Head of the River (18 page)

Westie stands behind us and it makes me find even more strength in my legs. I feel like I'm pushing down a block of flats.

‘Easy you two. Leave something in the tank,' he warns.

Little does he know what's powering our tanks. We'd be thrown out of the team in a second if he could see what was in our bloodstreams.

The 2 ks fly by. I don't count strokes. Don't feel the searing pain of years past. I just eat up metre after metre until I'm staring at the finish line.

‘Let's go!' shouts Westie. ‘Final push lads!'

Everyone stands around for the finale and I can tell it's going to be a massive time for Adam and me. A PB by miles.

As we wind down the last twenty strokes, I'm pulling so hard I think I might pop a vein and Adam is super focused, closing his eyes and muttering to himself. My chest burns and sweat pours down my face, but I feel good. I'm breathing up big and I know I've got heaps left. This erg is mine.

The room counts us down and I reach the end of the 2000 first, dropping my handle dramatically, sucking up oxygen. Making everyone think this is a feat of muscle, bone and heart. I roll up and down on the slide, keeping my body moving so I don't cramp up.

Adam gets there next, thirty seconds behind me. He tips back his head and gasps for air. I thrust water at him, but he shakes his head. He dry heaves with his whole body, but nothing comes out. The other guys finish up – far enough away that it's a
fait accompli
. We are both back in the first boat. For the first time, I think that this idea of Adam's was the best he's ever had.

I grab Adam and lift him off the machine and even though his legs are jelly, I get him to walk around the room a few times with me and take a few sips from his water bottle. He looks awful. He isn't recovering as well as I am. We sit on the balcony for a while, looking out to the river and the girls getting ready to go out rowing.

‘Feel better now?'

Adam nods, but he's still pale. ‘Took it right to the edge.'

Westie comes over with his iPad.

‘The rumours are true, then,' he says.

Guilt and shame force their way up to my cheeks and make them burn.

‘What rumours?' I say defensively.

‘That you two have been doing extra weights sessions. Training on the sly. I don't encourage it, but your results are dramatically improved.'

Adam manages to smile. We did it.

‘Adam you rowed an impressive 6.22. Breaking your PB by …' He consults his iPad. ‘Forty seconds. Poppa, you broke the Australian thirteen to eighteen-year-old ergometer record in a time of 5.52. Congratulations boys, you are both officially back in the first eight.'

Leni

Rachel finds me in our room. I'm lying on my bed and turning over the erg trial in my head. The weather has turned and it's pelting down rain. Slabs of it are dripping from the window frame, turning everything to mud. Our break will be over soon and the afternoon session will begin. I have to leave this room somehow. There's a knock at the door and it opens slowly.

‘Oh Captain, My Captain,' Rachel sing songs. I'm in no mood for her jokes.

She walks into the room and sits on my bed. I roll away from her.

‘We're ready to get out on the water. You know the rowing camp motto – monsoonal rain, hail or shine. Are you okay, after the erg test?'

‘Of course I'm not okay. What time did you get?'

‘Who cares?'

‘I do. Laura does. The school does.'

‘Put an erg on the water and it sinks. It's what we do
in
the boat that counts the most. Anyway, you weren't the only one to blow out. Meg hit the deck at the 1000-metre mark.'

‘Meg? Are you comparing me to the worst rower in our boat?'

‘If I was, would it matter?' she says. ‘We're all in the same crew. We all win or lose together. If you didn't want to be in a team, you should've sculled this year.'

‘What's everyone saying about my erg?'

Rachel puts her hand on my leg, gingerly.

‘You know what people say about you, Leni? That you're amazing. Maybe the best rower we'll ever sit in a boat with. That one day, you'll go to the Olympics, like your parents.'

‘You don't have to say that to make me feel better.'

‘I'm not. I'll row this last season. Maybe a couple more at uni, socially. It's fun and it keeps me fit. But I'm not going to any Olympics. I'll watch you on telly and tell people I beat you on an erg test once.'

‘But I'm the captain. I'm not supposed to die on an erg,' I say.

‘There's a reason you were voted captain and it's nothing to do with your stupid erg score. We all look up to you. The younger girls want to
be
you. On the river, you're a rock star. So get out there. Talk to the other crews. Get your head out of your own arse and ask them how they're going. Give them someone to follow and be the best rower you can be. That's what a real captain does. Pull it together.'

‘Are you always this blunt?' I say. ‘I mean you could've sugar-coated it a little.'

‘My mum never lets me get away with sulking. She says I've got it too good. I'm not going to let you either.'

Like in the boat I follow her lead. I change into clean training gear and pull a slicker over my head. Grab my water bottle and my hat.

‘One more thing,' Rachel says. ‘There's no point us being rivals. Whether I'm in the stroke seat or you are, when we line up for the Head of the River, we're going to need each other. Forget about erg scores and seat races. Let's be a crew. Row well, win some races, maybe even have a couple of laughs. Okay?'

She puts her arm around me, like she does with her besties. ‘You gotta relax, Leni, you're far too uptight.'

We walk down to the boats together and even though Millie and Aiko are there too, Rachel keeps her arm slung over my shoulders, right through the crew chat. And I let her.

We row the rising, pockmarked river, Laura trailing us in a speedboat. Raindrops the size of peas roll off the peak of my hat and my hands slip on the wet handle. I shake my head, but the rain comes harder still. The rain soaks through my zootie, right through to my undies.

Usually wet outings bring a dark cloud over my mood. But today, I see the funny side. When we stop to do roll up drills, water sloshes around our feet. The rain is attacking us sideways, above, below. I can't stop giggling. We can barely see a few metres in front of us. I'm blinded by the water running into my eyes.

‘You find this weather funny, Leni?' Laura asks into her megaphone, huddling under a slicker.

‘I don't know why I'm laughing,' I admit.

The unstoppable rain and my soggy undies seem hysterically funny. Then it starts hailing.

In front of me Rachel gets the giggles too and behind me Millie catches on, then Penny and Meg, all the way down to the bow. The whole boat cracks up. The harder it hails, the harder we laugh. Even Aiko gives up trying to get us into line.

‘Bugger this,' says Laura, looking up at the grey, closed-in sky. ‘Middle of summer and it's hailing. Let's ditch this session and get dry. At least you girls still have your sense of humour.'

As we pull the boat into the staging, we're still laughing and talking. The rain has broken up a dark stagnant pond, revealing clear water underneath. After we put the boat on racks, I spot a group of Year Nines in the rain. They've decided it's so wet they might as well have a swim in the river, and they're cavorting on the bank, sopping wet. Usually I'd ignore them but I have a job to do. Like it or not – I'm in charge of this rabble.

‘Oi!' I shout at them. ‘You lot!'

I gather up an armful of dry towels and beckon them inside. ‘Let's go, girls. Get out of the rain!'

They run towards the shed and shiver around me as I hand out towels.

‘Dry yourselves off. I'm going to make hot chocolates for everyone upstairs in the dining hall,' I say. Group hot chocolates. Could anything be less me?

They look at me in shock, drying off their hair and bodies, teeth chattering. I've never spoken to any of them. I don't know their names. That has to change. I remember how much I looked up to previous captains. How they never paid me the slightest bit of attention and I yearned for it. I have a chance to be a different type of captain this year.

‘Wet gear off, hot showers, dry clothes and I'll see you in the hall in ten minutes,' I say, liking how my voice sounds. Strong, almost motherly.

‘Training hard?' I say to one of them as she passes by. Tall and solid, she could be a future first-boat rower.

‘Yeah.'

‘Good. Having fun too?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Good. That's what camp is about. What's your name?'

‘Amelia.'

‘I'm Leni.'

‘I know,' she says, and finally gives me a shy smile.

Dad pulls me into the empty training room before dinner. I flinch when I see the ergo machines. There should be crime scene tape draped across them.

‘Come, sit,' says Dad, patting a seat. It seems so innocent now. Not the dreaded lump of steel that beat me to a bloody pulp.

I roll up and down on the slide, the wheels turning gently on metal. Dad sits on the machine next to me and does the same. Outside dinner has started. We can hear the muted roar of starving rowers clawing for plates of hot food. The smell of barbecued meat makes me hungry. I want this father–daughter chat to be brief.

‘Why did I stop?' I say. ‘You know everything about rowing. Everything about my rowing. So why did it happen?'

‘I can't tell you that, Leni,' Dad says, switching to Romanian so I know this isn't going to be a short chat. ‘Every trial is a mental game. You're fit enough to do 7.20. Your body was strong, but your head gave up today. You got spooked.'

‘My brain was weak? Nothing to do with it being a furnace and going out too hard on your advice? I couldn't keep it up. I'm obviously not as good as you think. I couldn't even break 7.30.'

‘Don't be the rower that makes excuses after a poor result,' Dad says. ‘You're just starting out in this sport. In rowing years, you're a baby. If you progress to senior crews, you'll push yourself further than you can even imagine sitting here right now. You will scream for mercy. You'll summon every fibre of your being, every ounce of energy trying to claw your way to the line first. You'll be ten times fitter, stronger, faster and tougher than you are now. Today was a lesson. You'll face so many more in the future.'

‘I learnt a lesson by falling apart during an erg?'

‘Did you learn you can be beaten?' asks Dad.

‘Yes.'

‘You're human?'

‘Yes.'

‘You have weakness?'

‘Maybe you're my weakness,' I say. I don't mean it, but I want it to be someone else's fault.

‘Maybe,' Dad agrees. ‘Maybe your lesson was not to listen to your silly old father.'

‘Why
did
you tell me to go hard? It wasn't the right thing today.'

‘It's tough for me not to guide you. I taught you and Cristian to row. I feel like I know you best. Better than these coaches. But I have to trust them. I have to let go. I've spoken to Laura. We've agreed I'll stay out of the way and not offer my opinion, unless I'm asked. I wish I'd been across the room during that trial, not in your ear.'

I feel torn. I've always loved having Dad by my side. He gives me strength.

‘Sometimes I will ask you for advice. Would that be okay?'

‘I'll always be there for you. You're my daughter.'

‘Should we go and eat?' I ask. ‘I'm starving.'

‘Yes, go. Never get between a teenager and their food,' Dad says.

‘You coming?'

Dad straps his feet into the ergo and picks up the handle.

‘In a little bit,' he says.

His body may be ageing, but his rowing style is polished to perfection. Each stroke flows gracefully into the next, his tree-trunk legs revving the wheel slowly into a crescendo of power. He takes it up a notch, knowing I'm watching. Then he smiles and waves me away.

Cristian

Leni sits with me at dinner. Her plate is heaving and she shoves food into her mouth, stopping only to gulp down a glass of milk.

‘Hungry?'

‘Starving,' she says with a full mouth.

I'm picking at a flaccid salad and a gristly piece of steak. It's hard to choke it down, but I need the energy to get through camp. I suck back at a sports drink, trying to satisfy the awful thirst. Since I started on the pills, I can't get rid of the dryness in my mouth. I wish I could chuck the packets in the bin. I dream about Mum's cakes and stews. I'm starving, too, but in a different way to Leni.

‘Okay after today?' I say. It's not right. I should have crashed out, not her.

‘All good now. I heard you had a blinder.'

Nobody could have guessed this is how camp would turn out. Leni dying at the 1500-metre mark and me – former fatty – taking the whole thing out.

‘Ergo gods smiled today.'

My record is all anyone wants to talk about, but it feels like a poisoned chalice. I didn't earn this time. I cheated.

‘You'll get that 7.20,' I say to Leni. ‘You're so strong, you just had a bad day.'

‘Thanks, Cris.'

After our plates are cleared, everyone starts banging the sides of their glasses with their knives and Westie walks up to the front of the room.

‘Someone in this room did something extraordinary today,' he says. He pauses for effect and the silence deepens. People turn to look at me.

‘Cristian Popescu didn't just do an erg trial. He smashed the school, state and Australian record for under-­nineteen-year-olds over 2000 metres. According to Google, our very own Cristian is now ranked the ninth fastest eighteen-year-old in the world.
In. The. World
,' he says, stressing each word.