The Six

Also, as part of the training-and-review process, we chose to change the crew line-up for less-crucial races sometimes to confuse the issue. It was on our home water that we steadily built skill and speed.

Given all this, it made sense not to pound the opposition in every race at the qualifying regatta, but come maybe second in heat and semi, then just -- as it seemed - squeak in to win the final race by a whisker. Mind games. It succeeded very neatly, although I say it myself, and we were suddenly the "surprise" selection, emerging from a bit of a backwater, all a bit raw and so not expected to do terribly well. Just as we had planned. Needless to say, Chelsea qualified as the single, with room to spare.

TWO

The regulation Olympic Regatta course has 6 lanes and is 2,000 metres long. Usually, logically and obviously, there would be 6 crews in each race. Thanks to attempts to make the spread and sizes of all the events "fairer" (don't ask), this time in our event there was a total of 8 entries, randomly spread across two heats of four; the winners of each heat went to the final and the remaining 6 would race again 3 days later for the last 4 places.

The two first-race winners got 6 days' rest, so unless the "shape" of the opposition was awkward it would usually make sense to win if possible. In our first race, we had opposition of two not-so-good crews, and one from France, who we knew were good and fancied their chances. The other race had the other good crew, from Ukraine, and three others of medium quality. France and Ukraine were close rivals, and with few crew changes had between them had won the last 5 World Championships.

We all had access to the official Games weather forecasts, which showed that on the day of our first race -- day 2, 1 day ahead -- conditions would be good, but for the second race -- then 4 days ahead -- there were some possibly rough conditions in store, but most likely later in the day. I called in a favour with the Head of our Climate faculty, and his strong prediction was that this bad weather would be both rougher and earlier than the "official" view. Brook carefully reviewed his evidence on-line and concurred with his thinking. We resolved, therefore, that it would be good sense to avoid trouble by winning first time out if possible. If we could do so, it would put a twist into the mind games and earn us some early respect -- as well as a good rest.

The first day had seen Chelsea in her first heat. Again due to the vagaries of the organisers choosing the best "shape" for each event, there were about 30 entries alongside her, requiring good scullers to race three times to reach the final. The form book indicated that it would be easy going for her until the semis, when the quality of the other entrants would start to shine through. She won that first heat, but even then acknowledged in advance that the entries from Belgium, South Africa and Sweden would almost certainly be taking the medals.

Race plans and tactics generally fall into two broad types -- softly, softly followed by a short sharp sprint finish, or a big push at half-way and hang on. After some discussion we agreed to try the second type, and put a bit of a frightener on the other crews by going for a good winning distance if it would not drain us too much. It succeeded -- too well. France answered our controlled push from halfway but had nothing left at 1750 metres. Usually the crew ahead in those circumstances eases up a bit, but as it was all feeling "really good", Hart duly called for a final flourish and they crossed the line some 5 boat lengths clear. They slowed and stopped, then the world went mad.

You will probably have seen how the racing crews are filmed by a camera from above. This is not on a drone, as there are way too many safety issues, but it is suspended from a long wire which runs the whole length of the 2,000 metre course down the middle above the two central lanes. The camera is not very heavy, but is rigid and has handles, small thumbscrews and so on sticking out. It is attached to a motorised trolley and both parts are radio-controlled for the best angles.

The short version of the famous video is only maybe 20 seconds long and starts about when the crew -- my crew -- stopped rowing. Initially, for no good reason -- the framing or angles or something - it looks as if the crew is on a flat ocean miles from anywhere or anyone. Then the picture shakes as the camera detaches itself from the trolley, and now it looks like one of those news reports where you see live film from the tip of a missile as it makes for the centre of a targeted building ... or in this case, so it seems, a targeted oarswoman. To make it all worse the TV operator had also lost control of which of his feeds was being broadcast, so that he could not stop the world seeing what was about to happen. The last few moments record exactly where on poor Brook it was aiming for. To my mind, the most awful part of it all is that the camera kept on filming as it homed in on its target, and the last few seconds are still painful to watch.

As the world knows, it could have been worse as it only (only?) caught her leg. But it hit hard, and something sticking out cut right through most of the muscles of her left calf. The poor girl was taken utterly by surprise -- as were the other three -- and it was not clear for a second or two what had happened. Although by a stroke of luck a major blood vessel had not been cut, there was some blood and Brook was in great pain. Victoria had the presence of mind to turn around in her seat to try to cover the deep cut with a t-shirt that had been worn before the start and then forgotten. The two in the stern, although upset, concentrated on keeping the boat level; everyone watching had seen what had happened so help was not long in arriving. Luckily the rogue camera had kept moving, fallen into the water and had not damaged the boat -- one less problem for me.

Although their technology was clearly crap, the Games organisers' safety and rescue measures were first-class, and two launches were next to the crew within 30 seconds. They took Brook into one launch and then straight to the medical centre, while the remaining three paddled slowly to the nearest landing-stage.

I need not go into all the commotion and to-ing and fro-ing. The other three were very distressed, but quickly realised that there was nothing to be done until we had some firm information. I had sent Mill, my admin assistant from the University, to the medical centre to act as our liaison, and after about 20 minutes we heard that Brook was stable, and was about to be taken to the local City Hospital for specialised surgery.

I am almost, but not quite, ashamed to say that my fall-back plan was clear in my mind before we even reached the medical centre. The only potential problem was the answer itself. Brook, it was very clear, was going to be out of action for many days if not weeks. Would Chelsea be prepared to sit in for the final?

Bless her, I had not needed to worry. Her mind had been working overtime, too, and so when I approached her a couple of hours after it had all gone wrong she started the conversation with "Let's not hang around. The answer is yes, I will sub in." She could clearly see the relief in my eyes, but out of my huge respect for her I did ask why she had been so certain of her answer. "Easy. Given the first day's results in my event, it is clear that the three winners from last time are on top form, plus that girl from Canada is really good. If I stay in, I could possibly squeak a bronze, but much more likely not. I know Hart, Parker and Victoria, and how their minds work. This will have been a massive shock to them, but I guarantee you they will be trying that much harder. Your only problem will be to control the extra adrenalin."

All in all the day was a write-off, apart (obviously) for the crew's guaranteed place in the Final. I called my new four together late that afternoon. Brook had been in surgery for some time and would not be awake until the next day. Although I did not ask, I am sure that they had all been using some of the calming techniques we had acquired. We agreed that although we would visit her each day we committed ourselves to all necessary practice and the day-by-day lead-up the Final.

During our visit to see Brook quite early the next day, she was very pale, tubed- and strapped-up, but in good spirits considering. Ever the practical one, she had been thinking hard in between surgeries and after shooing me out of the room made a short but very emotional speech to the others, to the effect that they should put her to the back of their minds and concentrate on what was happening on the water. I did not ask the others what she had said, but from later remarks it seemed she felt that she had let the crew down.

She gave the others a big hug each just before we left, calling me in last when she quietly whispered "They will do anything for you. They want that medal so very badly now." There was still far to go in the few days left, but at that point I felt that at least part of my long-range planning had worked properly; she -- and they - clearly believed in each other totally, all knew that a lot of special concentration was now called for, but all were in the right frame of mind.

Almost as a side-show, Ukraine had won the second heat by a long way, and three days later France won the semi in awful conditions -- in fact, after that race the rest of the day's programme was postponed by 24 hours. So they would be with us in the Final, but after an unsettling race. Good. Mind games.

As you can imagine, our practice sessions were eagerly devoured by a crowd of journalists, team managers and other athletes. As to be expected, the new crew was able to focus itself effectively, thanks to Brook's little speech and the bonding that had gone on in the preceding months, and if I had a problem it was to make the practices look a bit limp. Mind games. By good luck, although the facilities at the Olympic lake were top-class, it was all a fair old way from the host city and the main Games and so there was not the usual suffocating media presence -- at least to begin with.

In the past I had had the odd bump up against the Head of our Rowing delegation, who was the main person linking us with -- and protecting us from -- the Press, the Games organisation, the public, other teams and so on. Although I had originally thought him a bit of a stuffed shirt, he did a remarkably neat job of spreading a web of contradictory rumours and/or deflecting the more penetrating enquiries, all the time managing to project concern with brave but cliched words at the daily media call. Mind games again. Amongst a number of minor deceits, one of the Twins came up with the bright idea of a little pale make-up every morning, so that we all -- me included -- looked the worse for a bad night's sleep.

The question of tactics for the final surfaced early. Because of the way the draw for places is made, we would have one of the two centre lanes, with Ukraine -- because they had won their heat -- in the other. France would be on the other side of Ukraine. After their joint history, and all that had happened, I figured that those two would be watching each other like hawks, especially as we arranged for some gloomy faces around our little group whenever those two were specifically mentioned. Mind games.

By good luck the crew was well-insulated from the amount of interest in their story; even I did not pick up on even a tenth of it. When, much later, we found out what that TV audience had been, they did all say that they would not have had the courage to even get in a boat that day. Although I do still wonder if that would have truly been the case.

A billion people can tell you the result of That Final, although I doubt that one in 100 would have correctly forecast it ¾ of the way through the race. France and Ukraine, as the whole world expected, fed off each other and -- as planned -- we just seemed to "accidentally" find ourselves sitting about a boat length back. What they did not twig until too late was that as they steadily upped the pressure on each other we were keeping pace with them, then with 200 metres left -- and completely silently -- our speed went up and we moved into a small lead.

This was the special move I mentioned earlier, more effective even than expected because we had decided any spoken command would give too much of a clue to the other crews alongside. The clever bit had been to make use of the buoys separating the lanes; they have different colours in places to mark every 100 and/or 250 metres, so the crew knew that when they saw the two successive orange buoys they should flick the switch. It totally unnerved the French crew, who saw or somehow sensed the move first; having been rather drained by their messy second race they lost their rhythm noticeably over about ten strokes.

All credit to Ukraine they did not give up, but they were just that little bit too late to fully realise what was going on and had to take a few too many strokes before they matched our new speed. By this time we were showing ahead, and they simply ran out of road. Our winning distance was about three metres, or very slightly more than half a second. Maybe not a lot (go on, measure it or time it), but it was enough to be clear to anyone looking.

Brook had been let out of hospital the day before, although she was still heavily bandaged and required crutches, and had been sitting next to me in the Team Stand. We just hugged tightly and silently for maybe two minutes as the rest of the world did ... something. Finally we disentangled ourselves, and I gently pushed her towards the gate between the spectators and the presentation area. A minute or two later the crew pulled in and got out by the podium; I don't know whether Brook had planned to join them or just wave at them, but the Twins had been looking for her, they made a beeline towards the gate and lifted her over the barrier. A security heavy tried to step in their way but at a word from Victoria he moved back (much later I asked her what she had said to him -- she claimed she just pointed out she was 6 inches taller and did he want to walk with a limp for the rest of his life? Victoria being Victoria I suspect she added that would have just been just the foreplay, but who is counting?). Brook insisted on walking without crutches to join the others, and they lined up alongside the other crews for the medals and the anthem.

The protocol is that medals only go to the members of the crew that wins the Final, but this was the first time ever that a failure by the Games organisation had disadvantaged a crew or team, and the depth of their fuck-up had clearly hit home too. The upshot was that for the first time ever medals would go to five crew members of a four-person boat.

And then, bless them, they stood up as straight and upright as guardsmen on duty and sang their hearts out, with tears pouring down their cheeks. As did, let it be written, most of that unbelievable TV audience that we heard about later.

THREE

So for three and a half weeks we got lost in a whirl of celebrations, interviews, ceremonies, photography sessions ... you name it. After we got back from the Olympics the whole cycle started again, but was a mercifully a little briefer and there was a chance for short time-outs singly or together. We dispersed for a few days to visit families or honour promises made beforehand and finally we called a halt -- or, rather, a pause to re-group properly as a unit.

Immediately after the selection event, we had sat and planned a more-or-less day-to-day schedule going up to about a month after the Olympic final. They would, clearly, be very tired and talked-out by that point. I had not needed to remind them that given there would be very little academic work required for maybe 2 months before the Games, a lot of favours were and would be outstanding to Faculty heads, academic supervisors and so on, plus projects and theses would be badly overdue, so we had agreed - well in advance - to take a secluded catch-up week at the Ewen company private retreat.

This had started life in the bad old days of TB as a long-stay hospital benefiting both company and University staff. It had since evolved into a typically Ewen-style strange-but-successful hybrid spa and recovery home, plus a set of offices-cum-cocoons for those who needed time to complete reports and research papers without interruption. The layout was equally unusual but effective; a central complex with most facilities, including some accommodation and the catering, surrounded at some distance by maybe 30 chalets for just 1 or 2 people -- chalet people could self-cater if they were not too finicky, or could order-in from central catering. It was maybe an hour's drive from the University, and had tip-top security.

We agreed that we could all usefully use the time to wind-down, recover and re-group whatever happened, and also -- probably -- make substantial progress with our respective research projects. I planned to write up all my boxes of notes and log books, and to interview each of them semi-formally as a way to document my own research. There was a gym on-site, and a part of our agreed schedule was that they would exercise for an hour each day, as part of their wind-down from peak fitness (Brook had been given her own physiotherapy plan). I was slightly curious about how the other gym users would react to seeing them there, in Olympic Final-winning kit.

After everything, if truth were to be told, the University would probably have let them all graduate without requiring another stroke of work, but the crew was united (and quite fierce) that they would graduate "in the right way", so we all arrived laden with books, papers and laptops in the space of an hour or so late that Sunday afternoon almost exactly four weeks after The Final.

I knew that we had initially been given the use of all of the group of 8 chalets furthest from the centre, in a small quiet clearing of the forest. When I called to arrange things I could have had all 30 chalets if I'd wanted, such had been our impact, but I just asked them to make 6 ready for occupants and the ladies would sort themselves out as they arrived.

I had not really thought about who-was-where in the chalets, but things got a little interesting as we sat around a small buffet supper that first evening in my place. Parker and Victoria, who as half- expected were sharing a chalet, asked all of us to accompany them to the local town the next morning, leaving very specifically at 9 a.m. No reasons, but they were unusually pleading and so the next day we all piled into 2 cars and set off.

In retrospect, of course, I should have guessed, and I suspect maybe Hart and Brook already had; we were to witness the wedding of Parker to Victoria. They actually apologised to the rest of us for the secrecy, but like the rest of the group they had been chased fairly relentlessly in the last weeks by the world's media, and they did not yet feel ready to cope with the huge amount of publicity that would drown them if they got hitched in public, so they had arranged this only the Friday before using false names. The Registrar was for a few seconds quite narked that he had to re-write all his paperwork, but when he twigged who they -- we - were, he could not have been more helpful. In return for a set of 6 autographs he also agreed to sit on filing the forms for a week or two.

You may well have expected that the rest of that day would be spent celebrating, but this did not happen. Firstly, as we had all become so close it was not necessary to make a show of our great happiness for them; there was a lot of hugging and damp eyes, but we could all read each other's signals perfectly clearly. Secondly, the Twins jointly confessed they had been rather more remiss than the other three with their studies recently, so please could we have a quiet afternoon with the books and laptops? It was agreed that we would re-group for a small celebration at my chalet at 8pm. That "do" was, yes, quiet and private (obviously) but very good fun. I managed to bribe a cake out of the head chef, without telling him what the occasion was, and we spent a long time sitting around the work-and-dining table just being ourselves with -- unusually -- no pressures.