by Thomas Boyd
posted on September 18, 2008

Top of the lake is where we will begin--
Something's aching here within.
I know just what is coming, and it doesn't feel so good;
I'd be better off watching from the shore, I would.

The coxswain is composed, much too much it seems--
A strategy he schemes.
Now every fiber in my body taut, awaiting the command--
In a second every bet is off, all legs fire on demand.

Now he belts "three-quarter, half, half, three-
quarter, full"--
A quick, efficient pull.
I got no reason to believe that we are something less
Than any other boat, and some we need to impress.

We're haulin' ass, giving everything we got for speed--
There ain't nothing we need.
Euphoric high--love, ambition coursing through my veins--
What sort of trick is this? I've not forgotten what remains.

Well, there's a sweetness in the air, not a ripple anywhere;
Not too bright, but warm-we're gliding seamlessly and true.
We've got their bow. How do I know?
Because my coxswain tells me so.
The crowds are laughing, cheering wildly, and some are crying too.

Not a stroke too soon we settle down and slow the pace,
Into the heart of the race.
Getting philosophical at a moment such as this:
The Lord's my coxswain also, and best not to dismiss.

Don't want to catch a crab, don't want to be the goat--
Keep your head in the boat.
How could I feel so much alive and fear I could wind up dead?
Trying to remember everything that the coach has said,

Like hands away, catch together, out of bow--
Better know it by now.
Something's working like it should, like an octet playing well--
A little payoff for the moment. My body's fixin' to rebel.

If my sense is any indication, we've come along two-thirds--
Impending sprint, in other words.
Pull to your mark, control the slide, and don't forget to breathe;
Savoring the feel of the motion underneath.

Well, there's a sweetness in the air, not a ripple anywhere;
Not too bright, but warm-we-re gliding seamlessly and true.
We've closed the gap. How do I know?
Because my coxswain tells me so.
The crowds are laughing, cheering wildly, and some are crying too.

Now the buoy says it's showtime, and our ears are pinned--
No time for a second wind.
The coxswain is intolerant of less than what we must expend.
Never mind that already I'm undone; reserves I cannot comprehend.

Lungs and legs are screaming, and my vision isn't clear--
I could really use a beer.
Why does this always happen? I got nothing at the core--
Doesn't feel any different than it ever did before.

The bow across the line, instantly this race is o'er--
We've neared the other shore.
There's a few that's hunkered over, everyone's gasping for air.
Tranquility in an odd moment-an end to this affair.

We pulled it off-are we so hot or was it just a fluke?
I just want to puke.
Think I'd like someone to shoot me to relieve me of this pain.
Give me a minute to recoup and I'd go do it all again.

Well, there's a sweetness in the air, not a ripple anywhere;
Not too bright, but warm-we're gliding seamlessly and true.
We walked on through. How do I know?
Because my coxswain tells me so.
The crowds are laughing, cheering wildly, and some are crying too.