I was inspired to write this article following many conversations over the years in boat parks and around the rowing community, and more recently in particular, which prompted me to put pen to paper on what may be considered a sensitive topic.

In rowing, success is not a single definition, and that is one of the sport’s strengths. For some athletes, it is measured in medals and podium finishes. For others, it is far simpler: getting to the start line after a full training block, returning to racing after injury, or making the transition from sculling to sweep (or vice versa). For many, especially as age and experience accumulate, success becomes less about outcomes and more about continuity—staying fit, staying involved, and still being able to line up against other crews.

In practice, success is also shaped by role and involvement. In my case as a coxswain, I tend to place more value on results when there has been genuine contribution to the crew’s development over time. When there has been training input, preparation, and a shared progression toward a goal, a result feels earned in a broader sense than race day alone. Without that context, a result can still be a win, but it doesn’t always sit in the same category of meaningful success.

For many athletes, times are also used as a measure of performance, but rowing complicates that idea in a way few other sports do. Race times are heavily influenced by conditions that sit outside athlete control: wind, current, temperature, water temperature, lane allocation, water movement, and race dynamics (an often underappreciated factor). Because of this variability, rowing does not recognise official world records, instead using “world best times” as a more honest reflection of performance across conditions. It is an implicit acknowledgement that direct comparison between races is inherently limited, and that time alone is an imperfect measure of success.

Against that backdrop, the concept of “winning” becomes less straightforward than it first appears. In the current Victoria’s masters scene, fleet sizes are often small, with many races featuring only three or four entries, and sometimes fewer. On a three-lane course, that can mean a statistical one-in-three (or even one-in-two) chance of a medal simply by completing the race. At larger regattas, events are frequently split into divisions, which helps manage numbers and racing quality, but also increases the total number of medal opportunities across the day.

The recent 2026 Victorian Masters Rowing Championships illustrate this clearly. There were 369 athletes entered, yet 733 medals were awarded. Of those athletes, 266 left the regatta with at least one medal. None of this diminishes the effort required to compete—rowing remains physically and mentally demanding regardless of field size. Crews still train, prepare, and execute under pressure, and that reality should not be understated.

At last year’s Australian Masters Rowing Championships, there were 964 athletes, 2,132 medals awarded, and 593 athletes who won at least one medal.

Even at the 2026 Australian Rowing Championships, where competition depth is significantly higher, there were 2,077 athletes entered and 1,483 medals awarded, with 693 athletes collecting at least one medal. While this is a very different level of competition, it still highlights how frequently podium outcomes occur within structured regatta environments across the sport.

But it does raise an unavoidable question about what is actually being measured when we talk about success in this environment. When medal opportunities are frequent and fleet sizes are limited, winning inevitably becomes a softer indicator than it is in most other sports. It still matters, but its exclusivity—and therefore its weight—changes.

This is where the tension sits in masters rowing in particular. The sport still presents itself through the language of competition, yet the structure of that competition often produces outcomes where medals are more accessible than decisive. That does not invalidate them, but it does shift their meaning as a primary measure of achievement.

Perhaps the more accurate view is that rowing operates on two parallel definitions of success. One is competitive and results-based. The other is persistent and participation-based. Most athletes, whether they articulate it or not, end up navigating both.

Winning will always have its place. But in this context, it is only one part of a broader and more complex picture—one where simply continuing to turn up, train, and race may be the more telling indicator of success over time.

The post Medals and Meaning – Rethinking Success in Masters Rowing appeared first on The Coxswains Journey.

I remember a quote from Greg Welch, Ironman World Champion in 1994: “If you want to win, you’ve got to be willing to take risks.” That resonated with me big time. Conservatism doesn’t bring glory.

Anyone who has been in boats I’ve coxed will know I like taking risks. I don’t like the “vanilla” approach to race plans, and I like backing the abilities of the athletes I’m coxing. That said, I need to sign a bit of a disclaimer here — I don’t always know every crew perfectly, so sometimes judgement has to be adjusted on the fly.

Until recently, I didn’t realise there was actually a name for something that sits right in this space: the “Explore vs Exploit Dilemma”. I came across it in an article a few days ago and went down the rabbit hole.

The idea is simple, even if it sounds academic. Exploring means trying something new to find a better way of doing things. Exploiting means sticking with what already works and getting the most out of it.

Every crew, whether they realise it or not, is constantly moving between these two modes — assuming the coaching team (and coxswain) are across planning properly. The challenge is that most crews don’t get the balance right. Not because they don’t understand rowing, but because training and racing pressure naturally pushes them toward one side.

In rowing, exploiting is where consistency lives. It’s locking in a race plan you trust, reinforcing technical patterns that already move the boat well, and repeating training sessions that you know deliver results — or worse, assume deliver results.

It’s also about making decisions that favour reliability over potential. When a crew is in a good place, this is where you want to spend most of your time. It’s also, generally speaking, the easier option physically and mentally.

The problem is that if you only ever exploit, you eventually plateau. You get very good at what you already are, but you stop discovering what you could be. Growth slows, and for older rowers especially, it can stop altogether. That’s where exploration has to come in.

Exploration is uncomfortable by nature. It might be a different boat setup, a change in rhythm or structure during training pieces, or moving athletes around in the boat to see what happens — which, of course, can bring ego into play very quickly.

In short, it’s deliberately testing different technical or training approaches. Most of the time it won’t feel better straight away. In fact, it often feels worse. That’s why crews abandon it too early and don’t give it enough time to see real outcomes.

But the point of exploration isn’t immediate performance. It’s information. You’re trying to find out whether something has a higher ceiling than what you’re currently doing.

Where crews tend to get this wrong is timing.

Early in a season, there should be a strong exploration phase. This is when you can afford to test, adjust, and get things wrong. But many crews settle into “status quo” early just to get the season underway, and because most seasons start with head racing, it’s easy to become conservative without noticing.

As you move closer to competition, the balance should steadily shift toward exploitation — making the most of what you’ve already discovered. By the time you’re racing, you should be almost entirely in “make it work” mode rather than “try something new” mode.

What often happens instead is the opposite. Crews stay too conservative for too long, then panic and start changing things late when there’s no time left to properly evaluate anything. That’s not exploration — that’s disruption.

The same dilemma shows up in racing, especially for coxswains. Once you’re in a race, you’re constantly deciding whether to stick to the plan or respond to what’s unfolding around you.

Personally, I don’t love rigid plans. I prefer racing — working with the crew to respond in real time as the race develops. But even that still sits inside this framework: sticking to the plan is exploitation, reacting is exploration.

Good crews don’t randomly switch between the two. They operate with pre-agreed triggers so any deviation is controlled and intentional, not emotional.

Without that structure, races fall apart quickly. Crews chase moves too early, abandon rhythm too easily, or overreact to small shifts in speed. The better crews stay anchored, but flexible enough to respond when it actually matters — and that comes down to the coxswain having real race feel and being able to read the field.

There are a few common patterns that show up repeatedly. Some crews over-exploit mediocrity — they find something that is “good enough” and stop challenging it. Others over-explore, constantly tweaking without allowing anything to settle. Both limit performance, just in different ways.

The most effective programs are deliberate about this. They define what is fixed and what is open to change. They explore early and aggressively, then narrow focus as racing approaches. And importantly, they measure whether changes actually improve boat speed, not just whether they feel better.

At its core, this isn’t really a theory problem. It’s a discipline problem.

The best crews aren’t the ones who avoid change or chase it constantly. They’re the ones who know when to stop searching and when to start locking in.

And in rowing, that timing is often the difference between being competitive and being genuinely fast.

I challenge you to explore this concept.

The post The Explore vs Exploit Dilemma in Rowing appeared first on The Coxswains Journey.

What often separates them has very little to do with the physical abilities of the athletes involved.

We obsess over the measurable things in rowing. Technique, split times, fitness, stroke rate. All of it matters. But group psychology research consistently finds that something else matters just as much as physical ability, and almost nobody talks about it. Something that does not show up on the erg printout or the cox box.

It is what happens inside the crew.

Cohesion is everything. But not in the way you think.

Researchers who study group performance define cohesion as the degree to which members engage positively with each other and stay committed to the group. Research has found that cohesive groups often function better. Cohesion matters. The evidence for this is strong. But the relationship is not linear and not guaranteed.

Here is the part that surprised me. Too much cohesion can actually hurt performance.

When a group becomes so focused on harmony that it stops thinking critically, members start withholding concerns, agreeing too easily, and stop challenging each other. Studies suggest the solution is to build cohesion around a shared commitment to the goal rather than personal relationships alone. A crew that likes each other can underperform. A crew committed to a common goal, even one with some friction in it, tends to make better decisions when it counts.

There are two types of conflict, and only one is a problem.

Research identifies two fundamentally different types of conflict in groups. Disagreements about ideas, strategy, and method can actually strengthen a group, but only when they are handled well. Personal tension between individuals is a different matter entirely. That needs to be dealt with quickly, quietly, and directly.

The fastest crews I have sat in were not conflict-free. They were just having the right kind of conflict.

As a coxswain, when a rower challenges your race plan or questions a call, your response matters more than you might think. If they are right and you shut it down, you have made the boat slower and told everyone else that speaking up is not worth the effort.

Can your crew actually speak up?

Group psychology researchers call it psychological safety: the shared belief that members can raise concerns and flag problems without fear of being dismissed or embarrassed. When it exists, you get honest, constructive challenge. When it is absent, people go quiet.

And quiet is not the same as agreement.

The coxswain is the primary architect of this environment. The way you respond when someone raises a concern, whether you make it safe to be honest or whether you make people feel foolish for trying, all of it either builds psychological safety or erodes it. I have coxed crews where rowers would rather struggle through a problem than tell me about it. That is on the coxswain, not the rower.

Shared mission is the most powerful tool you have.

Research consistently finds that when a team maintains a clear, mutually understood goal that everyone is genuinely committed to, internal differences matter less. Shared purpose suppresses friction. When everyone knows exactly what they are trying to achieve together, they stop looking at each other and start looking at the goal.

This is why your race plan is more than a tactical document. A crew that knows exactly what they are trying to execute together is a crew that stays together under pressure. The plan gives everyone the same north star. And you are the one holding it.

A final thought.

The fastest crew is not always the most talented. It is often the most cohesive, the most psychologically safe, the most committed to a common goal. These things are not accidents. They are built, session by session, through the environment the coxswain (and coaches) creates.

That is a significant responsibility. It is also a significant opportunity.

Most of your competitors are thinking about their technique and their fitness. Very few of them are thinking about this.

I cover this topic in depth in Volume 2 of The Coxswain’s Journey, alongside a range of other conversations about the psychology, technique, and hard realities of competitive rowing. You can find the book on Amazon. If you prefer to listen, we discuss topics like this regularly on The Coxswain’s Journey podcast, available on Spotify.

The post What Makes a Crew Fast? It’s Not What You Think. appeared first on The Coxswains Journey.

UT2: The Engine Room

UT2 is where most rowers spend the bulk of their time. It stands for “Utilisation Training 2”, a phrase that sounds more complicated than it really is — a classic example of rowers trying to be a little fancy. In essence, UT2 is easy, long, aerobic work: the steady-state sessions that build the cardiovascular base, improve fat metabolism, and help you recover from harder pieces.

On an erg, UT2 is usually about 50–65% of your power. Heart rate-wise, it sits around 55–65% of your max heart rate, depending on your fitness. On the water, it’s the pace where the boat glides smoothly, strokes are relaxed, and a conversation with your crewmates is easily possible (if your mates are chatty, of course).

Think of UT2 as Zone 2 in standard heart rate training — that long, easy effort that forms the foundation of any endurance athlete’s program.

UT1: Pushing the Aerobic Envelope

UT1 is a step up. Breathing gets a little heavier, conversation is limited to short phrases, and you start feeling that controlled “pressure” in your legs. UT1 develops aerobic power and muscular endurance, sitting roughly at 65–75% of max heart rate.

In HR terms, UT1 straddles the high end of Zone 2 and the low end of Zone 3. It’s still primarily aerobic — you’re not in full lactate accumulation mode yet — but it’s where you start bridging the gap between easy, base-building work and the threshold or race-pace sessions that really push your limits.

Cheeky Rowers and Their Lingo

Why don’t rowers just stick with Zone 1 and Zone 2? Well, traditions die hard. The UT system dates back to the days before heart rate monitors and power meters, when coaches needed a way to communicate intensity using feel and effort, particularly in team boats. Saying “we’ll do a UT2 session” instantly communicates: easy, controlled, long aerobic work — no gadgets required.

So yes, rowers may have been a little cheeky, inventing their own terminology to sound more sophisticated. But there’s a method to the madness: understanding UT1 and UT2 alongside HR zones can help both new and experienced rowers translate boat feel into measurable intensity, whether on the water or the erg.

A Reality Check for the Time-Poor Athlete

Here’s the thing: much of the theory behind UT1 and UT2 is designed for elite or professional athletes who can spend many hours per week in training. For example, Eliud Kipchoge runs 200 km per week — a huge volume of aerobic work — so he can afford to spend countless hours in Zone 2.

Most of us, however, are time-poor. We don’t have the luxury of 10–20 hours of training per week. That means if we slavishly followed “ideal” UT2 prescriptions, we might waste hours of quality training time on slow, easy sessions at the expense of more time-efficient, higher-intensity training. In other words, we have to get the best return on our training dollar, doing just enough UT2 to maintain aerobic base but prioritising quality sessions that deliver more bang for the buck.

The Takeaway

• UT2 = low-intensity aerobic / Zone 2
• UT1 = moderate aerobic / high Zone 2 to low Zone 3
• Both are foundational, but time-poor rowers can adapt the theory to fit a realistic schedule

Next time you hear a rower casually mention a UT2 session, just remember: they’re not trying to confuse you — they’re using their own quirky rowing language. But also remember, the ideal “UT2-heavy” world belongs to elite athletes; the rest of us can pick and choose wisely to get the most out of our training.

The post UT1, UT2, and Heart Rate Zones: Rowers Doing Their Own Thing appeared first on The Coxswains Journey.

That is where watts per kilogram (W/kg) comes in, and in many ways, it’s the metric we should be paying closer attention to. W/kg measures how much power an athlete produces for every kilogram of body weight. This simple adjustment gives a far fairer view of true athletic ability, especially when comparing rowers of different builds. Two rowers might produce identical splits, but if one is 95 kg and the other is 70 kg, the smaller athlete is producing far more power relative to their size — a sign of greater efficiency and strength for their body mass.

W/kg is nothing new in the world of sport — it has been a cornerstone of performance analysis in cycling for years. In professional road racing, climbing ability is often measured in W/kg, because it determines how quickly a rider can ascend a hill relative to their body weight. Just as in rowing, the physics are clear: the more power you can produce for your weight, the faster you can move over a given resistance. The crossover between the two sports is well known, with many athletes transitioning from rowing to cycling after retirement. One example is Hamish Bond, one half of the legendary New Zealand “Kiwi Pair,” who went on to become a highly competitive cyclist, representing New Zealand at the Commonwealth Games. His success in cycling was built on the same high relative power that made him a dominant force in the boat.

In smaller boats such as singles, doubles, and pairs, W/kg is often a better predictor of boat speed than raw split times. Physics is the reason: smaller boats are more sensitive to total mass and more responsive to rowers who can generate high relative power. This means that the strongest, fittest athletes — the ones who produce impressive W/kg numbers — often deliver more on the water than their split alone would suggest. By focusing solely on splits, coaches risk overlooking these athletes in favour of bigger rowers whose absolute power is high but relative efficiency is lower.

This isn’t to say that split times don’t matter. They remain a vital benchmark for selection, particularly in large crew boats where combined absolute power moves the shell. But pairing split times with W/kg creates a fuller, more accurate picture of an athlete’s capability. W/kg tells you not just who is fast, but who is punching above their weight — literally. It identifies the rowers whose fitness, strength, and efficiency might be hidden behind slower splits caused by a smaller frame.

For coaches, the takeaway is clear: record and track both metrics. Use split times to assess absolute performance, but lean on W/kg when you want to identify the most capable movers in smaller boats or spot developing talent. For athletes, knowing your W/kg as well as your splits can be motivating — it shows your progress in ways the raw pace might not. Ultimately, in a sport where every fraction of a second counts, watts per kilogram gives you context, and context can be the difference between a good crew and a great one.

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A recent study, “What do elite rowing coxswains say during races?” (link here), sheds some light on this. With the help of AI, I’ve summarised the key findings below.*

A few important caveats before diving in:

• The study looked specifically at elite-level coxswains, competing at the very top of the sport.
• The vast majority of us aren’t racing at that level; we’re club and masters rowers. That’s important context when thinking about how these findings might (or might not) apply.
• Also, when the article talks about “technical calls,” it doesn’t mean in-race coaching or correction. These are cues that keep athletes moving well and staying focused, not trying to fix faults mid-race — which can backfire if rowers start overthinking.

It’s also worth remembering that elite crews follow race plans down to the letter, which means there’s limited space for a cox to sprinkle in their own “magic.” But sometimes, great coxing demands breaking the script. As one Henley commentator brilliantly put it the other night:

“It’s time for the coxswain to ditch the race plan and find something else.”

That’s where the true artistry — and risk — lies. Just like the best “off-script” actors (think Robin Williams, Jim Carrey, Marlon Brando), coxes sometimes have to improvise. When it works, it’s unforgettable.

Take Jasper Parish’s legendary move in the Boat Race a few years ago: he steered Cambridge into dead water to escape chop and wind — an audacious, off-plan gamble that not only gave his crew smoother water, but forced Oxford to respond. The result? They went from a third of a length down to a full length up, winning outright because of that single, fearless decision. Had it failed, he’d have been under serious scrutiny. But that’s the price of magic.

It’s a reminder that those truly special moments happen in the tactical calls — the gutsy, in-the-moment decisions that turn a race on its head. And for us in club or masters racing, it starts with knowing why you’re there. Are you racing to truly compete for the win? Then you have to learn how to race, and that only comes with — you guessed it — racing.

*Summary: Thematic Analysis of Elite Coxswain Race Communication

Researchers analysed eight elite coxswain race recordings from major international rowing events (2011–2022), all featuring coxed eights. The recordings averaged 6:11 minutes in length and included coxes from the UK, Australia, Canada, and the USA (5 male, 3 female). Of the 16 recordings initially found, eight were excluded due to duplication, poor audio, or incompleteness.

Types of Calls

Coxswains made an average of 32 calls per minute, with 94% directed at the entire crew, though some were targeted at individuals or sections of the boat.

• Technical Calls (40.4%)
  These focused mainly on internal body movements (e.g., “legs down”, “hands up”), with some holistic cues (e.g., “stay loose”, “rhythm”) and limited external focus cues (e.g., “blades in”). Most calls centred on the drive and catch phases of the stroke.
• Motivational Calls (38.6%)
  Included praise (e.g., “good rhythm”) and encouragement (e.g., “we’re walking”), often intensifying in the final minute. Some invoked shared history or emotional appeals (“last race”, “every erg for this moment”).
• Tactical Calls (21%)
  Used to initiate crew changes (“in two, in one… go”) and update on race position and boat metrics (e.g., “on 1:18”, “500m to go”, “still sitting on that bow ball”).

Delivery Style

Coxes delivered calls in sync with rowing stroke phases (catch, drive, finish, recovery). They often used:

• Tone variation (quiet to loud, increasing pitch),
• Repetition and elongation for emphasis,
• Dynamic phrasing to motivate or coordinate timing (e.g., “legs… loose”).

While most communication was positive, some coxes also chided rowers for technical corrections or motivational jolts.

Discussion Summary: Communication Patterns of Elite Coxswains

This exploratory study analysed what elite coxswains say during rowing races and how their communication aligns with existing research. The study identified three key content themes—technical, motivational, and tactical calls—and four delivery themes—direction, timing, tone, and chiding.

High Rate of Communication

Coxes made about 32 calls per minute, far exceeding the commentary rates seen in other sports like boxing or basketball. The constant stream of communication is likely due to rowing-specific factors such as long race duration, rowers facing away from the finish line, and the need to maintain rhythm and coordination.

Use of Technical Calls and Focus of Attention

• Most technical calls used internal focus (IF) cues (e.g., “legs down”), despite research suggesting external focus (EF) cues (e.g., “blades in”) generally lead to better performance, efficiency, and automaticity.
• However, rowing is a cyclic endurance sport, unlike many EF-based research contexts, which often study short, acyclic movements (e.g., golf, jumping).
• Holistic focus (HF) cues (e.g., “stay loose”) were also common and may help reduce conscious control, improving coordination under pressure.
• Calls mainly focused on the drive and catch phases, where most power is generated, though one cox emphasised the often-overlooked finish and recovery phases.

Motivational and Tactical Communication

• Motivational calls were frequent and vital, given rowers cannot see the course and rely on coxes for psychological and directional input.
• Tactical calls were used to prepare the crew for changes (e.g., “in two, in one… go”) and communicate race position or metrics, ensuring precise timing and synchronisation to avoid disruption to boat speed.

Delivery Techniques

• Coxes used timing-aligned cues, tailoring calls to specific phases of the stroke.
• Repetition of key words (e.g., “legs, legs, legs”) was common and supported by brain research as a learning aid.
• Tone modulation (quiet, loud, increasing, or elongated) served multiple purposes:
  • Quiet tones conveyed strategic info without alerting competitors.
  • Loud tones cut through noise and emphasised effort or changes.
  • Elongated or rising tones were used to increase stroke length or power.

This style of delivery has parallels with performance arts; the authors suggest drawing on dramatic training (e.g., pace, pitch control) in cox education, citing a case where a coach used techniques from RADA to enhance athlete communication.

Limitations and Future Directions

• The sample was limited to publicly available YouTube videos, potentially skewed towards winning races and high-quality performances.
• All races were from the coxed eight class, which may limit generalisability.
• Future research should examine:
  • Communication variations over race segments (e.g., 500m splits)
  • Differences between elite and novice coxes
  • Cox behaviour during training and pre/post-race scenarios
  • How cox and coach roles overlap or differ
  • Rowers’ perspectives on effective cox communication
• Retrospective interviews with coxes could also clarify the meaning of abbreviated or coded language used mid-race.

Conclusion Summary

This exploratory study offers valuable insight into the in-race communication of elite rowing coxswains. It found that elite coxes consistently deliver technical, motivational, and tactical calls, using deliberate direction, timing, tone, and occasionally chiding to influence crew performance. The research serves as a foundational step toward better understanding coxing communication and encourages reflection among coaches and coxswains. The findings also provide a useful basis for cox education programs and future research into this specialised and under-explored role in rowing.

So, what really makes a coxswain special? It’s not just the steady stream of technical cues or the well-timed words of encouragement. It’s the ability to read the race, trust their gut, and make bold, calculated calls when it matters most — even if that means tearing up the race plan. Because at the end of the day, anyone can steer a boat down the course, but it takes something more — instinct, courage, a spark of genius — to turn a good crew into a winning one. That’s the magic.

The post What does it take to be a truly special coxswain? appeared first on The Coxswains Journey.

You might think that going out on the water with your crew, coach alongside, and running through some drills means you’re training. But here’s the truth: a lot of what people call training is just rowing. Rowing is paddling up and down the river. Sometimes it’s social. Sometimes it’s mindful. Sometimes it’s technically focused. And sometimes it’s just “putting in the miles.” But training — real training — has a specific goal. It’s not about just covering distance or fine-tuning one more stroke detail. It’s about getting faster, getting stronger, and preparing yourself — mentally and physically — to race at your limits. And here’s the uncomfortable truth: going fast hurts.

I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve stepped out of a boat after a session or a race and heard complaints: that was a bad row, the boat didn’t feel right, it was messy, it was uncomfortable. But when I look at the numbers — the splits, the times — I see the fastest performance that crew has ever delivered. And still, some athletes aren’t happy. That mindset baffles me. Because if you’re a competitive athlete, the number one goal is speed. Everything else is trivial. In masters rowing, sure, sometimes you get lucky with the draw or win because of the division system or quirks of the regatta format. That can build confidence, but it’s not a true test for a competitor. For real athletes, results are earned through preparation, not chance.

One of the frustrations of being a coxswain in a masters club environment is that you’re rarely attached to a single crew. You jump from boat to boat, crew to crew, rarely able to make a deep impact because there are no structured training crews. But in recent years, I’ve had the privilege of working with a few groups who broke that mould. Two women’s crews, one men’s crew — all masters athletes — who said, “Yes, we want to train together, with focus, for a specific goal.” And once they said yes, they were mine — said with a grin, but meant seriously. They made a commitment — to themselves, to each other, and to me — and once they committed, they became accountable. That’s the moment everything changed.

We trained. We didn’t just row. Every session had structure, in fact the whole program had structure: on the water, off the water, at home. And the results followed. Let’s be clear — “results” doesn’t always mean winning. In masters rowing, luck, entry lists, and combinations often play a role. But in these three cases, we built good, fast crews. Why were they good? The men’s crew were lifetime rowers — former schoolboys and club athletes, one even an Australian junior representative. The women’s crews were newer to rowing but fierce, determined, and willing to work hard. I’m a firm believer in using the tools you have and focusing on what you can change.

And here’s the hard reality for masters athletes: you can’t waste time paddling endless kilometers chasing technical perfection. Your neuroplasticity — your brain’s ability to lock in new movement patterns — isn’t what it was at age sixteen. You simply won’t get there. But you can improve your body’s capacity to work hard. You can improve your brain’s ability to tolerate discomfort, to accept the pain of training and racing.

For those wanting the extra comfort of knowledge, here’s something you should seriously consider: get yourself a smartwatch and start tracking your fitness statistics. Oh, don’t tell me it’s too expensive — come on! You spend a fortune going to regattas, on weekends away, race entries, club fees, and many of you even own your own boats. A smartwatch is cheap by comparison! And it’s a small investment that can make a huge difference in your growth as an athlete. I also strongly recommend getting a TrainingPeaks account. This platform gives you real numbers on how your body is coping, how your training is working, and where you need to adjust. Personally, I find TrainingPeaks a vital part of my approach — I follow the numbers closely. After all, TSS (Training Stress Score) doesn’t lie! More than once, I’ve looked at the TSS data after what the coach and crew thought was a solid one-hour “training session” and, well, the numbers revealed it was really just a row. Handy to know, especially if you actually want to improve.

This article isn’t criticising those who want to enjoy the experience of rowing, racing, and community. It’s here to highlight the difference between rowing and training. And the number one difference? It’s not talent. Not age. Not perfect technique. It’s mindset. If you have that inherent competitive streak — if you’re wired to push, to chase, to grind — then understand this: you can’t just row. You have to train. And if you want to give your crew the best possible chance of success, that training has to be hard. There’s nothing wrong with having fun. But if you want to win, it has to hurt sometimes.

At the end of the day, every athlete — no matter their age, background, or experience — has to decide what they want from their sport. There’s enormous value in simply being on the water, enjoying the movement, the company, the rhythm of the boat. But if you have that restless itch inside, that fire that wants to push beyond what’s comfortable, then remember: you’re not out there just to row. You’re out there to train. And training is hard. It challenges you not only physically, but mentally and emotionally.

You’ll doubt yourself. You’ll feel tired. You’ll wonder if it’s worth it. But when the moment comes — when you line up at the start, when you feel the boat lock together in that perfect drive, when you cross the line knowing you gave everything — you’ll know exactly why you chose the harder path. Because that’s the path that makes the difference.

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To understand why, it helps to first look at what determines power output in rowing. Power is the product of force applied and the speed at which it is applied—think of it as how hard and how fast you pull on the oar. This power depends on how much force a rower can generate, how long their stroke is, and how quickly they complete each stroke. Whether you’re using one sweep oar or two sculling oars, the total power you produce is fundamentally about your physiology and technique, not just the size of the oar.

Sweep rowing involves each rower handling one longer oar with a bigger blade, usually around 375–390 cm in length, while sculling involves two shorter oars with smaller blades, around 280–290 cm each. Intuitively, you might think the larger sweep oar would require more power to move, but that’s not the case. The longer sweep oar creates a longer lever arm, allowing the rower to generate more torque, essentially turning more force into rotational power around the oarlock. However, since the rower uses only one oar in sweep, the overall power they apply is balanced against the shorter strokes and smaller blades of sculling, where each hand pulls on a separate oar.

To put this in perspective with some numbers, consider an elite rower producing about 400 watts of power during a 2,000-meter race. Whether sculling or sweeping, that athlete’s power output will be roughly the same. In sweep rowing, the force is concentrated into one oar, with a larger blade pushing more water per stroke, while in sculling, that same 400 watts is split between two smaller blades, each pushing less water individually but combined producing equivalent thrust. In either case, the boat’s speed and efficiency are primarily governed by how effectively the rower can convert metabolic energy into mechanical power and how well the boat minimizes drag.

Another important factor is balance and stability. Sculling applies forces symmetrically on both sides of the boat, which tends to reduce energy lost in corrections and helps maintain a straighter course. Sweep rowing, on the other hand, produces asymmetrical forces that the crew must counteract to keep the boat moving straight, which can slightly increase energy expenditure on steering and balance. Despite this, sweep rowing crews compensate with technique and synchronization, resulting in comparable overall efficiency.

In conclusion, from both a physics and practical standpoint, sweep oars don’t inherently require more power than scull oars. Both systems enable rowers to apply their strength effectively, and the differences in oar size and leverage are balanced by the number of oars and the distribution of forces. So whether you’re watching a single sculler or an eight in full flight, the power behind the boat is really about the athlete, not just the oar.

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Before diving into this discussion, let me clarify my stance. I typically avoid discussing stroke rates—in well-trained crews, the optimal race rate should emerge organically. Yet the conversation persists because higher rates intimidate athletes. The physical demand increases exponentially as the rate climbs.

We must also confront the “long and strong” dogma ingrained in rowers for generations. Modern technique increasingly challenges this philosophy, prompting us to re-examine these principles.

This article targets amateur athletes—club rowers, masters, and recreational competitors—with base-to-good fitness levels. It’s not aimed at elite or high performance athletes, or small boats (singles/pairs) that require different technical approaches. My insights draw from BioRow, British Rowing, and Row2k, targeting crews seeking competitive edges rather than casual racers.

My perspective comes from a unique dual foundation: I’ve been immersed in rowing since the beginning of my athletic career as a young kid, while simultaneously competing at competitive levels in cycling, triathlon, and running. This combination has given me what I call “cross-sport eyes” – the ability to see rowing technique and physiology through multiple lenses. Yet my rowing roots keep these lessons grounded in our sport’s realities. We all have to work with the “tools in our toolbox”. The vast majority of rowing pundits are purely rowing-focused.

The Painful Truth: Higher Rates Are Faster

Every coxswain and coach faces this dilemma, especially with lighter or less conditioned crews: Do we endure the pain of higher rates (32-38 spm) or settle for the comfort of lower rates (28-32)? Physics and race results confirm higher rates are faster, but they demand exceptional fitness and technical precision. These rates require “special athletes”—rowers who can sustain brutal physiological stress while maintaining form.

The science is clear. Lower rates generate more power per stroke, but the boat decelerates noticeably between strokes. Higher rates maintain continuous propulsion. BioRow’s research shows speed peaking at 32-36 spm despite slightly reduced force per stroke. It’s like cycling: mashing big gears feels powerful, but faster pedaling in lighter gears yields better speed.

The 1:1 Ratio Grind

At 32+ spm, rowers face a near 1:1 drive-to-recovery ratio and at 36 it is 1:1—less than a second to reset between strokes. Compare this to the forgiving 1:2 or 1:3 ratios at lower rates. This relentless tempo forces athletes into anaerobic exertion while amplifying technical flaws: rushed slides, lost connection at the catch, and panicked shortening that sacrifices too much length.

Note the statistics below, paying attention to drive time and recovery time, source www.biorow.com.

The Art of Trading Length for Rhythm

This is where we challenge tradition with modern practice. When crews train specifically for high-rate rowing, there’s a valuable technique of *controlled shortening* – deliberately taking slightly less length to maintain better rhythm and boat speed. It’s not about rowing short or choppy, but finding that precise sweet spot where you preserve just enough length to load the legs effectively while enabling faster stroke turnover.

The magic happens when crews develop quick catches and fast hands at these elevated rates, making swift transitions more valuable than maximum reach. This approach proves particularly effective in sprint races; 500m and 1km distances (common for amateur crews) and when rowing with fit athletes in favourable conditions like tailwinds.

However, it’s important to recognise this isn’t a universal solution – in head races, with less experienced crews, or in heavier boats that demand full propulsion per stroke, maintaining more traditional length remains crucial. That said, even in these scenarios, strategic high-rate bursts still play an important role when making moves or finishing strong. The key distinction is that controlled shortening at high rates isn’t about compromising power, but rather redistributing it more efficiently through the stroke cycle to maintain boat momentum. When executed properly by trained crews, this subtle adjustment can be the difference between holding rate with good connection versus fighting to maintain an unsustainable, exaggerated length that ultimately slows the boat. 

Training the Transition

Preparing crews for high-rate effectiveness requires specific drills:

1. Rate Ladders/ Gearing Changes: Progressive intervals (e.g., 28→36 spm) to adapt to escalating demands

2. Rate-Capped Pieces: Strict rate targets (e.g., 5x500m @30 spm) to maximise power within constraints

3. Sacrifice Drill: Alternating 300m segments at 28 spm (full length) and 34 spm (controlled shortening) to compare speed/fatigue

*Coaching Note*: These drills often confuse stroke seats—clearly explain the intent and technical focus beforehand if required.

The Amateur’s Verdict

Higher rates win races when implemented correctly. Unfit crews won’t magically succeed by rating high—but then, unfit crews rarely win regardless of strategy. The courageous crew that masters the balance of sufficient length and aggressive rhythm will outpace competitors clinging to comfortable low rates.

Test this yourself: Row 500m at 28 spm (full length), then 500m at 34 spm (controlled shortening). Compare splits and experiences—you might discover untapped speed potential.

In short, lots of short and hard pieces in training; “Train the brain”

Final Thought

“Higher rates reward courage. If your crew is fit and technically prepared, don’t fear a shorter stroke—embrace the rhythm and attack.”

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Fatigue is a natural byproduct of sustained effort, but when it accumulates over months of training and racing, it can become a major obstacle. The two primary types of fatigue athletes face are physical and mental. Physical fatigue manifests as muscle soreness, reduced power output, prolonged recovery times, and an increased risk of injury. Mental fatigue, on the other hand, can lead to a loss of motivation, reduced concentration, heightened stress, and a sense of emotional exhaustion. Both types of fatigue are interconnected, and ignoring one often exacerbates the other.

We received a post on my Zoom training WhatsApp group last night from an athlete who has most certainly been around the block, a very accomplished rower and coach, who simply asked, “Are other people feeling tired and finding it hard to get motivated lately?” Now, as I said, he knows his stuff and has been a stalwart of the sport since he was a boy—he is now in his mid-fifties. What’s my point? Well, if he can feel the pinch as we enter the tail end of a season, then anyone can. And you SHOULD! You’ve most likely been working hard for a long time.

If you have been mentally and physically committed to a season of rowing that, in Australia, kicked off in September, you will be mentally and physically drained. At this point, you are probably even more mentally drained. All the stress on your mind and body builds, and fatigue becomes a big factor. Not to mention the challenges of club and crew dynamics, as well as the politics (that’s just icing on the cake for all athletes).

How do we overcome this? Well, you can’t really, to be fair, but you can push through this feeling. You need to have goals, and these goals must always be realistic—not just long-term, big-picture aspirations but goals that you can tick off as you go along. Many masters rowers, especially, just plod along with no structure and no purpose (except chasing a medal “next weekend”), and then before they know it, they feel burnt out. And guess what? No “medal next weekend.”

“Failing to Plan is Planning to Fail” – create a structure and follow it with consistency!

Its also worth appreciating that overtraining is also a major factor of burnout and loss of motivation. Persistent soreness that doesn’t subside with rest, decreased performance despite continued effort, increased susceptibility to illness or injury, difficulty sleeping, and a constant feeling of tiredness are all red flags. Mental burnout may also present as a lack of enthusiasm for training, irritability, or a sense of dread about upcoming sessions. Although overtraining should not be a major issue with a structured consistent program.

Prioritising rest and recovery is essential for combating fatigue. Ensuring adequate sleep, scheduling active recovery days, and incorporating mobility work, stretching, and massage can all help. Adjusting the training load is also important—periodising training to allow for peaks and troughs, listening to your body, and reducing volume and intensity when necessary can prevent excessive strain. Communicating with coaches or training partners about fatigue levels can also be beneficial. In short, if in doubt, ask how others are feeling (that’s what prompted this post). If you have a coaching team and follow their plans then you should be covered in most if these areas, BUT you must follow the plans, do not go it alone thinking you know better.

Obviously, proper nutrition plays a key role in managing fatigue as well. A balanced diet rich in protein, carbohydrates, and healthy fats, along with proper hydration and electrolyte replenishment, supports sustained energy levels and recovery. Avoiding drastic calorie deficits is essential, as under-fueling can contribute to both physical and mental exhaustion. To be fair, this is a bit of a case of do as I say, not as I do 😉

Taking steps to reset mentally is just as important as, if not more, than physical recovery. Short breaks from structured training, mindfulness or meditation, and shifting focus to process goals rather than just results can help maintain a positive mindset. Structure is incredibly important when it comes to pushing through these legitimate feelings of fatigue. With structure, you have purpose; with purpose, you create motivation. Combine that with discipline and, most importantly, consistency in training, and you will push through a season and yield the results you deserve.

Long seasons of training and racing can wear down even the most dedicated athletes, but recognising the signs of fatigue and proactively managing it can help maintain performance and enjoyment. By listening to your body, adjusting training loads, prioritising recovery, and keeping a balanced mindset, you can stay strong both physically and mentally, ensuring a sustainable and rewarding rowing journey.

Carpe Diem!

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