Carrying the shell down to the water.

Rowing down to the starting area.

Taking a few warm-up pieces.

All of these are 'what I remember most' at onetime or another.

The start is chaotic, to say the least, 50 or60 boats trying to funnel through the narrowstarting line.

In correct order.

Ten seconds apart.

It feels like an eternity until the bow finallycrosses, but it is all quickly forgotten.

The first 15 to 20 strokes are furious. Theboat sets a precedent for itself, a pace that getsit into the race in a hurry, and something it canreturn to just before the finish.

There is no thinking, here. Only pulling.

At the end of the "start," the coxswain callsfor a settle. The crew takes the stroke ratingdown to a comfortable rhythm. Everyone isconcentrating hard on making the boat feel light.

In 15 to 20 more strokes, the boat has roundedthe first turn, and is confronted with thePowerhouse. It is on this long straight-away thatthe boats were decided last spring.

Race up. Switch. Race down.

The memories of those spring afternoons blendin with the struggle at hand. A mesh of imageryonly the Harvard oarsman is fortunate enough tounderstand. For the time being he is convincedthat 'this is what the Head is all about.'

At the end of the Powerhouse, the boat is wellinto its second mile. The coxswain has the task ofguiding the crew through a series of difficultturns. His voice echoes as the boat passes underthe bridges. A familiar sound.