Lessons in Rowing Physics

It was the late fall of 1968, and the freshman lightweight crew had recently graduated from the barge to regular 8-oared shells.  There were three boats, racing each other in quarter-mile sprints on a dark Lake Carnegie.

Our coxswain, ever analytical — he went on to major in physics — figured that we could go faster if we just took more strokes per minute. He urged the stroke to up the pace. 

It was a bit too much for a few of us. The oar behind me was late and hit me in the back.  “No problem,” I thought, “I’ll just pause and resume my stroke in a moment when he is out of my way.” 

I had not factored in the leverage that an oar has once it is in the water. It caught me in the chest and flipped me right out of the boat. 

The were calls of “man overboard!” and a bit of hilarity out of my boat. I treaded water — no problem, I had been a swimmer in high school — until the coach drove over in his motorboat. He told me to stand up and get in the boat.  I did –—the lake, with all of its silt, was only three feet deep! 

I was placed back in the boat — the best place to stay warm — and finished the practice.