New author here. Comments and advice appreciated!
Slow boil, no sex til the sequel...
"Jamie, pull up at the finish! We're down to port," Marissa called out.
Lucky
, I thought. If she had to correct someone I wanted it to be me, not the guy 2
nd
from bow.
Fuck this is getting ridiculous
.
Sitting in 5 I couldn't see her except when we stopped, but I knew what she looked like in the cox seat. Her 5'1" frame folded easily into the narrow space. She'd be leaning forward, gripping the gunnel and the steering string. I don't know if it was deliberate, but she'd have a bit of a frown and sly smile.
"Power 30 in 2," she ordered.
Thank goodness, nearly there
, I thought. We'd gone up the power pyramid by tens to sixty so we had just three more sets.
At the catch she called out, "2". I smashed the footboard. My blade got super heavy and I ripped water.
Oops, guess no one else is starting early
, I thought.
"1" she called out. Not so heavy this time. The boat was ready to get this over with.
"Go," she shouted. All of eight of us smashed the footboards in unison. No elegance. The boat jerked forward. It could not be comfy in the cox seat with the hard bulkhead at her back. Three more jolts brought us close to full speed, which smoothed out the stroke simply because there wasn't as much space to accelerate.
For ten glorious strokes we all flew together. Each stroke was like a wingbeat. Hardly an oar touched the water on the recovery. Then someone mistimed a catch and the boat dumped too starboard.
Ugh
, I thought. We over corrected it through the stroke and ended up down down to port.
"Ports pull up! Everyone, look at the oar handle in front of you," Marissa shouted. We found our focus for five more strokes, then it started to fall apart a bit. Marissa called out the count with each catch. It was easy for me to fall in time with her. The rest of the boat, perhaps not so much and our boat wobbled with out of sync finishes. This late in the practice it couldn't be helped. People were tired.
We brought it in once we finished the piece. At the dock we took the oars and hefted the boat up to shoulders. Marissa walked in front until we got to the boathouse doors. As we passed through I made a show of ease by letting the shell rest on my shoulder without any hands supporting it.
You'
re ridiculous Everett
, I chided myself. She was a senior. She probably had an apartment off-campus, a boyfriend or was too busy with her thesis.
We were the last boat in so we had to squeeze in for a spot on the outskirts of the circle. Coach Emmanuel was telling us what he'd seen during the practice and ran down upcoming regattas. I caught maybe one word in four. Marissa was standing right to me, the hairs of our arms almost brushing against one another.
She probably can't see shit
, I thought. At 6'2" I was about average height for a Div 2 heavyweight and there were two layers of rowers ahead of us. An image flashed through my mind of her sitting up on my shoulders.
"Oh, last thing. I'm putting line ups together starting Monday. If you want to try for a higher erg score submit it by Sunday midnight," he said.
He got a chorus of groans and shaking heads in response. Our last time trial on the rowing machine had been just a week and a half ago. They were considered valid for five. No one wanted to kill themselves unnecessarily.
"You going to go for it?" Marissa asked.
"Huh? Uh, probably n—"
"You should. I think you could crack 6:20 on your 2k," she said.
"Really?" I wondered. She had a lot more faith in me than I did. My erg had peaked early sophomore year at 6:22 and my last one had been a tolerable 6:26. Luckily Coach Emmanuel took technique into account, which I'd improved a lot in practice and by rowing a single over the summers.
"Yeah. I'll cox you if you like," she offered.
Having a boner's not going to improve my time
, I thought. On the other hand, it'd be a chance to spend some time alone with her. Maybe it meant—
No, she just wants us to win some races
, I chided myself. Some of the other coxes merely steered the boat, but Marissa actually coached us. She knew our names, our erg scores, our bad habits, and what motivated us.
"Um, sure. Sunday around 10?" I asked. Given our practice schedule, it was about the most rested I'd get.
"Sounds good," she replied. She looked up and flashed me a quick smile from under her visor. Neither of us moved.
Was I supposed to say anything else?
I wondered.
"Alright, I should make sure the other coxes didn't tangle the mikes. See ya then," she said. She gave me a little wave and bounced off toward the cox's corner.
"Yeah, thanks!" I uttered.
"No problem!" She replied over her shoulder.
God she's cute
, I thought. Just a little ball of energy with sharp, elfin features. I shook the thought from my mind. My fingers jittered as I gathered up my keys, cell phone, clothes and wallet from the cubby.
Fuck I'm already nervous
, I thought.
_______________________________
When I got to the boat house Marissa was already dragging out an erg from where they were stored in the back. It was adorable, yet also strangely formidable. She didn't struggle with it at all even though she had to hold the back of the erg well above her shoulders to get the wheels to catch. She stopped and turned the erg around when it was in line with the fifth seat in the eight on one side and between two and three seat of a four on the other.
My seat and where I would sit in a four
, I thought. Usually we did erg-ing out on the docs in the sunshine, but I could see the advantage of doing it here. It was cooler and there were fewer distractions.
"Hey," I greeted.
"Hey," she replied. "You ready?"
"As I'll ever be," I muttered. She grimaced. The boat house had an echo and it was quiet this time on a Sunday.
"It'll be worth it," she said. With a casual touch she sent the seat sliding down the erg. It clacked against the backstop and bounced back to rest in the middle.
Ominous
, I thought. I sat down on erg and strapped my feet in. Unfortunately, sitting made it easy for my blood to flow right where I didn't need it to. I didn't waste any time reaching for the oar handle. It still took about fifteen warm-up strokes for everything to subside. She glanced over the top of the erg to see the screen with the stroke rate, time, distance etc.
"Looks good. You've got good length and you keep your back strong at the catch. I want you to take it up to a 24, but you're going to do it just by throwing the hands away and bringing the knees up sooner. You're not on the water, doesn't matter if you have to row over them," she said.
It'
s bad technique
, I thought. On the water it would throw off the timing and make the oar blade slap on the water. However, it was easier and erg scores didn't come with a video. Plenty of guys did whatever it took to smash their PR.
One time won't make me an erg monster
, I decided.
The instant I finished each stroke I flung my hands forward again. It made me fling my torso forward too as if I was doing a sit up. My recovery was twice as fast and the stroke rate jumped up to a twenty-eight before I realized what I was doing.
"Okay, not that fast," she chuckled. "Just relax on the recovery. You don't have to time the finish, you don't have to set the boat up. All you're going to do is breathe and roll forward."
I flung my hands a bit less. I looked up at her, trying to guess if I was doing it right. She took her eyes of the screen and they caught mine instead.
Busted
, I thought. I had to look away, not least because despite the exertion I was a little turned on. I made myself breathe. It helped. I relaxed. I felt my hands lift to row over my knees. It made me cringe a bit, but she was right. For erg-ing it was easier.
"Alright, that's enough. Take a minute to stretch," she said.
I rolled forward so I could undo the straps. I got off the erg and stretched my quads, my lats, my hamstrings, and lastly my calves. The more flex I got there the longer the stroke I could execute correctly. A little hesitantly I took off my shirt. It'd be stupid to do this in here only to sabotage myself with false modesty. She didn't give any indication she'd noticed my shirtless state, she just patted the seat to indicate it was time. I sat back down, strapped myself in again and rolled up to the catch. She shook her head. I took one hand of the bar and went loose.
"See that four?" She asked, pointing to the shell on the top rack to my left.
"Yeah," I uttered.
"Coach wants a second heavyweight four. You could be in it if you want. But," she pointed to the eight on the middle rack on the other side, right at my eye level, "You're going to do this because you should be in that boat every practice, every race. You have the technique, now you're going to show me you have the power and the will."
Her boat
, I thought. That thrilled me. My heart raced even faster.
Well not always her boat, she's too good with the freshers.
It didn't matter. It was the sleekest heavyweight shell in the club and on race days, when it counted, it was hers. Crushing on a coxswain was a terrible idea, but I wasn't going to think about that now. Anyhow, she wouldn't be my cox unless I could pull a 2k in under 6:20 and prove that I wasn't a sub. I was A boat material.
"Alright," I croaked. My throat had gone dry.
"You ready?" She asked.
"Yeah," I replied. I jiggled my legs in the straps one last time.
"Okay. Up to the catch," she ordered. I rolled up three-quarters of the slide. I didn't look at her, I was keyed up enough. I looked at a point just over the screen.
"Attention. ROW!" She shouted. I smashed the footplate so hard the erg bounced.
"2! 3! 4!" She barked. I pounded out a half stroke legs only, 3/4, 3/4...
"Full!" The whole slide now. Every bit of power I could find on short notice.
"...8! 9! Reach!" She commanded. Full strokes now, still at crazy high rate. I glanced at the screen. 1:38/500m .
Not quite fast enough
, I thought. I didn't feel anything yet, even my breathing hadn't changed. Five more strokes took me to a 1:33. I eased up the rate, but not the pressure. That would be keep me cruising at that pace. If I kept it up most the way I'd slice under my PR.
"You got this! Go! Hands away!" She demanded.
Right, that
