Let me begin by saying ‘rowing’ is a beautiful sport, at least I think so, otherwise I would not have dedicated over 20 years of my life to the sport as both a competitive athlete, a volunteer physician, and in a much smaller way as a coach. Rowing is one of those sports that requires intense volume to order to be competitive involving a full commitment of mind, body, and soul. There is immense sacrifice for no monetary reward. As an athlete, you put a lot of trust in the system when training three times a day, six days a week. You trust that in the end, selection has been fair and without controversy. Otherwise, why would an athlete invest so much of their time and energy to try and be the best in the world. As an athlete you play by the rules and at the very least, expect the same in return by coaches and the system (Rowing Canada) that runs your national sport. This is not always the case.

Coaches play a vital role in the success of an athletic program. A coach also has a lot of control. They can make the difference between a pathetic performance and a silver medal like what we witnessed with the heavy weight mens rowing team at the 2012 London olympics. Spracklen, for example, has had many such moments. In fact, he can be credited for revolutionizing the sport of rowing in Canada in the early 1990′s. Both the men’s and women’s team benefited from his training ‘methodology of volume’. I truly feel that the four golds and one bronze medal achieved at the 1992 olympics were a direct result of Spracklen setting foot on Canadian soil in 1990. He left to pursue coaching the US heavy weight mens rowing team from 1993-1996 with mixed success producing no olympic medals for the US team at the 1996 Atlanta olympics. The Canadian rowing team went on without him to have a very successful 1996 olympics – one of the most successful in the team’s history in fact. After he was let go in 1996 by the US rowing system, he returned home to the UK to coach the women’s team. Here is produced a silver medal at the 2000 Sydney olympics. Rowing Canada then opened it’s doors to him again in 2001 and he jumped at the opportunity.

Like any individual or team performance, the public sees the final outcome and not the rough knit under the sweater. What the public does not see as with any team, is the factory that produces the goods and the environment in which they are made. This environment can be a healthy one or one that can be toxic. As mentioned, a coach has a lot of control. With control there can also be potential for abuse in many forms. Every rower accepts the physical punishment of training and are no stranger to it. However, no athlete should have to endure emotional abuse. Spracklen has over stepped his boundaries on numerous occasions whether singling out individual athletes alone in person, or trying to shame them in front of the group of athletes they train with. Sometimes, he will put everyone at risk. On one occasion in 2004, he almost killed an entire team on Shawnigan Lake in winter gail force winds sinking both 8 man crews that were side by side in one outing. Rowing Canada was more than fortunate that the media did not get a hold of that story. He was responsible for 18 men getting hypothermia – some severe. If the small coach boat that he was in had capsized, there certainly would have been deaths that day in those frigid waters on Shawnigan Lake. The athletes tried to down play the event but you could smell the reality that death had come very close that day. The #1 highway just north of Victoria was actually closed do to the gail force winds that day but the team managed to circumnavigate this obstacle to get to Shawnigan Lake. I was the last one to be fished out of the water that day and I was livid. One rower could not swim. Spracklen was oblivious to the impact this had on his rowers. After everyone had recovered from their hypothermia and retrieved the boats and equipment once they had washed up on shore more than an hour later, we had a meeting where he went on about how poor our technique was in the windy conditions. Spracklen will argue that he never forced anyone to be there that day, or forced anyone against their wishes – true, but, if a rower had chosen not to participate in the workout that day, it would have decided their fate. This one example of many.

Rowing Canada has tried to listen to the athletes in the past but have been unsuccessful until recently. In 2008, Rowing Canada formed an Athlete Appeal Committee before the 2008 Beijing olympics to act as a resource for any athlete who felt that their selection was unfair. This was a big milestone. Rowing Canada asked three ex national team rowers to volunteer their time for this new role and all three accepted. I was one of them. An athlete who narrowly missed out on being selected for an olympic boat sought help from a private lawyer and then consulted the newly formed Athlete Appeal Committee to review their selection process. The Athlete Appeal Committee was in favour of the athlete and recommended to repeat the selection process for this athlete. These recommendations were rejected by Rowing Canada because of pressure from the coaches and high performance director at that time, who opposed repeating the selection for this athlete. The Athlete Appeal Committee pressed Rowing Canada but in turn were threatened legally to back down. The Athlete Appeal Committee has not been formed since and it is clear that it had no credibility in the first place when it was formed.

Over the last few years, a number of athletes were interviewed by Own the Podium, specifically by Mr, Ken Shields. Mr. Shields is an ex national team basketball coach who is well respected and a genuine person who listened to real concerns that some rowers voiced. There was clearly concern on many levels about Spracklen’s treatment of his atheltes. These concerns were in turn communicated to Spracklen who dismissed not only Mr. Shields but also the athletes concerns. One athlete overheard Spracklen making a mockery of the process. In the end, Rowing Canada had the fortitude to take action.

What is important to know, is that a lot of athletes that were good enough to make the cut, were let go either because of opinions of other athletes that swayed Spracklen’s opinion or because he simply had it in his mind from the beginning that an athlete was not going to make it. As a result, an athlete would try to remain intensely optimistic while getting beaten down day after day being used as canon fodder for the already ‘chosen’. Those who were chosen, knew who they were and on one occasion, an athlete got away with behaviour such as shouting obscenities at Spracklen and giving him the finger knowing they were immune from any consequences or repercussions.

A coach can abuse their power. The more they get away with, the more entitled they can feel. It’s also about the ego and in some cases it’s about bullying and knowing they can get away with it because they know that the athletes have no resources to fall back onto. It is absolute power and control. Sometimes a coach’s ego to win overshadows the ability to make the right decisions in a selection process. A man whos ego is greater than the sum of all the athletes he coaches is a dangerous thing. Spracklen was known to never take responsibility for his mistakes. After the abysmal performance in the 2004 Athens olympic final, he was reported to say “some of the rowers just gave up” negating any responsibility. When watching the final on Youtube, it is not too hard to see that one rower in the middle of the boat is not using his legs in the final stages of the race. But never did Spracklen take responsibility for that loss or single out and identify the rower(s) who performed so poorly.

It’s always an interesting turn of events to see the bully assume the role of the victim. The irony is that although Spracklen may be good enough to coach on the world stage, he’s being cut from the Canadian team, like many of the athletes he has cut in the past. He, and his few supporters will play the media to show that that he is the one hard done by – that he is the victim. I feel that Spracklen should show respect to all those athletes he himself has cut from all the many teams he coached who left with their heads held high despite controversy eating at their very core. He should do the same and quietly move on. His shoes will be easily filled as he will easily fill someone elses, and the Canadian rowing team will continue to succeed. Many international rowing coaches are transient although trying to find a 6 digit salary elsewhere may pose as a challenge. At present though, his current behaviour is insulting and offending to many by yet again, trying to single out, blame, and shame individual athletes for what he feels is his wrongful dismissal.

I have a treasure trove of stories on this matter and I challenge anyone who I rowed with who disagrees with what I have written.

Darren Barber.

There are those that loved him, but their experience was markedly different to those on the outside of his inner circle.  My goal here is to shed light on the other side of this story and show why this is a great decision for the team.
The culture in our sport discourages anyone from speaking up and athletes usually shy away from airing grievances for fear of being jumped on by the media/public and becoming the focal point of any negative attention. Most athletes get pushed out or retire and fade away from rowing, trying to take the high road and get on with their lives. But then nothing changes. I’ve spoken up a little bit and the number of emails that I’ve received from former athletes thanking me for giving them a voice has only encouraged me to continue to do so.

Spracklen created an adversarial environment where everybody other than his chosen few was the enemy. This included our international competition, but also the Canadian women, lightweights, and even athletes within his training group that might have taken the spotlight away from him. They were the enemy and he seemed to feel that he had the right to do whatever he wished to negatively affect them to somehow build up his guys.
I’m not suggesting that we all need to hold hands – this is elite sport and it is harsh. I am as hard-edged and competitive as you get, but there is a huge difference between pushing athletes to get the best out of themselves, and manipulating and purposefully wearing down the ‘disposable’ athletes with complete disregard for their ambitions.

That is where I think the real damage was done. Spracklen’s focus was always, appropriately, on his top boat, but that didn’t have to be at the expense of the rest of the athletes on the team. These are the athletes that contribute to the atmosphere at the training center and push all those above them to train harder and get faster. These are the athletes that are the future of the program that should be developed and encouraged rather than abused.

Another consistent point of contention has been the lack of a fair selection process. Spracklen would either slowly convince an athlete that he wasn’t worthy of a seat-race or refuse to do it altogether if he thought that the result might not go the way he wanted. If a result did go against what he wanted, he’d just do it again, and again, until he got the result he wanted. I witnessed this happen many times during my 10 years on the national team.

When you run a fair selection process, there are still going to be winners and losers. That is sport – there will be disappointed athletes. But if an athlete can say that they got their chance to demonstrate his/her ability in an impartial process there wont be this intense bitterness that follows many athletes during Spracklen’s tenure.

When you dedicate your life to this sport and end up walking away feeling like you were adversely manipulated or weren’t given a fair opportunity you hold on to those negative feelings for years. There are still guys from the 1992 era that can’t talk about rowing. It is still too raw and too emotional. The same can be said for a lot of guys from 8 years ago, 4 years ago, 2 years ago, and even this past year.
These athletes aren’t jaded or embittered without reason. You don’t get this strong of a response from athletes that were fairly treated and just didn’t make the team. That kind of disappointment isn’t palpable 20 years later. Why do you think he wasn’t asked back to Canada after ’92 or the USA in ’96 or the UK in 2000? The same issues and the same complaints from athletes and administrators. This isn’t new.

The common response when an athlete is bold enough to voice their complaint about the training environment or how they are being treated in Spracklen’s camp is that they need to ‘toughen up’. For the vast majority of these athletes, it has never been about toughening up or shying away from hard work. I spent the better part of 6 years in his program and was at or near the front of the group the entire time – pushing the team forward and adding my fire and intensity to every single workout.  That is not what this has been about.

It has been about having our fate in the hands of a coach who has our best interest at heart and wants everyone to succeed.  It has been about seeing that a better way was necessary and wanting to avoid all of the mental games and nonsense.  It has been about insisting on a fair and transparent selection process set up for the talent of the athlete to shine through, not one set up to produce a desired result.

After years of persisting in a program that wasn’t set up for us to succeed, we stood up and said enough is enough. We weren’t willing to continue to sacrifice our Olympic dreams so that other athletes, many of whom we beat on a daily basis, could achieve theirs. We forced the split of the group and established the Small Boat Group, led by our coach Terry Paul, focused on producing the fastest pair, four, and double for Canada.
Spracklen still had his guys that wanted to train with him to form an 8+, but there was another option for those who wanted it. He still needed an enemy so he did everything he could to undermine what our group was doing and attempt to prove to his group that we were weak or uncommitted.  Despite sustained efforts from guys in both camps to bridge the gap, Spracklen’s derisive attitude still permeated the environment and unfortunately created a contentious atmosphere. This escalated to the point that we found screwdriver holes in our boat three times during the last year and a half.

For my pair partner, Dave Calder, and I, the split was a chance to get out from under the program that had oppressed us for years, and for others it was a chance to be a part of a project of their own and not just be cannon fodder for Spracklen. We created a positive training environment and insisted on a fair selection process. It wasn’t perfect but every single guy in our group got his chance to prove himself on the water.

As a result we had guys that would have been cast aside actually training towards their own goal. We had guys come across to our group as broken men whose confidence in themselves had been shattered. Terry built them back up and made them believe in themselves again. We trained hard, all of our scores improved dramatically, and we qualified more boats for the Olympics than we have since 1996.  As a bonus to all of that, the training was actually fun and exciting again.

That’s the thing with Spracklen’s approach – it wears you down and sucks the enjoyment out of rowing to the extent that most of his athletes only do one, maybe two, Olympic cycles. The elite rowing countries have many of their top athletes sticking around to do three or four cycles.  We do this because we love it – we love the training and we love racing for Canada.  But with all of this unnecessary bullshit piled on top of the extremely difficult training, it ceases to be worth it after a while.

Most of the athletes in our training group, and even three guys from Spracklen’s 8+, have said they would walk away from the sport if he continued to be in charge.  A couple of the rowers from the 8+ are on the fence as to whether the last few years were worth it, even with that Silver medal around their neck.  These are many of Canada’s top rowers and they would leave the sport in their mid 20s after their first Olympics if they had to endure him again.

There will always be passionate differences of opinion on either side of issues like this. I get that and can understand why there were those within his group that loved him. I don’t agree with it, but I can try to understand. They were protected from the impact of his wrath and have never felt the mental anguish and frustration that goes with that. They were largely removed from worrying about the lack of selection process because many of them hadn’t ever needed to truly fight for their seat. So I understand that from the inside of that group, there were few complaints. What I do struggle to understand was the insistence that we remain martyrs to their cause.

The culture of fear that Spracklen instilled in his group was such that even the top guys, the supposed leaders of the group, hesitated to say anything against his destructive tactics.  So the friends and teammates that you went to battle with every day said nothing and shrank into the background simply happy that it wasn’t them facing the brunt of it. And that seemed to be enough – as long as it wasn’t them, then everything was fully justified, part of the process, and something that others had to endure while the chosen few chased their goals.

After our Silver medal performance in Beijing, I found myself in a position of leadership on the team and I wasn’t going to sit idly by and shy away from demanding change. I learned from the lack of action from past leaders and had way too much respect for my teammates to let that happen again.

We forced the beginnings of change that was long overdue, and I am pleased to see that Rowing Canada has closed that chapter of our history so that we can move forward to a more positive and successful team in its entirety in Rio 2016.

Since the London Olympics came to a close, I’ve had a lingering feeling of an opportunity lost.

I find myself going through waves of overwhelming disappointment mixed with an appreciation for the uniqueness of the overall experience. We didn’t get the result that we knew we were capable of (we finished sixth in the men’s pair event), but the journey has been incredibly rewarding and another reminder of how much I love training for and competing in the Olympics.

We had a great race in our opening heat, edging out to a comfortable lead in the middle 1,000 metres and controlling the race from out in front. It was a good start to the regatta. We drew New Zealand (the clear favourites in our event) in the semifinal but knew that with a solid race we would be able to finish in the top three and advance to the final.

We didn’t have a bad race, but the ease and flow that we normally have wasn’t quite there and we found ourselves working a lot harder for our speed. As a result, we had to dig incredibly deep in the sprint to the line to qualify for the final. It was a mediocre performance that knocked our confidence slightly and set us up poorly for the lane draw in the final.

We got a bit lucky in the draw, though, and ended up in lane 6, which was the favoured lane in the persistent crosswind that the London rowing course is known for. That went a long way to “righting the ship” and getting us back on track mentally. It hadn’t all gone to plan up to that point, but we had a good lane and we were excited to go out and race for a medal.

On the morning of the final, the rowing organizing body decided to re-draw the lanes to give priority to the crews that had won the semifinals. There were three steps that should have happened first, but they jumped straight to step four. Not ideal for us. Rather than be in lane 6 as originally drawn, we were out in lane 2. We went on the water with nothing to lose. We just wanted to have our best race and be in the hunt with 500m to go, and then empty ourselves to get on that podium.

We got off the line well and into a quick, efficient rhythm. We were high (40 strokes per minutes) but it didn’t feel too high. We were firing well together and it felt fast. I had gotten too distracted by the other boats in our semi, so I forced myself to not look out of the boat at all. Just concentrate on our rhythm and our boat. It felt like things were going really well.

When we took a quick look around at 500m to go, it was surprising and disheartening to see that we weren’t really in the race. The wind gods didn’t smile on us that day, but even with that, we should have been able to rise above everything and achieve what we had set out to do. It was a difficult pill to swallow and those six minutes of racing left us disappointed, frustrated and confused.

Disappointed but thankful

While we didn’t get the result that had been expected of us, I want to thank the different organizations that have supported us through the past two years. Own the Podium, the Canadian Olympic Committee, and Sport Canada have provided the funding to allow Dave and I and our group to do all of the different types of training that our coach, Terry Paul, and team of physiologists have outlined for us. We have fought for this program and have been able to do almost everything that we asked for. Part of the disappointment that we feel in all of this is from letting all of these organizations down.

The funding has been there and it has made us much better athletes. Unfortunately, we just didn’t deliver when we needed to. Canada is doing a great job in trying to keep up with other countries like Australia and Great Britain in terms of athletic funding and I think we will continue to see the benefits of these programs in the years to come.

Rather than focus on the final step where we stumbled and didn’t achieve what we could have, I’m choosing to focus on what we did do. We forced the establishment of another training group for athletes against a huge amount of resistance. We created a positive environment that encourages athletes and gave a lot of athletes that would have been or had already been worn down and cast aside, the opportunity to succeed. And they did. We qualified more boats for this Olympics (for heavyweight men) than we have since 1996.

It was exciting and fun and the hardest I’ve ever trained. There is this idea out there that fun and exciting also equal easy. That’s not the case. We worked hard and our scores improved dramatically. We forced the beginning of change, which will hopefully continue into the next quadrennial. It’s time to turn the page and be done with this last chapter.

Legendary Canadian rower Marnie McBean once told me that winning an Olympic medal doesn’t change who you are. Having won a silver in 2008, I totally agree. It’s a great achievement and what we’re all striving for, but it’s who you are in this pursuit of excellence that truly defines you.

As the late American politician Harriett Woods said, “You can stand tall without standing on someone. You can be a victor without having victims.”

These last few months have flown by and we’re now less than 10 days away from the opening ceremony for the London Olympics. Wow. I can feel the excitement and apprehension building, and every once in a while I have to tell myself to calm down and take it all in stride. We’ve done this before. And done it well.

This is nothing new. If you strip away the hype and everything else that surrounds the Olympics, this is just another series of races over 2,000 metres. The lane width, starting gates, and finish line are all the same. Those that can best navigate themselves through all the potential peripheral distractions and focus on what’s most important will put themselves in the best position to succeed.

Focus on what we’re good at – rowing and racing. That’s what we’ve practiced over and over again for the past decade (or two), and it’s only when you let the other stuff get in the way that bad things can happen. Appreciate the experience and opportunity in front of us without allowing it to distract us from the basics.

In this final stage, we shift from doing high volumes of work and being tired every day to tapering and refining our race pace efficiency and strategy. Suddenly, we aren’t constantly tired and we have all of this spare time to rest and stare at the walls.

The trick is to not do too much. To trust the taper and not give into those cravings to do more work. We want that level of fatigue because that’s what we know, and what assures us that we’re doing everything we can to win. When that isn’t there, it feels like we need to do more.

Don’t get hurt, don’t get sick

But the work has been done to build our strength and aerobic base through the winter and, as our coach and physiologist continually remind us, “The rest is just icing on the cake.” We still have a good amount of shorter, more intense, race pace workouts to prep the body for the high levels of lactic acid, but it’s a different kind of fatigue. Our challenge is to take the millions of training strokes that we’ve rowed over the years and prepare ourselves to produce 250 of the most powerful, composed, and technically perfect strokes of our lives on race day.

The focus also shifts to avoiding injury and illness at all costs. We become paranoid about getting sick in these final days and adopt alcohol hand sanitizer as our best friend. We isolate ourselves in our hotel rooms and avoid any contact with anyone who so much as sneezes. It sounds extreme, but every year there are stories about athletes or whole teams that underperform because a bug ripped through their hotel and left them all sick or weakened.

With that being said, it’s also important to not over-think everything. With all this extra energy and the impending opportunity of a lifetime, we become very attuned to our bodies and can build something up to be much more than it actually is. A sneeze doesn’t mean you’re getting sick, and a twinge of pain doesn’t mean that you’ve injured yourself and won’t be able to race. Take a deep breath and calm down.

At this stage, so much of our preparation is mental. The physical base is there, but momentum and confidence can play such a huge role in getting that top performance out of ourselves. If you’re unsure or cautious or timid, the opposition will pounce and leave you in their wake. We need to get to that start line ready to attack the race, having the confidence and resolve to execute when it matters most. Dave and I have done that well in the past, but nothing can be taken for granted.

Chasing New Zealand

Our event, the men’s pair, will have 13 entries, most of which will feature the top two rowers from each respective country. The competition will be fierce. New Zealand has been on top of the event for the past three years, and they go into London with the pressure and expectation of being the favourites to win. There are positives and negatives to that.

It’s dangerous to try to predict how the rest of the pairs will measure up – anything can happen at the Olympics. Combinations can click and find a new gear, and if you’ve overlooked them at all they can catch you off guard.

That being said, pairs from Greece, Italy, France, Australia, Germany, Great Britain, and the Netherlands have all won medals or shown solid speed at some point this year. There will also be new, or recently untested, combinations from the United States, Poland, Serbia, and Hungary that could be right up there in the mix as well.

We’re currently at our final training camp in Italy and will move to the Olympic rowing venue on July 24, with racing beginning on the July 28.

Sixteen years of rowing, countless training sessions, 12 other pairs vying for the same goal, and one final chance to cross that finish line first and bring home the Olympic gold.

Here are a few photos from the last two weeks:

The truth is that each Olympics is completely different, but knowing what challenges to expect can only help.

Canadian rower Jake Wetzel (who finished seventh in Sydney, got a silver in Athens, and won gold in Beijing) once said that, “Your first Olympics is for spectating, your second is for competing, and your third is for winning.” I’m not sure if he just said that because that’s how it worked out for him, but there’s some truth to it

There does seem to be a learning curve for many athletes, an education in being able to handle the heightened pressure and attention that come with an Olympic Games. This obviously does not apply to everyone. Some athletes are able to win in the first attempt. But hopefully my partner in the pair, Dave Calder, and I can follow a similar trajectory to Jake’s.

Here’s a look at my Olympic experiences, what I’ve learned, and how I’ll apply those lessons in London.

Athens 2004

For my first Olympics, I was in the Canadian men’s eight boat and we went in as the clear favourites to win. We were supposed to essentially show up and pick up our gold medals. We went in with impressive race results from the previous two years and a solid, confident mindset. But what we didn’t have was a single athlete in the boat who had been to the Olympics before. We finished fifth.

As much as you try to treat it like any other race, the Olympics is simply different. I think the pressure, and the experience as a whole, was slightly overwhelming for such a young group. I can only speak for myself, but I remember being a bit awestruck. Having some veteran experience to guide us through the week of racing might have made a difference.

I love watching any elite-level sport, and in Athens I wanted to soak it all in. Whenever we weren’t training or travelling back and forth to the athletes’ village, I would be in the Canadian athletes lounge, hanging out with the other athletes and watching whatever event was on TV. To me, that was part of being at the Olympics.

We were completely focused on winning, but in hindsight, I think I may have gotten too caught up in everything else that is the Olympics.

Beijing 2008

Flash forward four years to Beijing, where I rowed in the men’s pair with Dave. We took the stark opposite approach – ignore everything to do with the Olympics, and try to treat it like any other race. We stayed at a hotel close to the rowing venue, which made it easier to block out the athletes’ village and other events going on.

We even avoided the opening ceremony. It would have been an amazing experience to walk into the Olympic Stadium flying the Canadian flag, but our first race usually happens on the first or second day of the Games, and standing around for four to six hours isn’t what you want to do for race prep. Unfortunately, our schedule means that rowers seldom go to the opening ceremony, but it did make it easier to stick to our “low-key” strategy.

I think our approach allowed me to stay much more relaxed and focused in the lead-up to our first race. The downside was that I remember getting to the start line for our heat and having a short, wide-eyed moment of realization where I said to myself “This is the Olympics!”

I was able to settle myself down and get ready to race. We recovered from a disappointing first race and went on to have a great race against Australia in the final, winning the silver medal. I’m not sure that would have happened without our experiences from Athens. Still, with the benefit of hindsight, I’m not sure “ignore everything Olympic” is the best approach either.

London 2012

Heading into these Olympics, my goal is to strike a middle ground between my previous two strategies. I want to be aware of everything going on around us, and to take in the rare experience, but I don’t want to get too emotionally involved or distracted.

I know that our past will help to navigate us through the potential roadblocks that can pop up during the Olympics and help us race to our potential. This sort of opportunity doesn’t arise often, and being a veteran only makes me more aware of that.

I’m more aware of the honour and privilege that come with racing for Canada, and hopefully I’m more able to take it all in stride, use it, and race well.

Every athlete wants to line up on that start line believing that they have trained more, or more effectively, than the rest of the world and are the best prepared. They want to believe that when push comes to shove and the pressure is on, they’ll have some sort of advantage on the rest of the competition. That is why we train.

At this level, so much of your final preparation and performance is mental. It’s all based on the physical work that you’ve done and the results that you’ve achieved, but if there are doubts or if you don’t fully believe that you can win, the race is lost before you’ve even started. You can be the best athlete in the world, but if something is “off” in your head, it’s unlikely that you’ll be able to produce the kind of Olympic performance you’re seeking.

As we move into our last seven weeks in the lead-up to London, I’ve been thinking a lot about what goes into building and solidifying this mental aspect of competition, and I think it comes down to three things: confidence in the training that you’ve been doing, confidence in the rest of your crew, and confidence in yourself.

Over the past 18 months, Dave Calder (my partner in the men’s pair) and I, along with the athletes in the Olympic four and double, have been training with Terry Paul and taking a slightly different approach to training. We’re still doing a lot of volume on the water, and the majority of that has been intensive, side-by-side training where we’re racing our own teammates every day.

We’ve focused more on weight training and have incorporated a lot of cross-training with cycling, running, and swimming to try to keep our bodies balanced while working to expand our aerobic capacity. It doesn’t all have to be rowing!

We’ve also worked with our physiologists and sports scientists to try to find new ways to get more out of ourselves and our training.

The new approach is working. Our erg (rowing machine) scores are significantly lower and most of us have cut down the amount of training time missed due to injury. And it’s been fun. Mixing other things into the usual training has kept it fresh and truly enjoyable. Results on the water are what matter, and I think we’re positioned well to have a couple great performances in London.

‘Weld it up’

One of the reasons that I love the pair is that it’s only myself and one other guy. I like being in control of my fate. My relationship with Dave goes back to 2004, and we ‘ve been through a lot together both on and off the water. We’re very different people and have definitely had our tense, frustrating times together. But that’s part of it, and Terry has been there to guide us through those times.

I can be stubborn and I sometimes push to have things done a certain way, but I realized a few months ago that it was time to switch from that mindset to one that was solely focused on getting ready to race. It wasn’t about being right or wrong anymore, it was about doing whatever was necessary to get the best out of ourselves in London. As a good friend’s father once said – it was time to “weld it up.” Put all of the pieces together and build that unshakeable belief in ourselves.

We push each other in different ways, and at the end of the day I know that Dave is, without question, the best guy to row the pair with. Our second-place result at the Lucerne World Cup meet a few weeks ago was confirmation that we’re on the right track, and it went a long way in strengthening our confidence in each other. We have a lot of work to do, but I can feel the momentum building.

I believe in myself and my ability to rise to the occasion. It’s still a process to get into that relaxed but intent mindset that’s needed to race well, but I’ve been through a lot of high-pressure situations and know what I need to do. I know that I bring an excessive amount of focus, tenacity, and attention to detail to every day of training, and that helps to make most races like any other day of training.

I’m excited to race knowing that it’s possible to win. Not knowing that we’re supposed to win or that we have to win – and having to deal with all of the pressure that comes with that – but simply that we can win.

Time to weld it up.

……….

With our competition season finally getting underway last week, I’m reminded of the fact that the training-to-racing ratio in rowing is incredibly skewed.  We train five to six hours a day, six days a week, year-round, and only race internationally twice each season. That’s crazy! Unlike other sports, we don’t have regatta after regatta to develop and hone our racing ability. We have one chance to get it right before the London Olympics.

Each year, the main pre-season World Cup is held in Lucerne, Switzerland, and it’s easily my favourite place in the world to race. It’s stunning – a nature reserve for most of the year, the natural two-kilometre-long lake is nestled into the Swiss countryside and is known for perfectly calm water and fast conditions. I’ve had some of my best performances on the Rotsee (that’s the name of the lake) and feel a sense of comfort and excitement every time I walk down that hill and into the regatta site.

We train all year with the goal of getting faster and the presumption that we’re taking steps in the right direction. We do workouts and race prep pieces and time trials where we are able to compare ourselves to other Canadian boats. But until you line up against the rest of the world, it’s tough to actually know how fast you are.

The weekend in Lucerne does a lot to eliminate that “unknown” and establish expectations for the rest of the season. It can either be an affirmation of what you’ve been doing all year, or a reason to hit the panic button.

Up against the best

The goal this year for my teammate Dave Calder and I was to do as well as possible without sacrificing our longer-term focus of peaking in London. In line with that, we did very little race preparation in the lead-up to Lucerne, wanting to save that final gear for the race that really matters: the Olympics. With the limited prep, we wanted to execute our race plan well and improve upon each race, and I think we did that.

We drew New Zealand – who have dominated the men’s pair event for the past three years – in the heat, and had a reasonable race against them. The first race is always a bit cumbersome, but we led through the half-way mark and crossed the finish line comfortably in second place, qualifying straight to the semifinal. I loved being back in the race environment and having to deal with all of the pre-competition nerves and excitement. It can be overwhelming if you let it, but that intensity of emotion is why I love this sport.

There was a light tail wind for our heat, and as the afternoon wore on the wind increased significantly, resulting in some incredibly quick conditions. In total, six world records were set that day, including ones by the Canadian men’s eight (well done, guys) and the British men’s four, which smashed the previous record by nearly four seconds. Some of those records had stood since 1996!

Our race in the semifinal was composed and patient – not necessarily traits that come naturally to Dave and I. The pair from Great Britain shot out to a boat-length lead in the early stages of the race, but rather than letting that fluster us, we stayed in our own boat and moved through them in the middle stages of the race. We pushed away from the British and Italy in the second half and went on to win, securing a lane next to New Zealand in the final.

Time to get faster

The day of the final brought the racing conditions that Lucerne is famous for – calm water with a slight hint of a tailwind. It was almost taunting anyone who had resolved that this would be their last time racing there! Dave and I locked into the starting gates feeling relaxed and knowing that we had a great opportunity in front of us. We wanted to win, but beyond that we wanted to race well and prove that we are contenders going into London.

We had a good start and gradually eased out to a slight lead at the 500-metre mark (the race is 2000 metres). Our focus had been on getting into a sustainable race rhythm, so having the lead was a somewhat unexpected but welcome bonus. At the half-way point we had extended our lead slightly and we were feeling good. New Zealand raised their rate and pushed hard to edge out ahead of us, but we responded and drew level with them. In the final sprint they powered ahead and won by just over two seconds, giving us the silver medal.

The entire rowing world expects New Zealand to win in London, so all the pressure is on them. And those expectations can weigh heavily in the Olympic year. We feel the weight of our own hopes and expectations, but beyond that it’s more of a loose excitement to race. What we showed in the racing last weekend was that it is possible. We go into London as contenders, and that’s a great position to be in.

Now we’re back home in Victoria and getting settled into our last five-week block of training before flying back to Italy for our pre-Olympic camp.  We have two months to get faster and I know that we will. Two months to build on this momentum and charge into the Olympic regatta ready for the race of our lives.

John F. Kennedy used to carry this poem with him in his wallet. I came across it in the winter of 2010 and love the message.

Those four succinct lines of text explain the main reason I decided to return to rowing. I want to be the one who knows, the one who knows what it is to be in the middle of that ring, the one who can find that poise in those moments of focused pressure. Admittedly, being “the one who knows” probably meant something completely different for JFK as president of the United States than it does for me in the world of sport, but the same idea can be applied.

I retired from rowing after the Beijing Olympics, believing that it was time to work towards finding success in another area of my life, i.e. a career. It was time to get on with “real life.”

That post-Olympic transition is a tough one for many athletes who either underestimate how difficult it will be or ignore it completely. The challenge is to go from having a distinct plan and purpose to everything that you do and having this all-encompassing goal on the horizon, to trying to find that purpose and passion in something else. It isn’t easy for most. I drifted through life for a while, trying to find some traction, until finally landing in Vancouver at RBC.

I started working on RBC’s sponsorship of the Olympic Torch Relay and the Vancouver Olympics and gradually settled into a very different kind of life. Starting from scratch in a new career definitely had its share of challenges, and I enjoyed having to use my brain again. I tried to replace the physical aspects of rowing life with training for other athletic events, but it wasn’t quite the same. I missed the daily evaluation and camaraderie that come with training in a group of elite-level athletes. I missed the intensity of emotion that is inherent in the preparation to be in the middle of that ring.

It’s an addictive lifestyle. We have the privilege and the honour of representing our country and dedicating all of our time and energy to achieving these lofty goals that we set for ourselves. I love being able to push myself physically every day. I love being fit and healthy and strong. I love being able to “chase the dream.” Replacing all of that can be difficult.

I settled into a routine in Vancouver and lost touch with the extremities of that life. In the summer of 2010, I moved around within RBC to Dominion Securities and was enjoying the new set of challenges. But as the summer and fall progressed, the fire to compete slowly returned. I raced in the Ironman Canada triathlon, and then the GranFondo Whistler (a cycling race from Vancouver to Whistler) and noticed how much I enjoyed both preparing to race and racing itself.

The debate went back and forth in my head for months, and I had to ask myself a few tough questions: Would I re-injure my back? Would I be throwing away this new-found career? Was I taking the easy road by sticking to what I know and what I was good at? Would I even be able to compete at the top level anymore? Would it be the same as I remembered?

But the fire continued to build, and by December I had decided to take the risk and go back to Elk Lake to train for the Olympics in London. The window on my competitive athletic life was closing and I wanted to do it all again while I still could. Everything else could wait.

My return to the team was a bit bumpy at first, but after a few months we were able to establish a new training group that was focused on producing the fastest possible pair, four, and double for Canada under the direction of our coach, Terry Paul. The plan was to utilize the sports-science resources available to us and to keep it fresh by adding in a good amount of cross-training. It was all very exciting.

Dave Calder and I (we were partners in Beijing) quickly found ourselves back in a boat together, and while nothing was guaranteed in terms of selection, we both felt like the pair was our best option for London. Our training has been going well. Without question, this is the strongest and fittest that I’ve ever been, and we’ve both taken huge chunks of time off of our personal bests on the erg (rowing machine). The past year has flown by and we now have just over 10 weeks to go until the opening ceremony.

I have no regrets about making the decision to return to rowing. The perspective that I gained during the time away from the sport has made me appreciate this lifestyle even more. I’m lucky to be able to do this and to be a part of a great group of athletes working towards something extraordinary.

This last stretch to the Olympics will be focused on the final mental and physical preparation to ensure that we’re ready for our time in that ring.

First, I should define what the term “Olympic Performance” means to me. It’s not simply competing at the Olympics. For me, it’s an athlete being able to embrace the pressure and expectations, cast aside the doubts and fear of failure, and produce a performance that is capable of inspiring a nation. These moments are rare, which, in my mind, makes them that much more special.

We all have those unforgettable memories of Sidney Crosby’s overtime goal or Alexandre Bilodeau’s final run to win the first gold medal on Canadian soil, so winning a gold medal goes a long way in finding an appropriate definition.

That said, I think there can be more to it than just the gold medal. There’s something to be respected about the athlete that can truly grasp the opportunity in front of them and rise up to the challenge. Not sit back and be safe and focus on what could go wrong, but risk it all and go for the win.

Now, that doesn’t always result in winning a gold medal, and in my mind two of Canada’s best performances at the Beijing Olympics ended up with silver medals. As an athlete, simply thinking about those moments evokes an intense level of pride and emotion. I think it affects me so profoundly because I have a decent idea about what has gone into the training and preparation, and the pressure that these athletes were feeling. Even as I write my account of their events, nearly four years later, I get goose bumps. These athletes are great ambassadors for sport in Canada and I’m excited to watch them compete in London.

Simon Whitfield

Simon Whitfield burst onto the scene in 2000 at the Sydney Olympics when he won the inaugural Olympic triathlon. It was an iconic moment in Canadian Olympic sport and thrust Simon into the spotlight that he has enjoyed for the past eight years. That was our first glimpse at his ability to sprint. After a disappointing result in Athens, he was back on form and looking to regain his spot on the podium in Beijing.

I remember walking into the Canadian athletes’ lounge in the Olympic Village to watch the end of the race on TV with about three kilometers to go in the run. The room was tense. It was full of other Canadian athletes all nervously watching and cheering for Simon. The lead group of five athletes became four, and then with roughly 1000 metres to go Simon started to drop off the back of the pack and it looked as if he was destined to finished fourth. The room fell silent as we all saw how the race would likely end.

Then, as the runners came around a hairpin turn with 600m to go, Simon threw his visor aside and just started sprinting. Sprinting as if there was only 100m to go and his life was on the line.  He caught and then blew by the three leaders and opened up a 15-metre lead, only to fade in the final 100m and relinquish the lead to Jan Frodeno of Germany. He didn’t win, but in those moments of overwhelming fatigue and panic, as he could feel the race slipping away from him, Simon made the decision to grasp the rare and defining opportunity in front of him, grit his teeth, and go. Ignore everything else and just go.

Adam van Koeverden

Van Koeverden carried the flag for Canada at the opening ceremony in 2008 with the expectations of a nation resting on his shoulders. The kayaker had been the only double medallist for Canada at the Athens Olympics and everyone was hoping for a similar result in Beijing. On top of that was the enormous pressure and scrutiny that comes with being the flag bearer. He dealt with it like the professional that he is and advanced through his preliminary races unscathed, breaking his own world record in the heats.

And then it all fell apart.  In the final for the 1000m, Adam got off to a great start and was in a close second place at the halfway point, but then faded off the pace and ended up eighth, nowhere near what he had expected and undoubtedly a huge hit to his confidence.

I’ve been there. My teammate Dave Calder and I had a terrible race in our heat in Beijing, where we led for most of the race only to be sprinted through by two pairs we had beaten easily only a month prior. At the Olympics everything is magnified, so much so that any insecurity or fear can be blown up into something that becomes paralyzing. Needless to say, having one of your races go drastically wrong can lead you down a very negative mental path. We had nearly four days to recover and turn things around for our semifinal, and we needed every minute. Adam had less than 24 hours.

Rather than succumb to the negative thoughts, his disappointing race seemed to embolden him.  Similar to Simon’s final sprint, Adam shot out of the gates in the opening strokes of his 500m final the next day as he took charge of the race. Whatever the end result, he was going to be able to walk away knowing that he had ruthlessly attacked his race. Given the circumstances, I think that took an incredible resolve and belief in himself. He led through half way and held off all but one attacker to win the silver medal.

The gold medals are what most people will remember, and to some extent that is how it should be.  Medals are the goal and usually an objective measure of an athlete’s ability. But, within that point of view, other performances such as Simon’s and Adam’s can be overlooked and somehow seen as them simply failing to win.

I would guess that anyone who has seen those races would agree that’s a gross undervaluing of the heart they showed and the pride they instilled.

The simplicity and purity of the swimmers’ selection process impressed me. The fastest athletes go to the Olympics, no questions asked.

As the summer approaches, many of our national teams will be making final cuts and announcing their Olympic rosters. It’s incredibly exciting for a select number of Canadian athletes, and devastating for others. That is the reality of elite-level sport: some win, most lose. It’s harsh and can be difficult to deal with. But, win or lose, if you can walk away saying “I got a fair shot,” that’s all you can ask for.

As basic as that sounds, I think it’s actually somewhat rare in amateur sport.

Let competition decide

The topic of selection is a touchy one because so much is at stake. We dedicate our lives to trying to be the best at our chosen sport and are fairly sensitive to anything getting in the way of achieving that goal. Coming to terms with the notion that you aren’t good enough is one thing. Failing to achieve your goals because someone or something got in your way is a whole different story.

I think that the most any athlete can hope for, and the bare minimum that they should be able to expect, is the exact same – a positive training environment and a fair, transparent selection process. No favouritism, no hand-holding, no protection. Just pure, open competition.

Without those basic tenets, the waters get muddied and the core motivation to be the fastest begins to erode. It becomes less about pushing yourself and the team to be the best in the world, and more about playing the political game to gain the favour of those in positions of power. And not knowing how you will be judged, or if you will even get the chance to be judged, adds a huge amount of unnecessary stress to the life of an athlete.

That’s what’s great about the swimming trials: touch the wall first and you earn the spot to represent Canada at the Olympics. Everyone can step onto those starting blocks knowing that the only thing that matters is the clock.

My heart goes out to Mike Brown and Annamay Pierse – both great Canadian athletes with impressive resumes. Unfortunately, they both had disappointing races at the trials and didn’t make the team. I’m sure that these are tough days for them, but imagine the different set of emotions that they would be struggling with had they not been given that chance to race. At least, even in defeat, they can leave the pool knowing that it came down to their performances on that day.

Find out who’s fastest

Selection is difficult for everyone involved. I can imagine that it’s the least enjoyable part of coaching – trying to find an equitable way of evaluating all the athletes to put together the best possible team, and remove their egos or preconceived ideas from the equation to let the athletes and their performances speak for themselves. But that’s part of the job. It isn’t something that can be avoided or left to the athletes to figure out.

I’m sure each sport has its own set of complexities that need to be accounted for in the selection process. Swimming appears (from an outside perspective) to be quite simple: touch the wall first.  In rowing, coaches have to account for the wind, water conditions, consistency of performance with all of the athletes involved, athletes knowing who is racing for his/her spot in the boat and who isn’t, crew dynamics, etc. That’s a lot of information to take in before deciding who is most likely to perform best in the Olympic final. But the process still has to be results-driven. Eliminate the confounding factors and allow the individual performances to shine through.

It isn’t a perfect science, but there is a way to do that in rowing. Line two boats up next to each other, race them, switch one athlete from each boat, and race them again. The two results will show you which athlete moves the boat faster. If possible, it’s even better to have another boat do both races unchanged to act as a constant to which the two “switching” boats’ times can be compared. Again, it’s not perfect, but it’s the best way to reduce everything down to what matters: which athletes moves the boat fastest.

I think that anything less than this, or the equivalent process in other sports, shows a lack of respect for how much our top athletes put into trying to win medals for Canada on the world stage. Speed on the water, in the water, or around the track: that’s all that matters. Just touch the wall first.