“Never give in, never give in – never, never, never, never – in nothing, great or small, large or petty – never give in.”
This uncompromising quotation, from a wartime speech by Sir Winston Churchill, is pinned to the wall of our rowing club gym, and has kept me going through many a tough erg session when my body and mind were screaming at me to stop.
It’s there on the wall because giving in is just not an option in rowing. You keep going, through pain, discomfort, discouragement and – at times – humiliation – because giving in tells your crewmates that you might give in during a race. Giving in breaks the trust, and crew racing is all about trust. If you’re a quitter no one will want to row with you.
Except that last night I did quit. Seven minutes into an erg session I stopped. Just like that. I got off the erg, walked out of the gym and went home. It’s never happened before. I hope it’ll never happen again. But the point is it did happen.
So what caused someone who isn’t a quitter to quit? Well, it was partly that I felt terrible. I was as weak as water and felt wobbly, even hours after I’d got home. I clearly wasn’t quite right and needed a rest, which I’m having today.
But it wasn’t just that. I’ve kept going through plenty of sessions when I’ve been off my form and my better judgment has told me to stop. No. What was different last night was that I just didn’t have the fight in me. A tough few months and a run of sleepless nights had messed with my head. Even before the session started I was in the wrong frame of mind, feeling negative and slouching over the machine rather than sitting up. About a minute into the session I had tears smarting in my eyes. I was defeated even before the fight had begun. All of which goes to show that rowing is as much about mental strength as physical strength.
But here’s the thing. There are plenty of times when it would have been easier to give up rowing than to continue it: when I’ve lost yet another race; when my technique seems to be getting worse rather than better; when I can’t remember what warm fingers feel like – but I’m still here, stroke after stroke after stroke. So I guess I’m not, at heart, a quitter. All I can do is to pick myself up, dust myself off and climb back on that ruddy machine. As I say, giving in isn’t an option.
