Reflection and rehabilitation

It's the night before the first day of final trials, and the first time in 4yrs I'm not sat in a hotel room, going through my pre-race preparation. Because I'm not racing. However, I know, almost to the minute, exactly what I'd be doing if I was racing tomorrow. That's because my pre-race routine had become a second nature military operation and I almost didn't have to think about it. Pre-occupied with thoughts of what was to come I would run through the tasks, each one with a specific reason and purpose, like someone possessed.

More than that, I know, almost to the minute, how I'd be feeling if I was racing tomorrow. I can even hear the same thoughts in my head now, as I sit in my room, as if I was racing tomorrow. The constant wave of running through the race from stroke 1 to the finish, followed by the horrible reminder of the process leading up to taking that first stroke before the calming automated responses I'd trained myself to remember.

Although everyone enters trials with the same aim, everyone is different about how they approach them and how it makes them feel. For me, trials was exactly that - a trial. I feared them. It didn't get any easier either, just worse. The longer I was in the team and the faster I got, the more I felt I had to lose. Ironic really, given I was more likely to get the outcome I desired the more experience and strength I gained. I remember looking at the squad girls at my first ever trial in 2007 (at which I came 12th and was incredibly pleased with myself, for the record) and thinking how nice it must be to sit on the start line knowing you were going to do well. That making the A final was a given.

The truth is, as you obviously know, there are no guarantees. We all prepare for success, as to do otherwise would be foolish, but no-one has a golden ticket. Every place is earned. There are talented individuals who seem to go fast without much effort, but they will still have trained hard and will race to the edge like everyone else. I didn't realise it at the time, but those squad girls were just as nervous, just for different reasons. I feared them.

Then there was the pain. I feared that a lot. The longer you are in a sport, the more aware you become of what it takes to push yourself to that place where results are achieved and dreams are made. And that place just gets deeper. But as much as I feared it, I also craved it, as pain is the guarantee that you are pushing yourself as hard as you can, that you are spending the money you put in the bank over all those long, dark winter mornings. Without the pain, the result would never be satisfactory and a bad result would haunt you forever. Pain is what you seek to live with whatever the result may be.

And that result means everything. It is what dictates funding and separates those that go on - and those that do not. It can change your life. That's what happened to me in 2009. I didn't expect to make the team and I certainly didn't expect to go to the World Championships. 3 seconds did that. That's the time difference between my 3rd place and the girl who placed 4th, which dictated my route into the A final and the lightweight quad, and her path into the B final and the lightweight single. You might think that's the same outcome - we both went to the 2009 World Championships - but the course of the rest of our rowing careers was set from that very point in Hazelwinkel and, although I won't go into it here, they turned out very differently.

So I feared the result more than anything. But that's what make sport so amazing and what keeps people coming back for more. Because the highs are unbelievably high - when the result is what you needed, and often more, and the fear is replaced by immense joy. It's like a drug. It's worth the pain, the mental anguish, the fear, the planning, the days, weeks and months of training, the emotional torture and the constant testing. It's even worth putting all that on the line in final trials.

And that's why I sit here knowing what I would be doing and how I would be feeling. Because it never goes away, that knowledge of what rests on this weekend. What it means to those that are racing. It makes me sad to think I will probably never feel like that again and certainly will never feel like that again for the same reasons. Risking it all for the ultimate high.

Tough decisions

So, here I am, 3 months later. A retired international athlete. I faltered for a while, trying to maintain a level of decent training whilst working full time, but ultimately I knew that something had to give and I didn't want it to be me. So the training had to stop. You might think that's defeatist given many people out there train on a full-time job, but once training has been your main occupation, doing it alongside something else is simply not a viable option. Especially when that something else demands your full attention and not falling asleep at your desk. In short, training alongside my job was making me miserable as I was doing both badly and certainly not to the level I wanted.

However, don't be fooled into thinking that was the easy route. Given how long and hard I thought about leaving rowing to commit once again to my career, it has come as an enormous surprise to me (but not my friends and family, which says a lot) how much I'm really struggling to let rowing go. I was convinced it was going to be tough but it was what I wanted - to move on with life and finally commit the time and energy I wanted to my (real) job. To give up the long, cold morning outings, the horrifically painful ergs and the killer weights sessions. To enjoy a warm lie-in rather than slog up to Boston for bitterly cold and mostly miserable winter trials. To avoid the mental and emotional pressure that comes with pitting yourself against your friends in 2k ergs and trials and constantly testing yourself against the best.

But the truth is I miss it. To the point that I think about it from the moment I open my eyes to the minute I close them again. There have been tears. Mainly from frustration and anger at myself, rather than sadness or self pity. Yes I'm sad it's over, but this isn't my main reason for being upset - it's the the fact that I made this decision, I put myself in this position. It is my fault I have to go to work all day rather than head out on the water or go to the gym. I know that I'm probably only remembering the good times and not the bad - my flatmate reminded me that I told her that I would change my mind a thousand times and that I had asked her to remind me of my reasons - but that doesn't stop me wanting to turn the clock back and put myself through another season. To finish the Olympiad, whatever the outcome.

Of course, I have to remember that the price was high. In the literal sense, I was not a funded athlete - coming 6th in trials for the last 3yrs doesn't warrant funding due to there only being 2 Olympics seats for lwt women, despite being a gold and silver medallist and World Cup A finalist twice. In terms of my salary, I calculated that my gold medal cost me in the region of £80k in sacrificed salary, bonus and pension. Don't get me wrong, it was absolutely worth it, but when your chances of going to the Olympics are slim and the best you can hope for is to repeat your success already achieved, you start to count the cost. Then there's the career progression. At 31, having already set my career back a couple of years through missed promotions, I started to question what I ultimately wanted out of life and how I could best get there. Another potential year in the GB team (as nothing is guaranteed in trials!) versus accepting a guaranteed promotion and pay rise that would take me to another level in my career was a difficult choice, but ultimately I made the one that made more sense in the longer term.

I now know that my career will always be there and rowing for GB won't, and to be a member of that team in the London Olympic year whether on the Olympic team or not would be incredible - but the deal is done. I've missed too much to go back and made a commitment to my company that I should honour. So I have to keep my head held high, smile about the good times and remember that I achieved more than I ever set out to do. It doesn't make it any easier, but it helps.

Reflection

So, it's been a long, long time since I last posted. Apologies for that, but the main reason was that I felt it would be better if I didn't make public the process I was going through in trying to reach the 2011 team. However, now that it's over and I'm sitting back in the UK still working part-time but not training, I now have the time to sit back and reflect on the past 12 months, what I set out to achieve and how it all worked out.

As most of you will know, the last 12 months have been long and difficult (although I'm struggling to come to terms with the fact that it's all over and I not only achieved what I set out to do but came out with the best result). NZ was a hard pill to swallow after 7wks on a bike, and many more weeks and months of work before that, to get in the boat; to come out of that with 4th place by 0.3s was a kick in the stomach to be honest. On reflection, all of us can see the reasons why it happened, some of our making, others out of our control. However, there were a lot of lessons learnt that for those of us that made the crew again this year that we were determined not to make again.

One obvious but key learning was that the later the crew selection takes place, the more likely it is to produce a poor result. Sounds obvious but it's not something that GB Rowing necessarily agree with. This led to me getting quite angry about the delays in selection this year to the point that I emailed the chief coach to say so. In the end, I feel that the right crew was chosen, but they could have selected it weeks before they did. I understand that the right result was achieved in the end, but it still resulted in a lot of unnecessary stress for those of us involved in the process.

The second learning was that we are there to do a job - we are business partners - and therefore we should treat the project as such. More specifically, we all have roles to play - coach and athletes alike - and we all want the same outcome therefore we need to work as a team to produce the result in the most efficient and effective way possible. So we spent a lot of time this year on understanding who we were as individuals, what made us tick, what we could bring to the party and how best to work together to get the best out of us all individually and as a crew. I'm not saying this was easy, particularly for stubborn little me, but I'm certain it was key to our success. Flexibility was critical; being willing to listen and adapt meant that we ultimately were all doing the same thing. This didn't mean that we weren't entitled to an opinion (as we definitely had plenty of those, particularly those of us that had been round the block a couple of times) but we did try and identify when these opinions were valid and when actually it was better to try something new.

As you now know, in the end we came away with the ultimate prize - the gold medal and the World Championship title - something that is still difficult for me to comprehend now. What makes it sweeter though is that I felt we deserved it - and that's not something that sits well with me and sport. Nobody deserves to win - it is earned. Everybody that sits on that start line has trained hard and has earned a result. However, for us this year I feel that we did more than that. I can honestly say that I personally put everything I had into that result; physically, mentally, emotionally. I admitted to my crew in Bled that there were tears most weeks, if not days, during the last season. It took everything I had in me to complete the sessions and keep my focus on the end goal - to make the team and win the World Championships. Failure was not an option, but it was always a possibility - and that's a difficult thing to ignore when you feel that you need to push 100% in every session just to keep with the pace of the rest of the squad.

And so, that's why I've decided to retire from international racing. There were a lot of reasons I got through last season, some of which people will understand and others that they won't, some of which are obvious and others which are not. I won't go into detail on all of them in this post, but I will explain at some point. Suffice to say, not all of those reasons still exist and I feel that without them the motivation to put myself through what is required to maintain my place in the team is simply not enough. In addition, I had taken the decision prior to going to the Worlds that this season would be my last, whatever the result; if we came away with gold, I would've achieved my ultimate ambition in rowing, if we came away with anything less then frankly I felt I'd have given it my best shot and that was what I was capable of. I knew that the crew this year was the best GB had ever fielded and if it wasn't capable of winning gold then quite honestly it was time for me to move on. Finally, as my crew constantly reminded me of, I'm not the youngest squad member and there are other things in life I want to explore which trialling and then training for the Worlds simply does not give you the time and energy to do.

And so it is, Steph Cullen hangs up her blades. Not necessarily for good (watch this space) but you have seen her in GB colours for the last time. This makes me incredibly sad (typing this through tears!) as rowing has been my constant companion through many things both good and bad over the past 12yrs but it's time to move on. I'm World Champion, not many people can say that, and there's a lot of life out there waiting to be lived.

Reflection

The 2010 World Championships is over, and now it's done I feel I need to take it all in. Despite the fact it was a long time coming and the weeks and months of training running up to it felt relentless, my over-riding feelings are sadness and a I'm a little shell shocked that I'm back in London with it all behind me.

The past 6 months pushed me to the brink - from the brink of quitting, the realisation of the importance sculling is to me through to understanding that it's international racing that now drives me. It's been a hell of a ride. Looking back, every element played a role in this World Championships being completely different to the last - despite looking exactly the same on the surface. Same crew, same order... different result. But it's not just the result that was different, it was the whole process.

The biggest difference is obviously that this time I wasn't the new fish (although I was still the baby of the crew, racing with 3 seasoned veterans... again!). However, a bigger element in my opinion to making this season so different was doing the World Cups. Looking back, I had no idea how those races would change my perception of racing and what I'm capable of. Bled presented me with the toughest race of my life. That's banked and believe me I keep going back to it when I need to dig deep.

Secondly, and for similar reasons to be honest, my rib injury played a huge part in making this season what it was. Two months out of a boat and the gym in the middle of trialing, with only a watt bike for company, pushed me to the limit of my personal capacity to handle situations. Some people would relish the opportunity to do something different. I resented it and - being brutally honest - hated every second. Anyone who would rather do 2,400 squats in one go than get on a static bike definitely has issues! When I needed to find something extra in the last 500m of my Worlds final last week when I already felt like I was on the line, I thought back to my 30min watt bike test. Sweating blood, tears and a lot of self respect taught me that I can definitely go harder when the limit has already theoretically been reached.

So, in the next couple of days before I have to head back into the office, I'll be taking some time to get things straight. Then I'll think about getting back in a boat.

Back where I belong

The headline says it all really - I'm back in a boat, and it feels great. Ok, so the speed isn't what it was - it's going to take time for the 7wks of no weights or being in a boat to be overcome - but I'm getting there. I just have to have faith and determination. And I have the latter in bucket loads, even if sometimes the former begins to falter, which it has done a couple of times.

My crew mates have been amazing. Going out in the 4x the other day, one of the girls from the crew with me last year turned to me and said it was great to have me back - that made my day! I told her exactly what I was thinking - it's great to be back.

The Worlds feel an eternity away and we are still not entirely certain of the final line up (or whether I'll even be involved) but one thing is for certain - I'll have earned my seat if I am, and I'll put in a worthy performance to prove it.

You don't know what you've got until it's gone

Well it's now August and a lot (or rather not a lot) has happened since I last posted... I'll explain.

Having felt rather pleased with myself and very lucky about being robust and almost the 'last man standing' as the other lightweight women almost seemed to take turns in taking a few days/ weeks off with injury, the inevitable happened - I got injured. Looking back I had it coming. I started with a dull, niggling pain in my back on arriving in Munich but having been reassured by the physio that it was nothing to worry about I did just that and didn't worry about it.

After a fun 24hr experience on diclofenic (how was I to know it could cause water retention and a resultant massive weight gain in a few short hours... not exactly ideal for a lightweight rower!) I resorted to ipubrofen to ignore the persistant - but shallow - pain. Having shortened our initial paddle due to my 'niggle', I prayed it wouldn't affect my racing ability. Luckily, I felt nothing in the pre-paddle (drugs are amazing things!) and racing went as planned with no significant impediment to my sculling. In fact, I'd go as far to say that I didn't notice it when racing. Kinda busy focussing on other stuff! Anyway, we got through the weekend successfully, registering the highest ever position for a GB WLwt2x second boat in the process (4th), and I went home happy, the beer helping along with the drugs no doubt!

It wasn't to last. 4km into my first session on day 2 the pain switched from niggling to intense. It was like someone flicked a switch in my ribcage - the pain in my chest and back was immense and like nothing I'd experienced before. We decided to stop - not something an athlete does easily. This time the physio looked more concerned, and so was I. He packed me straight off to the team doctor who instructed me to take 2 days out of the boat and off the erg. 2 days? Sure, I can handle that! Almost like a holiday!

That was 7 weeks ago. I haven't been back in a boat since. OK, I tell a small lie - I tried 2 wks ago. I didn't get far. After numerous different diagnoses, those in the know deemed that I had a rib stress fracture. Apparently this is good news. A rib stress fracture takes only 6 - 8 wks to heal (ONLY?!) and when it's fixed, it's fixed. It could have been far worse; cartilage issues, disc issues... the list is endless. It's been 7 weeks and it feels like an eternity. For someone who hasn't been out of a boat for more than a week in the past 2 yrs, 7 wks is a lifetime. Worse still, the only thing I have been allowed to do is get on a bike. No running, no swimming, no erging and definitely no weights. Seriously? I HATE cycling. Don't get me wrong, I can handle a 30min commute to work, but 100mins on a static bike in a gym? Are you kidding? I'd rather stand and squat at 30 reps per min for 60mins straight. (Which I did in the end, by the way).

If you ever want to punish an elite athlete tell them to 'rest'. Then tell them once they feel ok to breathe deeply without pain to get on a watt bike and not get off for 7 wks. I've not felt this bad about life since my Mum grounded me for the whole summer holiday in 1992. (And that was pretty bad - my sister was grounded as well and we shared a room. Brutal). However, the past few weeks have given me a lot of thinking time, and I've come to realise something fairly crucial - rowing is pretty important to me (no shit I hear you cry). Seriously though, when you do something day in, day out - and have done for 11yrs - you kinda take it for granted. You see it as something you have to do. You start to resent getting up at 5.30am to go and get in a boat. You start to wonder what it would be like to go to work having not already done more exercise than most people do in a week. When the truth of the matter is that this is what I choose to do. In fact, it goes further than that (and this is what kicked me hardest) - being a sculler defines me. It's who I am. It's what I like most about me.

Without sculling, I'm not the same person. Let's be realistic about this - my whole life would change. And at some point it will. And it's going to be really difficult - but nowhere near as difficult if I choose when to stop, rather than being forced through injury or failure to make a boat. Suddenly the importance of making the crew for the World Champs and winning the gold we all so desperately want - and are capable of achieving with the athletes we have - became incredibly clear to me. And when you're sat on a watt bike watching your team mates out on the water that's a really tough realisation! I'm desperate to get back in a boat. Not because I love sculling. Not because it's what I do. Because it's the most important thing to me at this point in time. Nothing has ever been this important to me. And that makes the next few weeks the most important in my life. I don't want to spend them sat on a watt bike...

Short update

2hrs 40mins until our repercharge. I'm dreading it but relishing getting it started both at the same time. Bit like how you feel before an exam. You're not looking forward to it, but you know you're as prepared as you can be so you're looking forward to getting it started, doing something constructive (rather than the horrible final hours before hand where you're just worrying about it) and finding out the result. In these last few moments in my hotel room before I get on the bus to the course and we go through the racing day motions... practice weigh (always unnecessary), waiting, weighing in officially, waiting some more, waiting some more, going to the loo, getting race kit on, going to the loo AGAIN, heading to the boat for pre-race chat, walking the blades down, wondering if I need the loo once more, deciding it's just adrenaline, hands on the boat, walking to the pontoon, pushing off, warm up, waiting for a race to go past, continuing warm up, questioning why I'm doing this, waiting for another race to go past, heading up to the start area, removing final kit, hearing the start list and the inevitable '5 mins' read out in a vague European accent, getting attached, waiting.... before all that lovely 2 and a bit hours, I like to remind myself that the result is not yet acheived, the inevitable is not inevitable, that history has not yet been written. I can still influence the result. It is still anyone's race. I am constantly reminded by myself, coaches and my fellow athletes that anything can happen. If you're on the start line you have a chance. It can be anyone's race. Nothing is guaranteed. So matter how the race unfolds, you stay alert, stay on your game. In international races things DO happen and they tend to happen in the last 500m, if not the last 250m. There is no giving up, no finding yourself in 4th place and thinking 'oh well, this is always where I thought I would be'. EVERYONE fights, even if all looks like it is lost, nobody gives up. It is a fight to the death, to the last stroke. You only need to win by a bowball - if you can still hear the other crew you still have a chance, even if you can't see them. So, I'm preparing myself for a battle. There are 5 crews, 2 spots in the A final and 10 women on that startline who all want it and know that on their day they can acheive it. Only the others can stop them and they're going to make it damn hard. I'm getting prepared to make it the hardest race they've ever had.

World Cup take 2

I'm currently sat in a hotel room in Munich having arrived earlier today ready for the second leg of the World Cup starting the day after tomorrow. It's absolutely persisting down with rain and it's forecast to remain that way until we go home (joy) so rigging and rowing was not at the top of my list of things to do this afternoon, especially after I got into the hotel room and immediately fell asleep for the hour we had between lunch and leaving for the course!

To add insult to injury (quite literally) I'm also on painkillers and anti-inflammatories for a spine/rib joint injury which is getting worse by the hour. It's ironic that the only time you ever appreciate not being injured is when you're exactly the opposite. I've gone from being nervous about racing to just wishing I could race feeling 100%.

If there's one thing an athlete struggles with it's admitting defeat, and today I had to admit defeat and confess to Andrea that I thought we should go in rather than finish the outing - we'd done 5km out of a scheduled 12km. A back/ rib injury is not something to mess with and we only have approximately 36hrs until we face another gruelling race in the LW2x against the best athletes in the world.

Slovenia was amazing, a massive learning curve and an emotional rollercoaster of an experience. After an appalling display in the heat - we came 5th - we faced the repercharge the same day. Having discussed the heat, we focussed our attention on putting right the wrongs. It was a good job we prepared ourselves for a fight as we drew the Greeks and the Italians - two crews that are always fast. There were 5 boats in the race and only two went through to the A/B semis - we had to beat one of them. We were in 3rd place at 1500m, a good two lengths down on both the Greeks and the Italians, who were battling it out together in front. I have said since and I'm not afraid to say it again that if I was on the bank I'd have put money on the fact that we were out of it. However, Andrea had other plans and took the rate up to 38 with 500m to go. With 300m to go it wasn't enough and we knew it so she took us up again - to 41.5 strokes per minute. Just as I thought I was going to pass out we heard 3 beeps to say all three crews had crossed the line. It was so close nobody knew who had made it through. All three crews sat and stared at the results board, too tired to speak, holding our breath. We waited. The Greeks had won. We waited. We had come second, 3/10ths of a second behind them. Then the Italians had come 3rd, 3/10s of a second behind us. At that precise moment I felt I'd never deserved anything so much!

So to the semi, which we won fairly comfortably - a sweet experience after the heat and repercharge! However, byt the time the final came around we were tired. Happy, but tired. Our aim had been to make the A final and we had acheived that, but neither of us would have been happy with a mediocre performance - we were in it to race hard. In the end, we came 5th. It wasn't an outstanding performance, it wasn't terrible. Ultimately, we would've liked to have come 4th as we were pipped by 0.5sec by the Dutch who we'd beaten the day before in the semi, but you take small victories were you can - we beat the Irish!

So, here we are in Munich. Different boat (we're in an Empacher rather than a Filippi) but same focus. Far less crews - 13 instead of 23 - and no Greeks, Italians, USA, Dutch or Irish - but no less difficult. Andrea and I are here to show the world what we're capable of and a back injury is going to have to go a long way to stop me doing that. So, bring on the painkillers and the anti-inflammatories - I'm going to need them...

Doubt and the lesson it brings

Well yet again I have failed to update my blog in an age. I am starting to see a trend though... my last post was on my day off training; today, unsurprisingly, is my first day off training since then. So, I will make a mental note to ensure I complete a post on at least every day off. Anything more than that is a bonus!

The past couple of weeks have been those kind of weeks that every athlete dreads but knows (after 10 years) are inevitable and an important part of improving performance - every session I've been performing under par. My erg scores were miles off my usual for what felt like ten times the effort, my HR was high, my legs felt like they were disconnected from the rest of my body, my arms ached like they were doing all the work and my general enthusiasm for my sport (read: life) was evidently missing. Yet I wasn't ill, I was trying hard to get enough sleep and I'd done nothing differently.

And it's those last three points that are the most pertinent. Any athlete knows that staying 100% all of the time is simply not possible. When you put yourself through the level of training we do whilst trying to maintain a job, a relationship, a social life and still have downtime it's a fait a complit that you are going to, at some point, be under the weather as your immune system shouts loudly 'hey, give it a rest, damnit!'... And when that happens you learn to accept it, back off a bit, and treat yourself with a little bit more care until you feel back to your usual self. In the long run, you will benefit more that way than trying to battle through it. However, when you don't feel ill and everything seems normal yet you simply can not perform, that's a whole different kettle of fish. You start to ask questions of yourself... and that's when the doubt creeps in.

Self-doubt is an athlete's biggest enemy; it is a well known and widely held belief that an athlete who sits on the start line questioning their ability or, worse, thinking that there's no way they can win has already lost. An important part of being an athlete - as important as training and everything that goes with it, diet, sleep, etc. - is mental strength and belief in yourself. It is sometimes mistaken for arrogance. However, there is a big difference. I looked up the definition of arrogance to be sure of what I'm talking about: 'having or showing an exaggerated opinion of one's own importance, merit, ability, etc.; conceited; overbearingly proud'. When you look at it like that you can understand why the lines between self-belief and arrogance are often perceived to be blurred; no-one goes to the World Championships/ Olympics believing they can't win or at the very least are the best that their country can send. In other words, in either case you have to believe that you are the best. You have trained hard with the same focus in every session - to be the best you possibly can be. Granted, there are athletes out there that have an inflated opinion of their capabilities - however, if they race often enough that should be rectified - but in the vast majority of cases, it isn't arrogance you're witnessing; it's weeks, months and years of training, both mentally and physically, to believe that they are the best in order to face the challenge that lies ahead of them.

But I digress... my point is that over the last two weeks - after enjoying a long run of getting faster and faster and producing PBs over and over - I rapidly started to go the other way. And that caused me to doubt myself. To question my abilities. To wonder if I was right all along when I looked at the erg screen and thought that there was no way the scores I was producing could possibly be real. If in fact it was all a run of luck, a bit of a dream. And that made me miserable - worse than that, it made me fearful. As an athlete, your body is your daily job and your performances the measure of how your work for the day has gone. A bad score is a bad day at the office. And the repercussions of persistent bad days at the office are the same as in any job - you lose your position or, worse, you lose your job altogether. And there a lot of people who want my job, and there a lot of people who can do my job - to a better or worse capability - and therefore I have constant benchmarks.

So, facing this weekend's task of a 2k speed order to rank and confirm the crews for the first World Cup was a daunting one off the back of the last two weeks. Essentially, all the proposed crews for the World Cup team race over 2k and are then ranked on % gold medal speed in order to compare boats of different classes. Those who are not performing to the level expected will be reconsidered. In my case, I'm currently in a 2x with Andrea Dennis - a fantastic athlete who I admire immensely and consider it a huge privilege to be training and racing with, not least as she beat me by 13 seconds at, and won, the April Final trials. My reasons to desperately want to to do well were therefore much more than just for me and all the training I have done to get this far; the Wlwt2x is the Olympic class boat so it is a fantastic opportunity to race this class at the World Cups against the best athletes in the world, with one of the best athletes in the world.

I wasn't nervous - I was doubtful, and fearful. And that's far worse than nervous. Nervous means you have an opportunity, you know you have a chance, and you're going to have to race hard to beat your competition. Doubtful and fearful means you've already convinced yourself that you're out of the race and you therefore have to race yourself in your mind all the way down the track to beat your own fears. All this without telling Andrea how I felt as I didn't want to affect her race over and above what I already felt were my physical limitations. So, I told myself it was a process, one that I'd done hundreds of times before - in the majority of cases under more difficult circumstances (like racing a single scull at final trials as your first 2k race in that boat class!) - and as much as I didn't feel up to it/ excited/ nervous about it, it was my job so I just had to get on with it. Just another day at the office. I just had to ignore the hangover of an underpar set of sessions...

I won't bore you with the details (well done for making it this far... you must be really bored, have nothing to do or be avoiding something...!) - we did really well and I personally had one of the best races of my life. The rhythm was fantastic, my legs were strong, my calls were good and the result was reflective of what we are capable of. It was a fantastic learning experience and one that I will carry with me into future races: have faith in your training, have faith in your crew and, most importantly, have faith in yourself. Even when things are not going well, remember the person you are when things are good and you feel strong - because you are still that person.

The first World Cup is in 2wks in Bled, Slovenia. It will be tough, it will be fast and it will be require me to bring my A game. No matter how I feel, how nervous I am, I know I will have packed it somewhere, even if I think I forgot it. Bring it on.

An apology...

Wow, it was the end of November since I last posted. The shame burns. If anyone is still following this blog, good effort - you clearly have more stamina than me! Mental note to self: must write blog more often.

Clearly being a part-time athlete/ part-time marketing consultant/ full-time knackered person I have a slight excuse in that if I'm not training/ eating/ sleeping/ driving between the office-Caversham-Putney/ pretending to work, I'm sleeping some more... Take this weekend for example; I had grand plans to take full advantage of the afternoon sunshine after wistfully imagining what normal people were doing with the gloriously sunny day that was this Saturday just gone whilst I was busy ploughing my way up and down a 2km lake all morning. I drove home excited about the potential the afternoon had, raced through the door... and fell asleep on the sofa. For 2.5hrs.

To be honest that pretty much sums up every day, although there's normally approx. 4hrs work sandwiched between the training and the sleeping on a Mon-Fri. Anyone who thinks that being an international athlete is glamorous is seriously mistaken! It's early mornings, lots of driving, planning your day to the minute and generally feeling like you have zero time to yourself even though you haven't seen your friends and family in weeks and don't feel like you've been out of the flat. If I didn't have my shopping delivered by a nice Polish guy in a van I wouldn't eat! God bless Ocado.

So yes, I'm making excuses for being rubbish at maintaining my blog. Must. Try. Harder. Story of my life! (All put on myself by me I might add. My Mum would tell me to relax, have a glass of wine and take the weight off, bless her). Even now I haven't written about what I was going to. I had grand plans to update you on the last 5 months but to be honest there's FAR too much too tell you! I'll save that for my next entry - I PROMISE it'll be in the next 7 days! For now, I'm going to continue trying not to fall asleep whilst waiting for the shopping to get here. Where has that Polish geezer got to...

Moving goalposts

Yet again a whole month has managed to pass me by without me posting. Eeek, sorry! My life feels like one constant round of training, working, sleeping and getting between the 3 with as much relaxation and eating as possible - which is never as much as I'd like, on both counts!

I managed to sneak home this weekend to see the majority of my family and celebrate my 29th birthday with a change of scene and less training than normal. Yes, that's right, I see 'less training than normal' a suitable treat for a birthday. Paid the price this morning - amazing how quickly you can get used to not doing a session first thing in the morning!

So, I guess I should update you on how it's going. Well, it's been a satisfying season so far. I've only had one real test to date - a 2k at Bisham - as World Champs athletes are exempt from the first round of trials at Boston. I'm relieved to say it went well - and certainly much better than expected - and gave me a bit of a boost that all the hard training I'm doing is definitely paying off. It feels a little strange to be this fit and strong so early in the season, but it's nice to not be struggling my way through 18k ergos and 20km outings!

Having said all that, the pressure and my mind set is no different - the goalposts have just moved. The fitter and stronger you are, the harder you have to try and the faster the targets get. It's been quite a daunting (and marginally disappointing!) situation to find myself in - that reaching the original goal doesn't bring with it the ability to relax a little bit and the satisfaction expected. What you want and expect just changes. The people I compare myself to, the numbers I want to see on the erg and water, the amount of weight I want to be able to lift.

And with that comes another element to consider - improvement, or rather expectation of improvement. Previously I've always seen improvement through a season, usually significant baring illness and injury. This year my coach has warned me that there will undoubtedly be a lower increase in my performance over the season than previously seen. There is also the chance that I may not improve - my performance might plateau - and I need to be mentally prepared for that. I mustn't lose sight of the fact that the absence of improvement or as much improvement doesn't mean I'm not fast. It's just more difficult to improve on something that's already pretty good. Of course, that also doesn't mean that I'm not going to try.... there's still a lot of breathing space between me and the established girls in the squad and I need to try and close that gap.

So it all boils down to moving my goalposts - on what I want, what I expect, what I aim for and, most importantly, how I review my performance. This year is going to be tough - tougher than last year for sure - and I'm going to need to make sure I keep my eyes on the prize and keep moving in the right direction. Which is a different direction to before...

Well I've been back to training 5 weeks and so far so good... until yesterday. It's been a tough week - amazed myself that I managed to push myself through it pretty much alone - and yesterday my body finally said enough is enough and something gave. My neck to be precise, and boy does it hurt! I've always been a sceptic when it comes to back pain/ neck pain/ headache. I'm not very easy to convince when the individual's pain isn't tangible! (Read: their leg isn't hanging off - I was never going to make a great nurse). How can one little ache cause so much bother? Well karma has definitely come to haunt me - I'm in agony.

Not quite sure when precisely during yesterday's two sessions I cricked my neck but by the time I'd walked back from the club to the flat I felt nauseous and distinctly out of sorts. Usually the first person to dive head first into housework on a Sat afternoon, especially when the flat looks like ours currently does, I walked straight into the bathroom on getting home to run a bath. In fact, I noticed on walking into the bathroom this morning that my house keys are still by the side of the sink by way of evidence! By the time Dominic got home I was sat on the sofa in my PJs (at 2pm) dosed up on ibuprofen with an ice pack handy. All I mustered up the energy to do yesterday was watch the GP qualifying and have copious amounts of sleep. I clearly needed it, and most people would call that a typical relaxing Saturday afternoon, but there's nothing that makes an athlete more despondent than being rendered totally incapable of doing anything. Especially when their own desire and determination to do otherwise can not overcome the fact that their body is telling them something different.

Had this been a week day I would have been to my chiropractors by now to have my neck fully examined and manhandled back into place. (I take the same approach to my body as the vast majority of the other aspects of my life - if it isn't working, keep pushing it until it does). However, being a Saturday afternoon I have to wait until Monday morning for that pleasure. In the meantime, the washing will have to remain in front of the machine and the hoover silent. Currently sitting in bed listening to the rain and catching up on Eastenders is all I'm capable of. Any other day I'd call that a fantastic recovery day - today it's a pain in the neck.

It started so well...

I managed a whole 2 weeks of training before succumbing to a cold. Typical. Granted it hasn't struck with it's usual ferocity (she says quietly before anyone hears her) resulting in sleepless nights and time off work - standard for an asthmatic - but the usual congestion treatment and 3 days off training has been self-prescribed. Cue olbas oil, tissues and Sudafed. Anyone within a 3m radius of my desk now has very clear sinuses!

On the plus side I'm in the office almost every day this week rather than out at clients. This means that I can cycle to work, which means I got a little exercise today in the form of 2 x 30min on the bike to test out the lungs, and also that it's less stressful as I can manage my own time and work at my own pace without client appointments hanging over me requiring prep and the inevitable post-meeting work. My team are a great bunch of people as well so it's nice to spend time with them, even if none of them will currently come more than 2m near me except to drop a cup of tea on my desk - quickly. Makes for interesting one on one meetings.

Anyway, I feel suitably recovered to get back in the saddle tomorrow. I'm entered in Elite 2x for the Pairs Head on Sat afternoon so preferably need to get some practice in with my partner Elaine, although it's a well known fact that training for this race is considered cheating, being the first race of the season. I might have to cough up some green stuff along the way but I'll try to die quietly.... :)

Back in the game... almost

Right, I did an abridged version of weights last night and cycled into work today. And I'm in agony. My quads hate me and as a result getting out of my chair in the office was amusing. I appreciate that I've had 2wks off and drank my body weight in alcohol approx. 50 times over, but I used to be able to do that AND a 20km paddle... and then do it all again the next day! Depressing. Going to be a gradual build-in me thinks...!

That's sport

So, clearly I have less time to write a blog back in the UK compared to the luxury of masses of free time as a full-time athlete on training camp! To be brutally honest, I've been putting this off. For a number of reasons. The main reason (like a massive elephant in the room) is the race itself. Most, if not all, of you will now know the result and what happened. Seems ridiculous reading back over my posts that a silver could be disappointing but that's what happened. We won the silver and were absolutely gutted. As with my reasons for not completing another blog entry until now, we were gutted with silver for more than one reason. The big reason was obviously, after the race for lanes, we really thought we stood a good chance of winning gold. We knew the Germans were going to be good, we knew that it was going to be a fight, we knew we weren't going to be so lucky as to have a repeat of the race for lanes. However, when you go into a race believing you can win it as much as we did, coming 2nd hurts.

Secondly, and this really pains me on a personal level, I messed up. I've almost put it to bed now (after numerous tears and even more numerous reassurances that it did not in any way affect the result) but it will always be there. I lost my blade in the World Championship final. It's every rowers worst nightmare. It really doesn't get any worse than that (although, admittedly I could've ejected myself from the boat, in which case I might have swam to the bottom of the lake and stayed there!). However, on the bright side, I did recover it, which - frankly - is a miracle. 95% of the time there is no going back when you lose a blade as spectacularly as I did. Game over. Finished. I still to this day have no idea how I managed to keep my head and get back into it. Mind you, I still to this day have no idea how I lost my blade. On some bumpy water obviously, but usually you know 2 or 3 strokes before that happens that it's coming. Not this time - it was there in my hand one minute and gone the next. Heart-stopping stuff I can tell you.

Anyway, I've done a lot of soul-searching since then, looking for the positives as every good athlete should (every race is a lesson, etc., etc., especially those that don't go as you planned...) and I've come to the conclusion that I should remember that I did get it back, that we didn't spin 90 degrees, slip to the back of the field and limp in out of the medals. We won the silver - despite having the bow girl out of action for 5 strokes - and we didn't give up. We fought hard for that medal and in the end I think the result was the right one. We were beaten by the faster crew. Granted, we didn't have our best race and it wasn't perfect, even before I lost my blade. But, as Laura (our 3 girl) put it so well in our BBC interview afterwards, 'that's sport'. And I for one am proud to say I was in that crew.

Tomorrow is the day...

1048 (0948 GMT) is the time of our race. I'd like to say how I feel but there are so many mixed emotions I wouldn't know where to start. Currently I'm just trying to prepare myself for a fight. And the hardest race of my life. The thought of the pain scares me to death so currently I'm trying to think about the processes. One stroke at a time. Approx. 230 strokes total. I'm hoping I have a happy (and satisfied) story to tell when I next log on...

The first hurdle cleared...

As most of you will know by now, we won the race for lanes yesterday. As there are only 6 entries we essentially race to seed the lanes for the straight final this Sunday (fastest crew in the middle lane). This makes for quite a strange race - as the outcome essentially doesn't matter - everyone makes the A final. There are obviously some advantages to winning the race; firstly, it gives you confidence that you are a faster crew and therefore in a good place for the final and secondly, you are in the optimum position in the final in terms of being able to see what is going on and judge the race.

However, crews do play games. You can never be sure that everyone brought their A game to the table. There are a couple of reasons for doing this. Mainly, as you've probably realised, you don't want your competition to know your real speed and your race profile (how fast you go in each section - do you have a fast start or finish for example) and therefore you still have an element of surprise come the final. In addition, although there is a slight advantage to being in the middle lane, ultimately you can win from any lane as, obviously, the course is meant to be fair and every crew has to race 2,000m.

To that end, although we won yesterday we can be certain of one thing - the final will not necessarily be the same, both in terms of profile and outcome. Yesterday's race - although it gives us a psychological advantage - doesn't mean anything. We have certainly not put the gold medal around our necks. We are still preparing the same as we did prior to that race and steeling ourselves for a race that could have anything in store for us. All the crews start level and all are aiming to race 2,000m faster than the competition. On Sunday, we will be looking to deliver a performance that hopefully does just that.

Opening ceremony

So, as some of you will already be aware from my emails home, the opening ceremony was NOT what we were expecting! As you can see from the photos above, it was essentially a gig. And not just any gig - a rave gig! Cue a massive DJ, a huge amount of noise and a large, pretty much drugged up crowd who were not there to see the opening of the Rowing World Champs but a rather famous Dutch DJ called Armin van Buuren. Whoever he is.

So, first we annoyed the huge crowd by all being ushered in by a side VIP entrance for free when we quite clearly had no interest in (or, more accurately, no clue) what was going on, and then we further angered them by holding up the DJ they had all come to see who exasperated them by rocking up on stage after 5mins of 'Armin, Armin' chanting and said 'Hey guys, who wants to hear some real trance...? Well, first of all, we have to get this stupid rowing thing out of the way...' Nice one, Armin. You really helped matters there!

Thus followed 40mins of firstly some boring chatter by some rowing officials (essentially lame fake banter with Armin, who made it pretty clear he was TOTALLY disinterested), then something about Poznan's recently deceased deputy mayor followed by EVERY single country being announced (and there are nearly 100) along with a lame firework and a flag. By Azerbijan the crowd was back to chanting 'Armin' and we were fearing for our lives! At least we aren't German I suppose - they got massively booed. All in all, the best bit was the massive firework display at the end (which was pretty fitting) and then the mad dash out of the gig to our beds!

So, not what I was expecting but definitely an interesting experience!

A few pictures of Poznan

2 pieces of news

Firstly that our race times have changed already:
Race for lanes Weds 26th @ 1012
A final Sun 30th @ 1048
Secondly, that the BBC are not planning on showing our race (boo hiss) as they are only showing Olympic classes:
Sunday coverage

Finals for lightweight women's double, lightweight men's double, lightweight men's four, women's quad, men's quad, women's eight, men's eight

• Live on red button 1015-1230
• Live on 5 live sports extra 1030 - 1215
• Highlights on BBC TWO 1500-1615

I would assume however that we will get a mention and they will show highlights of our race if we medal so might be worth checking out the early coverage (as we will have raced by the time it starts on the red button) or the highlights on BBC 2 in the afternoon. You never know!