If you’ve ever sat in the ninth seat of a racing shell as it lines up with 5 other boats, you’d know the feeling of the world narrowing to one single moment of anticipation. At the start of my fourth race as a novice coxswain, our Farmington girls’ novice boat was sitting dead-even with Glastonbury, every muscle in my rowers’ bodies strung tight as wire. Most of my girls were lightweights, not even 5’5—certainly not the hulking presence of our private school competitors—but in that moment it was irrelevant. I can recall the feeling of those seconds before our oars hit the water stretching out, until we jolted at the voice of the official. We exploded off the footboards with a power 20 right off the line, and I counted off the strokes with confidence, despite being just as new to coxing as my boat was to rowing. We learned a lot that season—me, a former varsity rower, now tackling the business of steering, strategizing, and coaching girls 2 years younger than me. But what we lacked in experience and stature we more than compensated for in determination.

In that Glastonbury race, I saw a new level of grit from my crew. For nearly 1500 meters, our bow ball was glued to theirs. Every time Glastonbury surged, I sensed the tension in my shell—the urge to lose form or panic. But a coxswain’s job is to hold steady the nerves that threaten to unravel all of our training. So I adapted, breaking the race into chunks of 500m, feeding them reminders—”keep your blades low, back them in, and press!”---adjusting my rhythm and our path when a crosswind picked up. I was always watching: their hands and faces, the other boats, even the ripples on the water that might betray a race-winning current to take advantage of. I made it my business to read the energy in my boat, feeling for when someone was fading or losing morale then using my voice to bring them back. In our last 500 meters, I asked for their biggest push, and I’ll never forget the roar of my voice as they we pulled ahead, fighting through the legs, glutes, arms, and cores to cross the finish line and collapse, exhausted after the sound of the horn. That race cinched our status as Farmington’s highest performing novice girls’ boat in 5 years—not because we were the strongest, but because we knew how to trust and move together.

Yes, being the coxswain of that boat meant I had to serve as our strategist and motivator, but I believe my most significant contribution to that boat was building up trust. As the lone set of eyes facing forward, scanning for danger and opportunity, the responsibility is enormous. Steer wrong, and you risk collision or lost seconds. Misread your crew, and you burnout, losing power when it’s needed most. I am the one to carry the burden of these mistakes, and I’ve made plenty, but from each I learn and grow. Just as I pull from those lessons I pull from my background as a rower. With my experience of 4 seasons, I could coach technique with credibility only by watching their oars, letting them know if they needed more swing or if they were too low at the catch. Knowing the burn of a 4k myself, I was all too familiar with the burn of a race, and so I knew how to motivate them past their physical limits.

But the subtler side to coxing that I learned was how to manage not a set of 8 rowers, but 8 individuals — each with different motivators, different strengths and weaknesses, and different fears. The best coxswains don’t treat every rower the same. Some need to hear their names during a race, some feed off of a rival’s bow closing in, and some need a steady voice to set their rhythm to. Either way it’s my job to make them all believe in themselves a little more than they did at the dock. And when we’re at the last 500m of the race, when I can see the intensity in their strokes, I know I’ve done my job. Coxing has changed how I lead on and off the water, as it’s given me a confidence that doesn’t rattle under pressure or in a frenzy. I know how to keep my head up, read the room, pull everyone in one direction, and look for that last stroke nobody thinks they have left. That’s the thrill of being a coxswain, and the heart of why I keep coming back.

My Coxswain Days

by Eva Rios