"It's hard to dance with the devil on your back"

Once again ole Uphill didn't medal in the local Head Race. Unable to train properly for the race due to the vagaries of a night-shift dayjob and other metaphysical phenomena, I was resigned to joining in the recreational row. There are no adaptive-rowing events at this head race. The rowing officials and ole grouches from that other rowing club would have no one to yell at for going too slow. Pity.

But even the rec row to the finish was not to be. When the head race was being added to the family calendar, my fave non-cox-son noted that his school team had a race that morning. His team, unlike my fave cox-son (who hasn't been a cox since his frosh year, and now is a coach) doesn't row. His sport is rowers' training. No, not drinking beer! They run.

And run he did, all 5k of the cross-country course, and he finished it in half the time it would take his dad to row the same distance uphill. And I was there watching feet, instead of foot-stretchers, go by. The freshman (now an actual sophomore) ran well enough to get a free t-shirt and is now eyeing a shot at a state championship in November.

Just my luck. His state meet is the same weekend as the Head of the Hooch. See y'all down at the river next year.

Meanwhile, row because you can!

Reprise; That was written a year ago and lost (until today), so never posted. But the circumstances are the same this year. It's just as well. I recently switched from spoons to blades in hopes of coaxing, as differs from coxing, a few more meters/hr out of the platypus trainer shell. After all, I know some fast rowers and none use spoons. So I switched to blades. Brings a new meaning to to "backsplash." And "bury the hatchet."