Coxie.com - A Less Serious Affair

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Written by redwellies

The fact that you're reading this article on a website dedicated entirely to coxing, has to say something about you.

For some, it might be an exploratory visit - "is there more to this coxing malarkey than shouting "stroke stroke stoke" every once in a while. Others may be novice coxes trying to glean information or somehow stumble upon that magic call that will apparently fix every problem known to man, including world hunger. For the rowers out there, it might be a mission in understanding the underworld of coxing (if you ever do, let me know), but finally, there are those like me - the obsessives.

Now, before I go any further, I would like to very clearly state that in contrast to some of my more serious submissions, this article (poigniant though it may be in parts) is intended to be enjoyed as some light, tongue in cheek humor. I shall start this by outlining the day of my flatmate, Anna, and comparing (and contrasting) her at first apparently completely dissimilar life to mine. She gets up in the morning, normally a couple of hours before she has to be in lectures. She calls her boyfriend John, and they meet up for breakfast, before parting ways and going to their separate lectures. If she's completely honest, Anna will admit that European Union Law doesn't excite her to her very core, and she spends the lectures doodling love notes, planning meeting up with John, and the really good *** they had last night. They meet with some mutual friends for lunch, and gossip about the week's activities. In the evening, they go out for a while, stare lovingly into each others eyes and repeat the process the following day. Anna spends a lot of time with John, and it's starting to show. Her grades have slipped somewhat, and she spends less time than she used to with her friends, still, she's pretty happy. Gigi gets up in the morning, normally a few hours before she has to be in lectures. She meets up with her crew for an early morning outing before parting ways and going to their separate lectures.

If she's completely honest, Gigi will admit that European Union Law doesn't excite her to her very core, and she spends the lectures doodling rowing boats, planning outings, and the really good pieces they did yesterday evening in the VIII. She meets up with the rowers for lunch and gossip about the week's rowing activities. In the evening, they go for another outing, staring hard into her stroke's eyes, and repeat the process the following day. Gigi spends a lot of time rowing, and it's starting to show. Her grades have slipped somewhat, and she spends less time than she used to with her friends, still, she's pretty happy.

In case you haven't guessed, I'm having a not-so-secret affair with rowing, and all the signs are there; the elation after a good outing, the depression after a bad one. The fact that my diary revolves (or rather, used to be the case as I am having break before I start a new relationship with a rather gorgeous young man named Durham having dumped Newcastle in February) around it, and whenever I'm not rowing, I'm thinking about rowing. It's almost like being a hormonal teenager again...what am I saying? I AM a hormonal teenager! (though only just!)

The analogy goes on (try it for yourself) and poses some serious questions. For example, if rowing is my relationship, what does that make my coxbox? (wink wink, nudge nudge). And a coach? Now how great would that be - "no, no, no, you're doing it all wrong. You're rushing!". A lot of blokes I know could do with some of that. Then there are races - are these like dancing or some sort of couple competitions? I won't go into details (for reason of censorship), but if you're following on my wave length by now, I expect you'll be able to extend the analogy for yourselves.

But, it has a darker side. Stop rowing and you go through all the traumas of a relationship break up. First of all you have to summon up the courage to leave the cheating, stinking, lying, rotten b*stard, or maybe you've just been dumped. Then come the withdrawl symptoms - anger, pain, resentment, the empty whole left in your life, and eventually (and a good while later), happiness and contentment. You realise that there's a whole world out there you've been missing, so far into the proverbial oven was your head.

And to top it all off, when you've been through all of that, you eventually get itching to get back in the seat (take that as you will!). So, you kiss and make up, and try it again. Your friends meanwhile shake their heads and look at you as if you're some relapsed alcoholic.

And so time goes by. You ride the ups (the glorious wins and the wonderful crew moments) with the downs (the losses and the bitching). Your cupboard swells with kit, whilst you start mounting items of particular sentimental value on your wall (splashtops, t-shirts). Under your bed is a box of memorabilia; photographs, programs, and momentos. And every year, you gain another pot on your wall, as like an anniversary gift, it marks your time and commitment. Soon, the novices you coxed have grown up and become seniors, and when people ask you for your address, you give that of the boat club.

People you meet ask you what you do, and your first reply is that you're a cox. And now, it's only a matter of time before you see some strapping, broad shouldered 6'4 giant and have the overwhelming desire to introduce him/her to your partner, as you gesture to the crest on your splashtop like a ring on your finger.

RedWellies