us to do, he did--and then some. Once he thought we were getting a little too full of schoolboy bravado, so he challenged us all to a push-up contest. He was about 35 years old at the time.
We all pumped away until only our stroke, Neil and I were left. Moore Newell, our stroke, and I collapsed together at 112. Neil went on to 125!
Rowing in the eight-man shells could not start until early April when the ice was off the river. Even then, it was bitterly cold with an icy wind blowing in off Lake Erie.
Neil would be in an aluminum boat alongside us, freezing and shouting correction and encouragement through a megaphone.
He wouldn't let us get too proud. If we thought we were rowing well because we had just overpowered another team, he would arrange to have the local men's team, who were the Canadian Olympic Team, race against us. They would beat us by five lengths going away. It hurt, but it made us row better. Neil made us dig deeper daily.
The day finally came for the big race, the Canadian National Schoolboy Championships. We remembered him telling us to stay loose; to dismiss the crowds, bands, television, parents and girl friends from our minds. He wanted us to think rowing and nothing else.
Stay loose and row tough
He called us together in the boat house. "Men [it was never 'boys'], you've been taught everything I know about this sport [not, 'I've taught you everything there is to know']. I've seen you get better for three years. I know you can win this race. Don't worry about the other boats. Just row this one as hard and fast as I know you can."
He never lectured us on sportsmanship--he lived it. He made us dig deeper every day.
He gave us some last-minute encouragement as we rowed slowly down toward the starting gate.This was it. The wind was on the beam (a crosswind), which would make it hard to steer and keep the boat level.
"Think over the race in your mind," I could hear Neil saying. "Stay loose and row tough."
We approached the starting gate, and began to turn the racing shell around. Moore Newell pulled out a banana he had brought on board. He calmly peeled it down a bit, took a bite and handed it back to the number seven man. He took a bite and handed it to me. I nibbled and handed it back. The banana went all the way down the boat, much to the distraction of the other boats lined up in the gate. We laughed. We were ready.
The gun fired. We exploded out of the gate and poured the power on. We hit the catch with all we had and bent the shaft to follow through.
It was close. The team from British Columbia was beside us to the 1,500 meter mark. Now our strategy was to sprint home--to take it up to 42 strokes a minute.
We hit 42 and they hit 42. It was still close.
But our 42 was faster than their 42. We broke their hearts by gaining about a foot each stroke.
Finally our conditioning paid off. We won going away. What Neil had said about the last 500 meters was true. Several of us (including me), leaned over the side and threw up. We had nothing left. We had set a course record and we were going to England!
The next day Neil had us out rowing again. When we got to the rowing club, the Olympic team was waiting for us. They beat us by a lot, of course. But it brought Neil's lesson home:
"If you lose, say nothing. If you win, say less."
Taken from Youth 90 magazine
"Just remember what I told you: 2,000 meters is a long race, and the last 500 meters will be won in your head and in your heart. Now let's get out there and row."
We knew if we won this race we would go on the Princess Elizabeth Cup in England. We also knew that the competition was strong, especially the teams from British Columbia and from a local high school. It would be a tough race.
We hefted the boat onto the dock and into the water.
A man who lived sportsmanship
My rowing coach from 1966 to 1968, in my high school days, was the best example of true sportsmanship I have ever had the privilege to see. His name was Neil Campbell.
Neil Campbell never lectured us about sportsmanship, he lived it. He coached a novice team of oarsmen into National Champs in three seasons. Along the way he taught us true sportsmanship and he taught us to be men.
Despite being the lead oarsman, or "stroke," of the Canadian Olympic Rowing Team in 1964, he was a humble man. He'd say, "If you lose, say nothing. If you win, say less." That set the tone. If we bragged or showed off after a win he would chew us out.
He worked us hard. Training began in January, as soon as we came back to school from winter break. He had us run five miles before breakfast. After school we lifted weights and did calisthenics in an unheated building on the edge of campus.
Everything he told us to do, he did--and then some. Once he thought we were getting a little too full of schoolboy bravado, so he challenged us all to a push-up contest. He was about 35 years old at the time.
We all pumped away until only our stroke, Neil and I were left. Moore Newell, our stroke, and I collapsed together at 112. Neil went on to 125!
Rowing in the eight-man shells could not start until early April when the ice was off the river. Even then, it was bitterly cold with an icy wind blowing in off Lake Erie.
Neil would be in an aluminum boat alongside us, freezing and shouting correction and encouragement through a megaphone.
He wouldn't let us get too proud. If we thought we were rowing well because we had just overpowered another team, he would arrange to have the local men's team, who were the Canadian Olympic Team, race against us. They would beat us by five lengths going away. It hurt, but it made us row better. Neil made us dig deeper daily.
The day finally came for the big race, the Canadian National Schoolboy Championships. We remembered him telling us to stay loose; to dismiss the crowds, bands, television, parents and girl friends from our minds. He wanted us to think rowing and nothing else.
Stay loose and row tough
He called us together in the boat house. "Men [it was never 'boys'], you've been taught everything I know about this sport [not, 'I've taught you everything there is to know']. I've seen you get better for three years. I know you can win this race. Don't worry about the other boats. Just row this one as hard and fast as I know you can."
He never lectured us on sportsmanship--he lived it. He made us dig deeper every day.
He gave us some last-minute encouragement as we rowed slowly down toward the starting gate.This was it. The wind was on the beam (a crosswind), which would make it hard to steer and keep the boat level.
"Think over the race in your mind," I could hear Neil saying. "Stay loose and row tough."
We approached the starting gate, and began to turn the racing shell around. Moore Newell pulled out a banana he had brought on board. He calmly peeled it down a bit, took a bite and handed it back to the number seven man. He took a bite and handed it to me. I nibbled and handed it back. The banana went all the way down the boat, much to the distraction of the other boats lined up in the gate. We laughed. We were ready.
The gun fired. We exploded out of the gate and poured the power on. We hit the catch with all we had and bent the shaft to follow through.
It was close. The team from British Columbia was beside us to the 1,500 meter mark. Now our strategy was to sprint home--to take it up to 42 strokes a minute.
We hit 42 and they hit 42. It was still close.
But our 42 was faster than their 42. We broke their hearts by gaining about a foot each stroke.
Finally our conditioning paid off. We won going away. What Neil had said about the last 500 meters was true. Several of us (including me), leaned over the side and threw up. We had nothing left. We had set a course record and we were going to England!
The next day Neil had us out rowing again. When we got to the rowing club, the Olympic team was waiting for us. They beat us by a lot, of course. But it brought Neil's lesson home:
"If you lose, say nothing. If you win, say less."
Taken from Youth 90 magazine
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