The ultimate team sport

We waited. Poised. Arms straight, knees bent, core engaged, hips hinged, shoulders down, long and loose. A coxed four, bow loaded. I was in stroke seat. In this multilane race, we were flanked by Cambridge boats in their minty green glory.

They’d beaten us once this season. We weren’t going to let them do it again. We listened for the starting beep and wore our dark blue unisuits with pride. This was my last race representing Oxford University. It had been quite the journey, and I knew how I wanted it to end. Only months later did I properly reflect on how it began.

I wasn’t a sporty child. I was picked last in PE, and sports day always prompted tears. My family was therefore surprised to hear that I was rowing with Oxford University Women’s Lightweight Rowing Club (OUWLRC). That I was training eleven times a week and attending nutrition sessions every Tuesday. That I left the house at 5.40am to get to the river and got home from the gym at 8.30pm. ‘Who is this person and what have you done with Meg?’ they asked. Lessons I’d learnt from that same family, however, were what had prepared me for spending every waking hour doing sport.

I grew up with the knowledge that my family will always be there for me. Knowing this is a gift and it is why, in my early twenties, I’ve felt able to push myself. Academically, emotionally, and physically, I’ve made a habit of trying things of which I feel incapable. I know I might fail, but I also know that my family will love me regardless. This assurance gives me the personal permission I need to try. It’s what enabled me to push back on being picked last in PE and grow to love something I once feared.

OUWLRC is a team of athletes, coaches, a nutritionist, physios, etc. Because I knew that they were for me, I was able to push that little bit harder, go further, try a different technique, a new race strategy, a greater barbell weight. I knew that if it all crumbled and fell, which sometimes it did, there were people there to pick me up and say, ‘Try again another day.’ I would do the same for them. We celebrated each other’s ‘personal bests’ as though they were our own. Our coach always told us that whether we were sat in the boat that passed the finish line or not, and whether it was a win or a loss, every member of the squad shared in the result.

This responsibility – and privilege – is why we show up, and the power of showing up should not be underestimated. Over the years I have seen my family, the people I love the most, at their lowest points, mentally and physically. When they are hurting, my instincts kick in. I want to make it all better, but many things are out of my control. This has taught me the importance of just being there. Sometimes it’s all you can do, but sometimes it’s enough. The same is true of sport. Bleeding, crying, cheering, grunting, panting, shouting, shivering, sweating, resting, recovering. Rowing is wonderful, but it isn’t always pretty! Crew members see each other at their best and worst. Sometimes, it’s enough to sit one behind the other, simply take the next stroke and, together, keep the boat moving along.

We rowers argue that what we do is the ultimate team sport. But we may be wrong. Perhaps that accolade – the ultimate team sport – should really be given to family life.