Over the years, I have read hundreds of articles, watched thousands of YouTube videos, seen countless Facebook posts, and read many books about rowing. Many of them are excellent. But almost all of them only talk about improving technique, increasing power, making the boat go faster (or not slowing it down), improving erg results, developing better training programs, and ultimately making rowers better, usually so they can compete more effectively. These are important parts of our sport, and for many rowers, the pursuit of improvement is exactly what keeps them motivated.

But as I was in the shower following another brutal training session (running), it got me thinking about something else. Why do people really row? What is their modus operandi? I don’t think everyone is the same, yet on regatta day you would think they are.

The more time I spend around rowing clubs, the more I realise that the answer is often very different from what we read about. We spend a lot of time talking about the people who are trying to win races, make it into winning crews or higher-end representative crews, or achieve personal bests, but they are only one part of the rowing community.

Walk into any rowing club, and you will find people with many different reasons for being there. Some have joined because they want to learn a new skill. Some are looking for a way to improve their fitness. Some have reached a point in life where they want to try something completely different. Others are looking for friendship, connection, and a sense of belonging.

Many people who complete a Learn to Row program never go on to race. They don’t become less important members of the club because of that. In fact, they often represent the majority of people who make up a healthy rowing community.

They may have come to rowing because they wanted to learn something new, or because their children had started the sport and they became curious about it themselves. But they often stay because they discover something they weren’t necessarily looking for.

They find a group of people they enjoy spending time with. They find a reason to get out of bed early on a cold morning, skip the “office drinks” or rearrange a social engagement so they can get to an afternoon session. They find a place where people know their name.

I think we sometimes underestimate how important it is for adults to become beginners again. Most of our lives are spent building expertise. We become good at our jobs, develop routines and become comfortable with the things we know. Starting something completely new puts us back in a position where we have to learn, make mistakes and improve. Maybe it even makes some of us feel young and valued again.

Rowing provides exactly that opportunity.

For a beginner, the first challenge is not about winning a race. It is about learning how to hold an oar correctly, how to balance a boat, and how to move together with other people. That first moment when a crew starts to connect, and the boat begins to move properly, is a special experience, regardless of whether the boat is travelling at race pace or simply enjoying a morning on the water as the sun rises.

Perhaps that is one of the great things about rowing. Improvement does not always have to mean going faster. Sometimes improvement is simply feeling more comfortable in the boat, understanding a skill that seemed impossible a few months earlier, or helping someone else learn something that you once struggled with yourself.

When you speak to people who have been involved in rowing clubs for many years, the things they talk about are often not the things we expect. They don’t usually talk first about their best race result or their best erg result. Actually, that almost never happens. They talk about the people they row with, the friendships they have built, the conversations after training, and the feeling that their week would not be complete without their regular session.

For many people, rowing becomes part of the structure of their life. Work changes, families change and eventually retirement arrives, but the regular rhythm of the rowing club remains. There is something comforting about knowing that on Tuesday afternoon, or Saturday morning, the same people will be there, the boats will be on the water, and there will always be someone ready for a coffee, or perhaps a beer, afterwards.

And perhaps that is the part of rowing that is hardest to measure. The benefits are not always found in a stopwatch or a results sheet. They are found in the friendships, the conversations and the feeling of belonging to something bigger than yourself.

This is why rowing clubs are so important. They are not just places where people come to train. They are communities built by hundreds of people with different goals and different reasons for being involved. I have been known to say, tongue in cheek, that for many men, a rowing crew is like a “men’s shed on water”. There is probably more truth in that than I would like to admit.

The fastest crews are an important part of that community, but they are not the whole community. The club is also built by the coaches who give their time, the volunteers who open the sheds, the people who maintain the boats, the committee members who keep things running, and the members who simply keep turning up year after year.

And of course, let’s not forget the coxswains. They give up their valuable time to help all these people get something out of their rowing. They might not get a medal, and they might not even get much recognition, but without them many crews simply wouldn’t get on the water.

Without all of these people, there is no club.

Perhaps that is the real measure of a successful rowing club. Not just how many medals are in the trophy cabinet, but how many people feel that the club has become part of their life.

People may come to rowing for many different reasons. Some come for competition. Some come for fitness. Some come because they want to learn something new. Some come because their children started rowing and they thought they would give it a go. Others simply want to get out on the water and see what all the fuss is about.

But many stay because they find something they were not necessarily looking for. They find a community, friendship and somewhere they belong. And perhaps that is the real reason people row. Not everyone is looking for a medal, a personal best or a place in a winning crew. Some people are simply looking for somewhere they fit in, people they enjoy being around and something that gives their week a little more meaning. Belonging is one of the most basic human desires we have, and perhaps rowing clubs are much better at providing it than we sometimes realise.

The post Why Most People Really Row: Beyond Medals and Speed appeared first on The Coxswains Journey.

Let’s be honest. If you asked most rowers whether they’d rather spend an hour on the water or thirty minutes on an erg, they’d choose the water every single time. That’s why we fell in love with rowing in the first place. There is something special about watching the sun rise, or the sun set, over a quiet river, feeling the boat run beneath you and hearing eight athletes moving together in perfect rhythm. Nothing will ever replace that feeling, and nor should it.

But if I asked you a different question — not about what you enjoy most, but about what will make you a better athlete — your answer might be different.

If your main training goal was to become fitter, stronger and ultimately make your crew faster, where would you get the biggest return on your training investment?

For many athletes, the answer isn’t on the water at all.

It’s sitting quietly in the corner of the shed, the back of your garage at home, or a crowded gym.

The erg has never had the romance, and definitely not the fun of rowing. No one puts a photo of themselves smiling on an erg on social media. It’s hard, repetitive, and, if we’re being honest, it can be mentally draining and stressful. Yet I would argue that few pieces of equipment have done more to improve rowing performance than the “terrifying” rowing machine.

Think about an average water session. You drive to the club, get changed, carry boats, wait for people to arrive, rig equipment, launch, stop to regroup, row, return to the shed, wash the boats and pack everything away. Before you know it, two or three hours have disappeared, including a lot of wasted time; well with the exception of maybe the post-row beer, of course (that’s a shout-out to my rowing mate, John Perry).

Now compare that with a quality erg session.

Within a few minutes you’re warming up. Thirty or forty minutes later you’ve completed a workout that has challenged your heart, lungs, brain and muscles from the first stroke to the last. Every minute has been productive. There has been no waiting, no interruptions and no wasted time. From a purely physiological point of view, it’s hard to think of another training session that offers such a high return on investment.

That’s not to say the erg replaces rowing. It never will. Rowing is a technical sport, and nothing develops boat feel, timing and crew rhythm like time on the water. But fitness and technique are two different things. Make no mistake, the fitter you become, the more effectively you can apply your technique, and that’s where the erg really comes into its own.

One of the biggest reasons is its ability to improve your aerobic capacity. If I had to choose one type of training that delivers the greatest improvement in fitness for most rowers, it would be structured erg intervals. They are demanding, uncomfortable, and certainly not everyone’s favourite session, but they work. Interval training allows you to spend time working close to your maximum aerobic capacity, challenging your cardiovascular system in a way that steady rowing just can’t. Over time your VO₂ max improves, your recovery becomes quicker and your ability to sustain power increases. Quite simply, you build a bigger, stronger engine.

And in rowing, bigger engines win races. Technique wins admiration. Fitness wins races. The best crews have both, but without a big engine it’s incredibly difficult to apply great technique when the pressure comes on.

What I also love about erg training is its honesty.

Out on the water there are countless variables. Wind, current, temperature, the crew you’re rowing with, the boat, the quality of the steering, and even the mood of the crew can influence how fast you go. Sometimes everything comes together, and the boat feels incredible. Other days it feels like you’re rowing through glue.

The erg removes almost all of those excuses.

The monitor doesn’t care if it’s raining outside. It doesn’t care whether you’ve had a stressful day at work or whether you only slept for five hours last night. It simply measures what you produce. Your split, your watts (which, in my opinion, remain one of the most undervalued statistics in rowing), your stroke rate, your heart rate and your distance are all there in black and white. Week after week, those numbers tell a story. If your average split is improving across a training block, you’re getting fitter. If you’re producing more power at the same heart rate, you’re becoming more efficient. The numbers don’t lie, and that’s one of the greatest strengths of erg training. Progress becomes measurable rather than something you simply hope is happening.

Another reason I love the erg is that it removes excuses. The river might be flooded. It might be blowing 40 km/h. It might be dark before you finish work. Your crew might have cancelled training. None of that matters. If you’ve got an erg, you can train. Consistency is one of the biggest predictors of improvement, and the erg makes consistency possible all year round.

There is another side to the erg that often gets overlooked, and that’s the mental side.

An erg session has no scenery to distract you. There is no boat running beneath you and no crew to carry you through a difficult patch. It’s just you, the flywheel and a monitor counting down every painful metre. There comes a point in every hard interval where your body starts negotiating with your mind. Slow down. Ease off. Skip the last repetition. Finish a minute early. We’ve all had those conversations with ourselves.

The athletes who continue pulling are developing something that extends well beyond fitness.

They’re developing resilience and mental toughness.

Every difficult interval becomes practice for race day. Every time you choose to keep going when everything hurts, you’re teaching yourself that discomfort doesn’t have to mean stopping. That’s a lesson you’ll use every time your crew reaches the final stages of a race, and everyone is searching for one more effort.

Perhaps the biggest thing rowers forget is that they’re never training just for themselves.

Every session you complete makes your crew stronger.

Every interval you finish gives your teammates another athlete they can trust and rely on.

When everyone in a crew commits to doing the hard work away from the river, something special starts to happen. Standards rise. Expectations rise. You don’t need to tell people you’ve been training because they can see it. They notice you’re still producing power when others are fading. They notice you’re recovering more quickly between pieces. They notice that you never seem to give up in the closing stages of a race.

Nothing earns respect within a crew quite like quietly doing the work when nobody else is watching.

I often think of erg training as making deposits into a bank account. Some deposits are small. Others are enormous. Some sessions feel fantastic, and others leave you questioning why you ever started rowing in the first place. But every quality session adds something to the account. You may not notice it tomorrow or even next week, but over the course of a season those deposits accumulate into a level of fitness, confidence and resilience that you simply can’t fake.

Come race day, you’re not hoping you’ll be fit enough.

You’re simply making a withdrawal.

So the next time you’re staring at an erg and wondering whether today’s session is really worth it, remember what you’re investing in. You’re investing in a bigger engine, a stronger mind, measurable improvement and, most importantly, a faster crew.

The erg may never become your favourite place to train, but if your goal is to become the best rower you can be, it just might be the smartest investment you’ll ever make.

“The river teaches technique. The erg builds the engine.”

If this article has convinced you that erg training deserves a bigger place in your program, I’ve created a free online Erg Coach that generates structured training sessions based on your experience, fitness, and goals. Whether you’re training for your first 1 or 2 km test or preparing for your next regatta, it’ll help you make every session count. Give it a try – CLICK HERE— it’s completely free.

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Motivation Gets You Started, Discipline Keeps You Going

There’s nothing wrong with motivation. In fact, it plays an important role in sport, particularly at the beginning of a journey. When you first decide to take up rowing, running, or join a footy team, or commit to getting stronger in the gym, motivation is usually what kicks the whole thing off. That initial burst of excitement, that vision of who you want to become — it’s powerful stuff. It gets you out the door, gets you signed up, gets you moving. But here’s the thing: motivation was never designed to be a long-term fuel source. It’s a starter motor, not the entire engine.

Think about the greatest athletes in history. Michael Jordan, Serena Williams, James Tomkins, Drew Ginn or Cristiano Ronaldo — do you think they woke up every single morning feeling fired up and ready to go? Absolutely not. There were days when their bodies ached, when they’d suffered losses, when the last thing they wanted to do was show up for another gruelling session. What separated them from everyone else wasn’t that they felt more motivated. It was that they showed up anyway. They had built systems, habits, and routines so deeply ingrained that showing up wasn’t a decision driven by emotion — it was simply what they did – DISCIPLINE!.

This is where discipline becomes the true difference-maker. Discipline transforms training from something you do when you feel like it into something you do regardless of how you feel. It creates consistency, and consistency is the only real path to improvement in sport. You don’t get better by training brilliantly once a week when the mood strikes. You get better by putting in the work day after day, week after week, even when it’s boring, even when it’s hard, and especially when every part of you is telling you to take the day off. Motivation might get you started on that journey, but discipline is what carries you all the way to the finish line.

Why Relying on Feelings Alone Will Always Let You Down

Feelings are unreliable. That’s not a criticism of human nature — it’s just a fact. Our emotional state fluctuates constantly depending on sleep, stress, diet, weather, and a hundred other variables. If you’re an athlete who only trains when you feel motivated, you are essentially handing control of your athletic development over to factors that have nothing to do with sport. Had a bad day at work? Training suffers. Didn’t sleep well? You skip the session. It starts to feel justified in the moment, but over time, those skipped sessions add up, and progress stalls in a way that’s very difficult to recover from.

The real danger of motivation-dependent training is that it creates an inconsistent relationship with your sport. You end up with peaks and valleys — intense bursts of activity followed by prolonged periods of doing very little. This is actually counterproductive from a physiological standpoint. The body adapts to consistent, progressive stress over time. When training is sporadic, you’re constantly starting and stopping, never quite allowing the adaptations to fully take hold. Many coaches and sports scientists will tell you the same thing: a moderate training plan followed consistently will always outperform a perfect training plan followed inconsistently. Feelings get in the way of that consistency every single time.

Discipline, on the other hand, removes the question entirely. When you operate from a place of discipline, you don’t ask yourself whether you feel like training today. The schedule says Tuesday is a hard session, so Tuesday is a hard session — end of discussion. This might sound rigid, but it’s actually incredibly liberating. You free yourself from the mental back-and-forth of “should I or shouldn’t I?” and replace it with a simple, non-negotiable commitment. Over time, this becomes your identity as an athlete. You’re not someone who trains when conditions are perfect. You’re someone who trains, full stop. That identity is far more powerful and far more durable than any motivational video you’ll ever watch.

At the end of the day, motivation is a tool — a useful one, but a limited one. It can ignite the flame, but it cannot keep the fire burning through the cold mornings, the tough losses, the plateaus, and the setbacks that every athlete inevitably faces. Discipline is what does that. It’s built slowly, through repeated choices to show up even when you don’t want to, and it compounds over time into something truly formidable. If you want long-term success in sport — whether you’re chasing a personal best, a team trophy, or simply a healthier version of yourself — stop waiting to feel motivated. Build the discipline instead. Because motivation is a feeling, and feelings pass. Discipline is a practice, and practice is what makes champions.

Train the brain, not just the body!

The post Why Discipline Beats Motivation in Sport Every Time appeared first on The Coxswains Journey.

Why Watts per Kilo Matters More Than Raw Power

Cycling has made watts per kilo a familiar statistic, especially because climbing rewards riders who can produce high power without carrying unnecessary mass uphill. Rowing is different because the boat is supported by water rather than lifted against gravity in the same way. Even so, body weight still matters. Every kilogram in the boat has to be carried, accelerated, balanced, and moved efficiently through the water. A rower producing 400 watts at 100 kg is not the same as a rower producing 340 watts at 70 kg when you look at the whole crew and boat system.

Watts per kilo gives a more balanced view of how much useful power an athlete brings relative to the load they add. A heavier rower may produce a bigger erg score, but if that extra power comes with a lot of extra mass, the net benefit can be smaller than expected. This is especially important in bigger crew boats, where everyone must match rhythm, length, timing, and rate. A lighter athlete with excellent watts per kilo, clean technique, and the ability to row efficiently at higher rates may move a boat better than a heavier athlete who is strong but less efficient.

This does not mean heavyweight rowers are less valuable. At elite levels, many heavyweights are extremely powerful, technically sharp, and highly conditioned. But the key is whether the additional body mass is matched by enough additional boat speed. In practical terms, coaches and rowers should look beyond the biggest erg number and ask: how much power is being produced per kilo, how well is it converted into speed, and can it be sustained at race rate? Those questions often reveal more than raw watts alone.

Lighter Crews, Higher Rates, Better Efficiency

Lighter rowers often have an advantage when it comes to rating higher with control. Because they generally have less body mass to move up and down the slide, they can sometimes change direction more quickly and maintain a sharper rhythm without wasting as much energy. A higher stroke rate is not automatically better, but when it is technically clean, it can create excellent boat speed. A lighter, efficient crew that can rate well may maintain momentum more smoothly than a heavier crew that relies mainly on power per stroke.

This is where power-to-rate ratios become important. Rowing is not just about how hard each stroke is; it is about how much effective power is produced at a given rate while keeping the boat balanced and running. A crew that produces slightly less power per stroke but does so at a higher, more efficient rate may outperform a crew that produces large individual strokes but struggles with rhythm, recovery speed, or technical consistency. The best crews are not simply the strongest crews. They are the crews that combine power, rate, timing, and economy.

This point is particularly relevant for Masters rowing. Many Masters athletes are very strong and experienced, but body composition can vary widely. A heavier rower may feel they are adding value because they can pull big numbers, yet if some of that weight is not contributing to effective power, it may slow the boat more than they realise. This becomes even more noticeable when rowing with lighter, fitter athletes who can rate higher and move more efficiently. For Masters crews, improving watts per kilo through better fitness, body composition, technique, and rate control can often produce more speed than simply trying to become stronger.

Power matters in rowing, but power relative to body weight often matters more. Raw strength can win admiration, yet watts per kilo, efficient movement, and the ability to row well at race rate are what truly move boats. Whether in club rowing, competitive squads, or Masters crews, the best question is not “Who is the strongest?” but “Who helps the boat go fastest?”

And after all, we have seen lightweight crews beat heavyweight crews regularly.

The post Why Power to Weight Matters More in Rowing appeared first on The Coxswains Journey.

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.

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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.

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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.

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