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Chapter Text

Scott awoke to a grey morning. He hadn’t had a particularly good night’s sleep due to him being in a strange new bed that would take getting used to in a new flat that he would be sharing with two others whilst he studied his final year at Oxford University.

If truth be told, he was still feeling a bit jetlagged, but he was awake now, so he got up, went into the ensuite bathroom, showered, and dressed. That at least made him feel a bit more human and slightly more awake.

He’d arrived a month before the start of term so he could orientate himself around the campus and explore the surrounding area. The year he was going to spend there was going to be hard work as he completed the masters’ to his degrees in engineering and business studies ahead of time, and if all went well, he’d have it by the time he was nineteen and return to the United States Air Force as an officer, to embark on his career.

All the Tracy brothers were smart—geniuses even—in their own subjects. Scott had set the bar, but both John and Virgil were close on his heels academic-wise with John being even smarter.

Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward, daughter of Sir Hugh Creighton-Ward—a good friend of his father—was also attending Oxford. This was her final year and she had volunteered to show Scott the sights to help him get orientated, be a friend and introduce him to her circle of associates until he made his own. She was meeting him for breakfast and then she was going to give him a guided tour of Oxford and the campus to help his orientation.

Scott had a coffee, donned a jacket and left the flat, following the directions Penny had sent to his phone. Knowing how much Scott loved his coffee, she had arranged to meet up outside the Love Coffee Co on the High Street, which was just a mile away from his flat, for breakfast. With his long legs, the walk would usually only take him ten minutes at the most, but he left early so he could do a little exploring of his own, but he arrived on time, to find Penny waiting outside.

“Scott, darling, how lovely to see you,” she enthused as they exchanged a hug and kiss. “I know what you are like for your coffee, so thought we’d come here for breakfast.”

He escorted her inside and they were shown to a table and provided with menus.

“Thank you for giving up your time to show me around,” he said to her.

“It will be my pleasure. There is so much in Oxford, you’ll be spoilt for choice. Plus I know your time will be precious, so if I can show you the key places you need, then that will make you more efficient,” she teased. “Now, I assume you’re going to have the works for breakfast, knowing your appetite!”

He grinned at her and they studied their menus. The Greek meze breakfast sounded interesting, so he had that along with a good strong Americano. Penny had crepes and grudgingly had a flat white.

“We’ll find a teashop later, how’s that?” Scott asked grinning.

Three coffees later and Scott was good to go. Penny was dressed sensibly for lots of walking, so they set off to explore Oxford. They covered food places first (as Penny knew what Scott was like) and the market. Next came places of entertainment; cinema, theatre, pubs. They worked their way northwards towards the campus, and Penny pointed out the various colleges, but concentrated on Jesus College where Scott was studying engineering science, then they walked up to Broad Street and Penny pointed left and informed Scott that Saïd Executive Business Centre was just over two miles south west of Jesus College was about 750 metres that way, off Park End Street, on the right, where he was to finish Business Studies.

They turned right and headed for the River Cherwell and after about a mile came to the Iffley Road Sports Centre, complete with track, gym, swimming pool and other facilities. Penny explained about membership so he could enjoy all the facilities on offer. Just a little further along across the river and on the Isis (no one in Oxford called the Thames, the Thames!) were the various boat clubs and the University College Boathouse on the west banks of the Isis.

Penny went on to explain there was a pleasant track alongside the River Isis if he wanted to run there rather than round a track, and a few hundred metres from his accommodation were the university parks as well.

Scott had actually brought his motorbike with him if he needed to get to the different buildings faster, depending on how his timetable was built.

They ambled along arm in arm for around three hours before finding another place to eat, then wandered around the Covered Market where Scott picked up some supplies to take back to the flat.

They had a pleasant day walking and the weather was kind. Scott asked if Penny would like to come back to his flat for a final tea but she apologised and said she had to get back home. However, she would return in two weeks time. They walked up to the Park End Car Park to find the pink Rolls Royce and Parker waiting.

“Thank you for coming over to show me around Penny, it really was appreciated,” Scott told her.

“It was my pleasure, Scott. I’ll see you in a fortnight. I’m returning a little early as I hate rushing.” They smiled at one another, then she leant forward and kissed him chastely on the lips before getting into the car. She waved goodbye as they drove off.

Scott watched them go, then decided to do a little more walking around the older parts of the university. Virgil would enjoy the architecture here, Scott thought as he explored, then finally grabbed a takeaway and returned to his flat where he put his groceries away, ate his meal, then got on his laptop to sort out his gym membership as he wanted to start making use of it as soon as possible.

He made a quick call home to let everyone know he’d had a good day, met up with Penny and done some exploring, then went to bed.

He slept better that night and woke feeling refreshed. It was 6:00 am and the gym had been open for an hour. A reasonably light breakfast was eaten, then he packed a small rucksack containing his kit, towel and wash kit and rode his motorbike to the gym.

Inside, he presented proof of his membership and was provided with a quick tour of the facilities, then left at the changing rooms. He quickly got into his kit and made his way to the gym.

Scott looked around it with interest. There were a few people in there most of which were on the rowing machines and pulling hard. The equipment was state of the art and he noticed there were quite a few treadmills and a lot of rowing equipment lined up along one wall; bikes and cross-trainers along another, then all sorts of weight sets and benches, leg press machines, power dips, resistance bands, chest and shoulder kit, dumbbells and battle ropes.

He’d been planning to go for a good run, but in typical British weather style, it was throwing it down outside and Scott knew he’d be a drowned rat within running less than a dozen steps, so he thought he’d warm up, do some rowing then put a slope on one of the treadmills and run that way.

A member of staff approached him and introduced himself as David, ascertained Scott’s name and immediately piqued Scott’s interest when he made an enquiry. “If you don’t mind me saying, you’re a fit individual, so are you here to start training for the team?”

Scott frowned at him. “Team?” he enquired.

“Yes, the Oxford Blue team.”

Is he talking about The Boat Race? Scott thought, remembering Penny mentioning it when she heard he was going to attend Oxford University. He’d missed his own opportunity for the chance to train and perhaps get selected to run in the Olympics due to looking after his brothers after his mom died… would this be a possible chance for him to do some competing after all? The Boat Race had been going for over two hundred years and was most prestigious. Penny had mentioned that Oxford hadn’t won for the past 13 years, but they had come close last year.

Scott, suddenly aware that David was waiting for a reply spoke up. “Well, I don’t believe I’m good enough,” he admitted.

“There’s only one way to find out,” came the enthusiastic reply. “We’re really hoping to win this year.” He stepped back to take a better look at the prospective candidate. “Let’s do some warm up exercises and then we can start slow, work up and see how you measure up. If you do want to try out, you’ve got a couple of weeks before selection starts. Most of the students aren’t back yet. What do you know about the boat race?”

“Only that it’s the oldest and longest boat race in the world and millions watch it every year,” Scott replied. “It’s run on the Thames.”

David gave a chuckle. “That about sums it up,” he joked. “It’ll have your legs, your arms and your lungs ready to burst out of your body by the time you’ve rowed three-quarters of the distance with another mile or so to go. It’s 4.2 miles, that’s 6.8 kilometres; over three times the distance of any Olympic race; and is held on the Tideway, starting at Putney and going through to Mortlake. The first one was run in 1829 and it’s the oldest university-level intercollegiate rowing competition in the world.

“I’ll warn you; there’s fierce competition to get in the Blue Team; but the Isis (reserve team) also get to race on the day as well. Preparation for the race is intense and over just six months. Come on, let’s get you warmed up and on a machine so we can measure the level of your first lactate threshold. All the equipment have ergometers so we can measure your load in watts and your pulse.

“There’s a whole science of calculations that you don’t have to worry about; the coaches and medics worry about that. Just know they work on relationships between power and weight, power to weight ratios, weight and erg speed, weight and boat speed, dead weight and boat speed, erg score and boat speed relationship and boat weight on boat speed. They’ll control your diet, calorie intake, exercise regime. You just give it your best effort.”

David took him aside and weighed Scott first then measured his height.

“Ideally we’re look for you to be around… er let’s see, you’re American so…” he was doing a quick conversion from kilograms to pounds, “just under 180 pounds. You’re currently weighing in at 176 which considering your height is a little light, but we can work with that if you want, providing you can hit the wattage for your height.”

Scott spent 20 minutes warming up, stretching, twisting, shifting weights, then David helped to get him set up on the rowing machine. He tried it out starting slowly to see how it felt, then stopped. Usually at home, he used the rowing machine in the gym and only rowed in the ocean if it was calm.

“There are sensors in the handle here, but with your permission, I’m also going to strap this heart monitor around your chest.” He paused as Scott nodded his approval and soon he was wired up and ready. “I want you to start easy, just get used to the machine first, then we’ll up the pace. The screen will show you wattage, erg, stroke speed and distance travelled, plus your heart rate. During the race stroke speed can vary from around 37 – 45 per minute. We’re going to do a 5km erg test to see what you’re made of.”

The rowing machine was set on a lowish resistance level whilst Scott warmed up and when he was almost ready he asked, “How long does it take to row the distance of the boat race?”

“Depending on weather conditions between 17 to 20 minutes, why?”

“Just wondering.” Scott stopped rowing whilst David changed the resistance. “Put it up to what it would be on the river, please,” he asked as he set a timer to record how long it was going to take him to do the distance on his watch.

“You sure?” David asked.

“Yeah, let’s go for it, see if I can do the 5km. What advice can you give me?”

“For the erg test we start off relatively slow, around 33 strokes a minute, then we build up and up until at the end you’re going as fast as you can. For the boat race we have various tactics, depending on how the crew are performing, who’s got the lead, if we’re behind or in front. Top stroke is around 46 a minute.”

“Okay.” He took a number of deep breaths, took hold of the handle, gave himself a countdown, hit start on his watch and pulled, keeping his eyes on the screen. He followed David’s instructions with regard to stroke speed.

“Make sure you keep your back straight and chin up on the catch, heels down, that’s it. Okay a little faster, but not too much yet.” David continued to watch him and the screen display. Scott was at 33 strokes and maintained it for 500 metres, before following David’s instructions to increase the stroke gradually to 36.

Scott was concentrating on his technique and keeping an eye on the screen, watching his heartrate, wattage output and his breathing.

The kilometre mile wasn’t too bad, Scott reflected. His heartrate was up but nowhere near maximum and no muscles were burning. He knew at some point he would have to up his wattage, and assumed it might be during that final mile.

By the second kilometre, his heartrate was up further at around 145, but his muscles still felt all right.

By the third kilometre, muscles were just starting to give a hint of discomfort and heartrate up to 180 with two kilometres to go. When he hit the final 1000 metres, David told him to up the pace even more. Muscles screaming, sweat pouring off him, heartrate peaking at 215, Scott felt like crying; it was so hard, but that Tracy determination set in; he gritted his teeth, chest heaving with the effort. He couldn’t see the screen clearly because sweat was dripping in his eyes, but he was sure he’d hit a wattage in the rowing of 570.

David spoke again. “And you’re hitting the line… now!” he shouted. “Stop rowing.”

Scott all but collapsed. Every muscle was screaming at him.

David put a bottle of water down by his side and told him to sip when he was able to do it or he’d make himself sick, then he picked up his tablet and got the readings uploaded so he could study them in more detail.

“You just sit there for a few minutes, that was an impressive row, Scott.” He handed him a towel to wipe the sweat off his face, arms and hands. David downloaded the results into a file and forwarded them to the Blue Team Head Coach to take a look at. They had a possible contender for the team, providing Scott had a technique they could hone in six months.

“So… how did I do?” Scott finally managed to ask despite his still heaving chest, expecting David to tell him he wasn’t anywhere near the standard required, going by how he currently felt. His heartrate was still at 166, but it was dropping.

“Actually, for your first attempt, that wasn’t bad. Not perfect, but not bad either. I’m sending your results through to the Blue Team Head Coach to see what he thinks. Of course, it will depend on how your actual technique measures up on the water. If you have time, I’d like to sit you in the rowing tank to see what your technique looks like. We can work on it there initially and then move onto the river… that is if you’d like to try out for the team?”

Scott sat and let the words sink in. “How often is the training?” he asked. It wasn’t that he was afraid of the training, he just had to make sure it didn’t interfere too much with his studies.

“Twice a day during the week, three times a day at the weekends, for almost seven months. We usually start at 5:45 in the morning. Preliminary training will start next week in September to weed down the hopefuls, and will consist of rowing and other gym work. In November are the fours competitions to wheedle down the contenders even more, into the Blues and Isis teams with reserves to fill in for any illnesses or injuries, then in December we start the eights when we get down to our final runners for positions. The crew is announced at a ceremony at Battersea Power Station in London.

“You have a powerful stroke, which needs improvement to rectify technique and efficiency. In a race as long as this, you don’t want to be wasting energy with an inefficient technique. Lifting your oar an inch higher than required is using extra energy which adds up over 4.2 miles. Every stroke should be like music, it should flow, be smooth and look almost effortless. It requires commitment, dedication and camaraderie with your team. So… are you interested, or have I frightened you off?”

Scott gave him a rueful smile. “My family never back down from anything.” He took a deep breath. “Let’s go for it. I’ve got nothing to lose and…” he stopped.

David looked at him curiously. “And…?” he ventured.

“Let’s just say, that due to personal tragedy, I lost out on the potential chance for track and field in the Olympics. This would be great compensation for that, if I can make the grade.”

“You have ambition, Scott. This could be a chance for compensation. Okay, it’s not the Olympics but it is the most famous boat race in the world… and the longest.”

Scott shook his head and chuckled.

“Have I said something funny?”

“No, not at all… it’s just… I have my head in the clouds… I’m a pilot. My second youngest is the water baby. He’d find this situation highly hilarious.”

“Ah, so you’re a flyboy eh? Well, this could be your chance to fly through the water instead. Come on, let me take you through to the rowing tank.”

Scott spent an hour practicing using an oar. It was a different technique than what he was used to, so they worked through it very slowly on how to roll the blade, how deep it had to go—namely just covered by water, keeping the blade square at extraction and no more than seven inches above during the recovery stroke. It was a lot to learn, but at the end of the hour he was beginning to master the technique in slow motion. Going forward, he had to keep that technique and increase stroke speed. It was all about muscle memory for the depth, extraction and entry.

“How are you fixed for this evening? We can take a pair’s out and practice technique for real if you like. Say about 5:45 this evening?”

“Okay. I’m not doing anything. If this can provide me with a little extra help, I’m for it.”

“Great. Meet me at the Oxford University Boat Club. It’s on the other bank of the Isis.”

“Yeah, a friend gave me a bit of a tour of Oxford yesterday. I’ll see you later.”

It was different rowing on the river. David was sitting behind Scott in the pairs. Usually they used two oars each, but for this training session, they were using one. David dictated every movement. Square, entry, stroke, square, roll, square… entry… He kept it up until Scott had got the hang of it, then shouted instructions such as ‘too deep’, ‘too high’, ‘perfect’ until muscle memory started to kick in and by the end of the session they were rowing very slowly but with a reasonable technique.

So for the next week, Scott applied himself fully with gym work, weight training, rowing either on a machine or on the river. The head coach of the Blue Team picked up David’s email, read the notes and the readouts and nodded his approval, thus Scott was one of almost 100 hopefuls vying for one of eight places on the Blue Team.

The first 20 were wheedled out in the gym when they underwent a rigorous workout. Nine quit before they’d even gotten halfway through it. The amount of running that Scott had done and did, stood him in good stead, for he had a large lung capacity, plus his early training with the USAF meant he was used to running with full kit on his back. The coach was looking for 24 men. Twenty had already been eliminated and it was only the first session. From the sidelines, David gave Scott a thumbs up. For some reason, he had taken a liking to Scott and was passing on every bit of knowledge he had to the teenager and it seemed to be paying off.

With little respite, the second half of that first selection meeting was spent on the rowing machines. Another 20 went out and they weren’t even on the river yet. The final session used the row tank and with eight at a time, their technique was assessed. Most of the returning rowers got through, a couple had failed the initial fitness tests. Scott’s technique wasn’t the best, but it wasn’t the worst, and the coach and his team studied the results from all three sessions and decided they had six months to tidy his technique, because his wattage output and stamina had been impressive, so he was in.

So far, he hadn’t said anything to his family. He wanted to keep it as a surprise. If he didn’t make it, then they would be none the wiser, but if he did, he hoped they would be proud.

Training and selection continued the entire week including out on the river and finally, there were 24 of them left. Scott was ecstatic, but the reality didn’t kick in until he was presented with the dark blue Oxford training kit and when Penny returned to the university the following week, he told her his news and they went out and celebrated with a meal.

He told his family the next day.

“Wow Scott!” the younger brothers exclaimed in excitement. “That’s really cool!”

His father was concerned, but proud. Scott assured him he was managing fine at the moment. Studies had not yet begun, but he had been forward thinking and obtained schedules from tutors to enable him to do some preliminary reading to help. Winning the boat race was important to the university and anyone taking part in training towards it was given special credits.

Scott found he didn’t really have a lot of time for socialising, but he didn’t mind. His other two flatmates arrived and he got to know them, but they understood the importance and didn’t heckle him when he said he couldn’t go out with them, but said he would join them once the race was done and dusted.

Apart from the actual training, there was also theory and tactics that could be utilised, but it all depended on the conditions on the actual day. The coaches controlled everything; his training, his recovery, his diet; but he could cope. One month had passed already, just another six to go.

What did take getting used to was the drop in temperature in both the air and the water as the month drew on. During October, the coach and his team compared notes on their 24 rowers and divided them into six groups of four to practice, seeing if the members of the six teams gelled and worked well together. Some jiggling was carried out, but by the beginning of November the six teams had been finalised and put into The Fours Ahead races.

The Head of the River Fours was held early in the month on the reverse Championship Course (Mortlake to Putney) and it was to be the first time any of the rowers would compete against those from Cambridge.

Each race was timed; the crews wired to record and show numerous details about their performance. Cambridge crews won four of the six races, but to Scott’s delight his crew won their race (not by much, but it was a win) along with one other Oxford crew. The times were competitive, the required wattage attained. Things were looking hopeful.

December arrived, and the top sixteen rowers were split into two Trial VIIIs in a race between ‘probables’ and ‘possibles’ over the actual championship course. As per tradition the two crews had names, like Cloak & Dagger, Hurricane & Spitfire. This year, they were called Ying & Yang.

During training, the coaches used every scrap of information at their disposal to work out an order in the Coxed VIII. Position 8, closest to the stern of the boat and sitting directly facing the coxwain was known as the stroke. This person was usually the most competitive rower with the most technically sound technique. Although Scott was competitive, his technique was not as sharp as the selected position 8 whose name was Roger.

Position 7 had to be fit and skilled and acted as a buffer between the stroke and the rest of the crew, helping to transmit the rhythm set by the stroke. This position was taken by Colin.

The middle rowers, positions 6 – 3 inclusive were made up of the most powerful and heaviest rowers, fondly known as the Big Watts (or Meat Wagon), Power House, Engine Room and The Fuel Tank, and it was into one of these positions that the head coach planned to put Scott. He had the ability to put out the highest wattage for a sustained period and was able to quickly recover after sprints. He was finally allocated position 6 as the name of Big Watts fitted him perfectly and he was one of the heaviest in the shell.

In 5 was Edward, 4 was Richard, and 3 was Patrick.

The bow pair (Keith in 2 and Liam in 1) were responsible for the stability (set) and direction of the boat and were very technical. The bow of a stern-coxed boat suffers the greatest amount of pitching, so the bow pair needed to be adaptable and quick in their movements. They were also the smallest of the rowers and not as strong, but their technique more than made up for that.

It was a cold morning in December at Putney as the teams of Ying and Yang took to the river. The crews had been divided so they were closely matched to make the race more interesting. Scott knew his place wasn’t secure until a fortnight before the race, but if he did well now he would be a step closer and suddenly, it meant a great deal to him to make it.

The two boats were being held in place by motorised ones, the umpires were on another boat behind. It was all quiet, both coxwains had their hands up indicating they weren’t ready. Final adjustments were made in both boats, then hands were lowered. There was a count of five, then the flag was dropped and they were off.

It had been agreed that the Ying team would put in an initial sprint for the first 500 yards, level out for a mile, sprint another 500 yards, level out, see where they were positioned, sprint again, level out and sprint the last 500 yards if required.

The stroke set a pace of 42. The team listened attentively to the instructions from the cox, and followed the stroke set by both 8 and 7. The boats were pretty evenly matched, but that had been the idea, so that they would have to fight hard to gain an advantage, just like in the real race.

500 yards came and went and it was neck and neck as the crews matched one another stroke for stroke. Ying eased off their stroke rate slightly to allow the crew to recover, whilst Yang kept going and started to pull ahead, but there was a long way to go yet, so no one panicked. As long as they didn’t let Yang get more than half a boat ahead they felt they could pull it back.

Scott and his fellow power houses were feeling fine, just the slight lessening had enabled them to recover their initial explosive action and they were stroking at a steady 39 strokes, their action smooth and efficient.

A mile passed—Scott spotted the marker on the bank—and they upped their stroke again and began to gain on Yang, drawing level and even slightly ahead, before lowering the stroke again, but maintaining their very slight lead. Another spurt came after yet another mile, as they had planned and muscles were starting to let their brains’ know that they were beginning to feel the effort, and so it went on.

Ying still maintained their slender lead and then they were into the final 500 yards. Muscles were screaming and despite the cold temperatures, sweat was running off both teams as they fought one another for the lead. The whole while the cox—whose name was Ronnie—was shouting encouragement to them, urging them on. He was quite inspiring in his praise for his team and then he began shouting.

“Come on! You can do it! Last 500, let’s show them what we’ve got! Push! Push! Push!”

Roger upped the stroke rate to 46 and everyone dug deep. Every muscle was beyond screaming, lungs were on fire, grimaces were plastered on their faces at the pain but they kept going as they rowed as if their very lives depended on it. Scott saw black spots appearing at the edge of his vision; he had to hang on, 100 yards… 50 yards… Yang was falling behind… 20 yards… the horn rang out and both crews literally collapsed. Scott felt as if he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs they were heaving so much and his legs and arms felt like jelly. Everyone else was in as bad a condition and all the while, their vitals were being recorded for the coaches to analyse to come up with the better team to compete against Cambridge.

It was two minutes before anyone on either of the crew had recovered enough to pull themselves together and they made their way to the bank. Scott wasn’t sure he’d even be able to stand, but the reserve rowers and staff came to their aid and helped them out. Muscles were still screaming, but they did their duty and lifted the boat out to place it on the rack for transport back to the university boat club.

Physios moved in to help stop them cramping up, recovery drinks issued with orders to sip. Showers were taken and then they were bused back to Oxford. No one would know how they had individually performed until that evening.

Scott returned to his flat to find Penny waiting. She took one look at him, and sent him to lie down whilst she fixed him something to eat, working off the diet sheet that was stuck to one of the kitchen cabinet doors, then took it through to him.

“Thanks, Penny.” He sat up, wincing.

“Are you all right?” she asked concerned as she turned from his desk having put his meal on there.

“I hurt,” was all he said as he slowly swung his legs over the bed and forced himself to his feet.

Penny helped him over to his desk where he gratefully sat down. “Eat,” she said, “then rest.” She watched him cut up his food and start eating. “I watched you as you approached the finish. That was an incredible effort. You’ve just got to have made the team with that performance.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Penny,” he replied between mouthfuls of food. “I have to go back to the boathouse this evening to find out how I’ve done; the final selection takes place in January, but the crew isn’t announced until two weeks before the race.”

“It looks like it takes a lot out of you all, are you sure you want to do this?”

“Penny, it’s The Boat Race! The most famous boat race in the world! Are you kidding? If I can take part, it’ll make up for…” he stopped talking.

Penny raised an eyebrow. “For…?” she prompted.

“Doesn’t matter,” he muttered and concentrated on finishing his rather substantial meal.

If Scott thought he had been fit before, he realised that he was fitter than he’d ever been that December. A week of boat club had been designed to make or break the rowers, then came Christmas and New Year and suddenly it was January.

Many had managed to get home for Christmas and New Year including Scott, but he still had a strict exercise regime to keep up because if he didn’t, he wouldn’t get through the final 5 km selection row in the gym. Scott made it home to Kansas despite the snowy weather, as did his two younger brothers and Gordon and Alan were so pleased to have them all home for the holiday period.

Ruth had been concerned when she had first laid eyes on Scott. He seemed thinner than she remembered and with his height, it didn’t take much to make him look malnourished, but she knew he couldn’t be, or he wouldn’t be in contention for a place on the Oxford Blue Team. It wasn’t until she’d seen him in just his swimming shorts, on a lounger soaking up the sun to get some warmth back into his bones—at least that’s what he said—that she realised he was a lithe, lean muscled teenager, with tighter abs than before he left, powerful shoulders and legs. And she wasn’t the only one who had noticed. Penny had flown out with him and she and Kayo (who was just at that age when she thought boys started being interesting) had obviously been comparing notes by the coveted glances in the eldest’s direction!

Of course, Gordon had given Scott a real ribbing about the flyboy being on the water, which he had pointedly ignored. Scott also took some of the time to make sure he was completely caught up with assignments

Jeff was pleased that Penny seemed to be showing an interest in his eldest; not that he was looking to get him married off too soon, but having a member of the British Aristocracy in the family would be a bonus. Two powerful families joined in marriage would look good on any business resumé. So he took the opportunity to throw the two of them together with suggestions about showing Penny the island.

Scott had been surprisingly reticent about it, until Penny had shown some enthusiasm about a little bit of exploring and they had walked off together down the path towards the beach.

“Jeff, are you sure about this?” Ruth had asked him, frowning.

“They’re both consenting adults,” he replied and left it at that.

Chapter Text

They had walked along the beach for a while, making idle chit chat, then Scott stopped and turned to her. “Fancy seeing one of the island’s secrets?” he asked, his eyes alight.

“A secret? Won’t your father disapprove?”

“Ah, it’s not that kind of secret,” he grinned.

Intrigued, she nodded her approval. “Lead on!”

They headed into the jungle, heading slightly uphill for a while, before coming to a lip. “Careful how you go from now on, the next bit is pretty steep. Give me your hand,” Scott said as he stepped carefully over the narrow hump.

Penny didn’t hesitate and gave him her hand, hanging on tightly as he carefully led the way down through more jungle.

“This final bit is really steep. Ready?”

She nodded. It was short, but as he had warned her, steep, and she slipped the final couple of steps. Scott caught hold of her easily and his arms went round her to stop her from falling. For a few moments he stared down at her, then pulled himself together and let her go.

“A few more steps and we’re there.”

He pushed aside what almost looked like a curtain of vegetation and there it was; a pool, bordered with black sand and it was breath taking.

“Oh Scott!” she exclaimed. “This is beautiful!”

“I found it by accident,” he explained. “As far as I can figure out, we’re standing in a mini-cone. It’s gradually filled with water from the peak. I expected the water to be pretty stagnant, but it obviously finds its way out and gets replenished, because it’s as clear as day.”

He let go of her hand so she could explore.

She went to the water’s edge and peered at it. “Scott! There are fish in here! How can there be fish?”

“I have no idea. The only thing I can come up with is that perhaps eggs have come in stuck to birds’ feathers and they’ve come off and hatched, or perhaps a water spout picked up small fish and they got dropped. I honestly don’t know.”

She stepped back and leant against a tree, eyeing him, then unconsciously licked her lips as if she were pondering something.

“You okay, Penny?”

“You… you can kiss me if you like,” she said softly, lips slightly parted.

“What?”

“I said, ‘you can kiss me if you like’,” she repeated.

Scott fidgeted. “I um… I don’t think that would be appropriate, I mean, your dad and my dad…”

“Don’t you want to kiss me, Scotty? Don’t you think I’m pretty?”

Scott swallowed nervously. “Well…of course I’d like to kiss you, Penny. You’re beautiful, but—”

“I dare you.”

Oh, that was like waving a red flag to a bull. Scott never backed down from a dare. He strode forward, looking quite determined, then faltered as he towered over her. “This is wrong,” he said.

Penny put a hand in the pocket of her shorts and brought out a sprig of fake mistletoe. “Would this make it right?” she asked, holding it up above his head.

He glanced up and a smile lit up his features. “Sure. This makes it legit.” He stepped forward, boldly wrapped his arms around her and slowly lowered his head to her uptilted one.

Penny dropped the mistletoe and wrapped her arms around his neck. He was an extremely good kisser and she wondered how he’d become one… mind you, with his looks, he probably got loads of girls throwing themselves at him, so he’d gotten plenty of practice.

The kiss probably lasted a lot longer than it should have done but neither of them seemed to mind and they finally parted when they needed to breathe. He stepped back and studied her, noticing the dilated pupils and realised she’d enjoyed it, but he minded his manners.

“I er… I guess we ought to be getting back,” he said quietly.

“Can’t we stay a little bit longer?” she asked in a whisper, running a hand down his chest. “The view is wonderful,” she added, not looking at her surroundings but at him.

Scott swallowed nervously. If she knew what was going through his mind, she’d run a mile, but he clamped down on his rising feelings. Their dads were friends… he couldn’t jeopardise that relationship, no matter how he felt, especially with a titled lady. They were both eighteen; both consenting adults, but he wouldn’t risk it.

He nearly gave into her request, then managed to pull himself together. “No, we need to get back,” he said firmly, taking her hand and leading the way.

When they got back, Penny thanked him, but Scott had a sneaky suspicion that their relationship wasn’t over…yet.

They flew back in the New Year, and Parker met them at the airport. He drove Penny home and Scott got onto his motorbike and drove back to his flat in Oxford. It was time to concentrate on his training again.

January saw the final 5km erg test. This one was a killer, as it started off slowly, but the stroke increased after every 500 metres until, by the final 500 they were going as fast as they were physically able. Every single one of them was wearing just their Oxford Blue shorts for the test, heart monitors fastened around their chests as there was shortly going to be 24 very hot and sweaty men. They were halfway through the distance, when the coaches started swearing at them all. It was brutal, but they left Scott alone until the final 500 when the Head Coach rounded on him.

“Come on Scott! Put your fucking back into it! Faster! Faster! Do you wanna make the team or not?”

The teenager had his eyes closed now; he’d never been in so much pain in his entire life, not even when he’d broken his arm that time, and it showed in his face. He was having trouble getting enough air into his lungs; muscles were screaming and about to rebel, the coach was shouting at him, but somehow he was pulling harder than ever but felt like he wanted to die, then suddenly a whistle sounded and every single rower collapsed back onto the machines. A couple somehow managed to fall off.

All that could be heard were a group of 24 young men gasping desperately for air and an occasional groan thrown in for good measure. Scott had his right arm slung over his eyes as he fought to recover. It had been pure torture.

Someone tapped his arm, then placed a bottle in his hand and wrapped his fingers around it.

“Well done,” a familiar voice whispered so quietly that he almost missed it, “that was an awesome row.”

Scott moved his arm and forced his eyes open to find himself looking at David’s smiling features. The youngster simply nodded. He didn’t have the energy or the breath to speak.

It turned out when the results of the test were announced, that Scott had managed the highest wattage output of the entire group in the last 500 metres. It was a new record for him and he returned to his flat, stiff, aching, but happy with a sense of achievement.

Training continued through the rest of January, into February and the beginning of March. They were out on the river in all weathers but the crews were beginning to gel nicely.

Penny came to visit him on Sundays and spent lots of time massaging his shoulders and much to Scott’s relief, did not press him further about a relationship and they stayed good friends.

Scott found out that he’d made the Blue Team on the 11th of March and was presented with the final kit to be worn at the formal announcement and on the day. When he got back to his flat he called home immediately. The UK was thirteen hours behind Tracy Island, so it was 7:30 the following morning there.

“Scott, is everything all right?” Jeff asked him concerned as he stared at the hologram before him.

“I’ve done it dad! I’ve made the Oxford Blue Team! The formal announcement is on Wednesday.”

“Congratulations, son, I’m proud of you.”

At these words, Gordon—who had just finished his pool laps and had come into the lounge—grinned widely. “Is that Scotty? Did he make the team?” he asked excitedly.

His dad nodded and Gordon whooped very loudly.

“Can we go watch the boat race, dad? Can we, please?” he implored.

“Gordon, be quiet. I’m trying to talk to your brother here,” Jeff said sharply.

“Let me talk to him, please!” He rushed over to where Jeff was sitting. “Scotty! Way to go, man!”

“Hi, Squid. Thank you.”

“We’re gonna come and watch you, Scotty! Aren’t we dad?”

“What’s the date of the race, Scott?” Jeff asked, ignoring the young brother for the moment.

“Sunday 31st March. Our race is at 14:21, but there’s a lot of other stuff going on through the day, starting from 11:00. I’ll forward you the timetable.”

Alan chose that moment to arrive. “Scooter!” he screamed rushing forward to the desk.

“He’s done it! Scotty’s made the Blue team and we’re gonna go watch him!” Gordon yelled.

“Scotty!” Alan shrieked in excitement.

Ruth appeared at that moment, wondering what all the noise was about and saw the hologram of her eldest grandson.

“Grandma! Scotty’s made the team!” Alan and Gordon shouted together.

Ruth moved closer to offer her own congratulations. “We’re all very proud of you, Scotty,” she said. “Are you looking after yourself? You’re looking tired.”

“I’m fine Grandma. It’s been hard work, but it’s been worth it.”

“Well, you make sure you look after yourself, you hear?”

“Yes, Grandma.” Scott just stopped himself from rolling his eyes.

“You make sure you get a good night’s sleep, son,” Jeff said. “Have you told John and Virgil yet?”

“No. Still got to tell them. I’ll do it after this.”

“Okay son. I’ll let you know our arrangements closer to the date. Well done. Now do as your Grandma says and get some rest!”

“Okay dad. Bye everyone, see you in a couple of weeks!” He was grinning as the call ended, but immediately contacted his younger two brothers and gave them the news. They were both eagerly enthusiastic and promised they’d be there.

Wednesday started as usual, with the morning training session, normal class lectures, and then, dressed in their ‘uniforms’ complete with Wellington boots, they climbed aboard the coach for the journey to Battersea.

The announcement was starting at 5:45 pm and was going to be held on the Ground Floor, Turbine Hall B at the power station in front of the media, friends and family. As far as Scott knew, none of his family were going to be there, but Penny said she would be, along with her father, Hugh, to cheer him when he was announced.

The normal welcoming spiel was given, along with a little history of the most famous boat race in the world; thanks were given to the sponsors and then they got down to the nitty gritty.

The crews were to be announced alternately, starting with Cambridge and their Position 1. The man appeared at the top of the stairs, paused, then walked down them to stand on the stage. Cameras flashed then he moved to the side. Position 1 for Oxford appeared at the top of the steps.

“Ladies and gentlemen, at Position 1 for Oxford is Liam Holt from Harrow, UK. Liam is 21, in his final year reading politics.

Liam waved, came down the steps, paused on the podium for the media, then moved to the Oxford side of the stage.

Next for the Oxford crew was Keith. “Ladies and gentlemen, at Position 2 for Oxford is Keith Brooks. Keith is 22 and is from Iowa in the USA. In his final year reading mechanical engineering.”

More polite clapping which he acknowledged before joining Liam.

“At Position 3 for Oxford is 20 year old Patrick O’Brien, from Belfast who is in his second year, reading English Literature.”

There was a little whoop from the audience and Patrick scanned the crowd and spotted his family, so he gave them a grin and a cheeky wave before joining his two team mates.

“In Position 4 for Oxford is 23 year old Richard Van Clark, from Johannesberg, South Africa. Richard is completing a Master’s in history.”

More polite clapping and Richard joined the other three.

“In Position 5 for Oxford, is 20 year old Edward Millhouse from Sheffield, UK. Edward is in his third year, reading art and design.”

There was more cheering, obviously his family had travelled down to cheer him on. He grinned, blushed and waved rather self-consciously before joining his crew mates.

“In Position 6 for Oxford, is 18 year old Scott Tracy, from Kansas, USA. Scott is the youngest member of the crew and unbelievably is finishing his Master’s in engineering and business studies. I have to add, if Oxford win in just over a fortnight, it will be a great 19th birthday present for the 4th April.

The cheering and whooping startled Scott as he took his place on the podium for the customary photo and he scanned the crowd wondering who on earth was making all the noise, and then he spotted the banner that said, ‘GO SCOTT GO’, and the infamous dimpled smile came to the fore and he gave the family a wave, the joy in his face plain for all to see. It was totally unexpected, but extremely welcome and he gave them a final wave as he joined his crew.

“Your family’s here?” Edward asked in a whisper.

“Yeah, embarrassingly loud as usual!”

"In Position 7 for Oxford, is Colin Watson, from Christchurch, New Zealand. Colin is 23 and completing a Master’s in biochemistry.”

Scott’s family decided to give him a louder clap, probably because New Zealand was now their nearest mainland now that they had moved to the South Pacific. Colin was surprised, but gave them an appreciative wave as he joined Scott.

“In Position 8 for Oxford, is 21 year old Roger Mason, in his second year, reading physics. Roger hails from Adelaide, Australia.”

More cheering from the Tracy family and then Roger joined the rest of his team.

“And finally, the Coxwain for Oxford, is Ronnie Mills, who is 22 and hails from Norwich here in the UK. Ronnie is reading modern languages.” The commentator paused as Ronnie took his place before continuing. “Ladies and gentlemen, your Cambridge and Oxford crews!”

There was a lot more clapping and cheering, camera flashes and both crews stood to attention, smiling at the crowd. Apart from Liam, Keith and Ronnie, the rest of the Oxford crew were all over six feet, with Colin the tallest and an inch taller than Scott, at six feet five.

”Ladies and gentlemen, the crews will be free to mingle with the press and their families. Thank you.”

The coaches gave their crews a quick lecture and reminder then dismissed them to meet their families and the press. Scott did his best to avoid the reporters as he made a B-line for his family and somehow managed to do it as his father greeted him with a hug and his brothers all crowded round, along with Penelope, Hugh and Ruth.

“Dad! Grandma, all of you, I didn’t expect to see you here!” He hugged them all individually and then they had a group one before the press started to invade their space.

A woman in a smart navy suit, carrying a microphone shoved it under Jeff’s nose as she spoke. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have retired astronaut Jeff Tracy, head of Tracy Industries here with his family to support his eldest son. Mr Tracy, you must be feeling extremely proud at this moment.”

Jeff turned on the charm, despite being annoyed at the interruption and looked directly at the camera. “Indeed I am. It’s a great honour to be chosen to row in the boat race; the oldest and longest boat race in the world.” He had an arm wrapped around Scott’s shoulders as he spoke and drew him even closer.

“And Scott, how are you feeling about the race in just over two weeks?”

“I’d be an idiot if I didn’t admit I was feeling nervous,” he began, bringing those dimples of mass destruction to the fore. “But we’ve all worked incredibly hard this past six months, and I think we’re about ready for a win.” Then, making full use of some of the training his father had given him added, “and I’d like to thank everyone who turned up today, and for those who will be watching the race either in person or via media.”

Little did he realise what that comment meant to the watching public. They lapped it up and with those blue eyes, dimples, look and physique, he gained millions of fans in those few seconds.

“Well, you are certainly a good looking family,” the reporter continued, “what do your brothers think of you getting picked for the team?”

“It’s awesome!” Gordon broke in, “and funny.”

“Funny? Why’s that?”

“Well, Scott’s a flyboy, I’m the water baby, I just think it’s funny my flyboy big brother is going to be on the water!”

The reporter laughed.

“We all think it’s fantastic,” Virgil added, “and if Oxford win, we’re gonna party like there’s no tomorrow!”

Jeff raised a quizzical eyebrow at that statement but made no comment.

“No matter what happens in the race, I know his mom would be very proud of him,” Ruth said, bringing a note of solemnity to the proceedings.

“Well, thank you for your time,” the reporter said and left them in peace, but it didn’t stop others from taking photos and trying to get interviews.

Finally though, they were ushered through to the rear of the ground floor that was cordoned off behind screens where the two teams and their families could have some peace and mingle should they wish to. Colin came over and thanked them for their cheering. His parents were coming over for the actual race, but couldn’t make today, so that had been most welcome.

Eventually though, the crews were rounded up to make their journeys back to their universities. Scott hugged all his brothers, grandmother, father, Penny and shook hands with Hugh. “We’ll be cheering you on and waiting at the finish line,” Jeff told him. “You can only do your best, Scott and I know you will.”

“Thanks, dad.” They hugged once more, then he was ushered away by the Oxford coaches.

Chapter Text

The following fortnight passed at an incredible speed—in a blur even—with the continued training and honing of techniques. Many a day the crews finished with aching muscles, wondering if it was all worth it, then cursed themselves for having any doubt. Of course it was! And they felt they had a reasonable chance this year. It had been close last year, but with the results they’d had in December, and the output of information from the January erg tests, plus further testing since, they were really hoping this would be the year.

Then finally it was race day. Scott hoped he wasn’t the only one who was feeling slightly nervous and nauseous about it. He hadn’t had as good a night’s sleep as he’d hoped, as his dreams had been filled with the race scenarios including one where they’d sunk which had made him jerk awake in a cold sweat.

He’d reported to the gym as usual at 5:45 am where the two teams had a carefully prepared breakfast, as the coaches wanted to carefully dictate their meals and calorie intake up until the actual race. They didn’t do any training, but did some gentle stretching exercises before they changed into their official ‘uniforms’ and boarded the coach that was to take them to Putney. The boats and oars had already been carefully loaded and Scott wasn’t surprised when Colin sat down next to him, even though the coach was large enough for each of the crew, coaches, medics to have a double seat each.

They were quiet for the majority of the journey. Scott sat, eyes closed, breathing slowly and deeply, trying to feed his muscles with oxygen. Anyone would have thought he was perfectly calm and relaxed if it hadn’t been for the faint jiggling of his left leg.

“You all right, Scott?” Colin asked him quietly.

Scott opened his right eye and gave him a quick glance before closing it again. “Yeah, just a bit nervous, you know? I mean, this is a big day… biggest day of my life since I got into university, I guess. There’s a lot riding on it.”

“Yes, I hear what you’re saying, but at the end of the day, you can only do your best and as long as you do, then you have nothing to be afraid of.”

“I know… I just wish my mom was here to see it…” His voice trailed off and he heaved a huge sigh as he opened both eyes and looked at his friend.

“Hey, she’s watching, never fear,” Colin said. “And she’s watching over you. Just do your best for her memory. I’m sure your family will be proud no matter what happens.”

“Thanks Colin. How about yours? Have they made it over?”

“Yeah, flew in last night. Didn’t get to see them in person, but spoke to them via videphone.”

“That’s great. Nothing quite like having moral support on site!”

Silence reigned and they eventually arrived at their destination. The media was there to greet them and cameras flashed as they exited the bus and made their way into the building. As expected the BBC were there, as they were doing the main coverage, but were not going on air until 12:45, when they would start covering the women’s crews, announcing background information on them, interviewing the captains and coxwains prior to the first race which was due to start at 13:19.

At 11:15 the captains of the women’s teams tossed for which position they wanted on the river. Cambridge won the toss and chose the Middlesex side, based on performance the previous years where they put effort in to get ahead with the slight favour of the bend of the first mile, then switch to the surrey side for the big bend and gain a substantial advantage.

The captains of both the primary and secondary teams tossed at 11:50. Cambridge again won for the secondary team and chose the same tactics as the women. The Oxford Blue team won their toss and selected the Surrey side, deciding they would let Cambridge put in the extra effort required to pull ahead, but would stay in close enough contact so they couldn’t get far enough ahead to be able to take advantage of cutting across to the Surrey side. Oxford would then have the shorter inside track of the u-bend and cut across in front of Cambridge to gain the shorter track towards Chiswick Bridge and the finish.

That completed, the men had lunch, and allowed to relax for a little while, before beginning their warm up exercises to prepare them for the races. Again, they started with gentle stretching exercises to loosen muscles and gradually warm them up before they finished preparation on the rowing machines. Nothing too strenuous; just ensuring that the teams were properly prepared.

At 12:45 the BBC began their transmission of the event. It started with the usual blurb and a brief history of the race for any newcomers who weren’t familiar with the event, then they outlined the timetable. This was followed by the introductions of the women’s crews. The BBC commentators had done a little more research and gave out more information on each of the members.

Once this was done, the boats were brought out and placed on the river, the teams disrobed in readiness. The day had dawned cloudy, but this was beginning to break up and now and again the March sun peeked out from behind them.

The race was due to start at 13:19, but at that precise moment both coxwains had their hands in the air, indicating they were not ready. One pointed to a piece of driftwood that was directly in the path the boat was due to take, so they waited for it to move along out of the way. After another couple of minutes, the hands were lowered and suddenly the flag dropped and they were off.

In where the men were slowly warming up, a screen was showing the race as it progressed. The Cambridge crew (Blondie) went out hard to make the most of the shorter route on the first turn and managed to pull ahead, but not by as much as they wanted. The umpire in the boat that was following shouted a warning to them as they started to stray across into Oxford’s line.

More warnings were issued, but it appeared Cambridge were the stronger team as they held their own under Hammersmith Bridge, but Oxford had the advantage and by the time they passed Chiswick Pier, they were nudging ahead, much to the enthusiasm of the men watching the screen.

Cambridge started gaining on the final turn towards Chiswick Bridge and both teams gave their all as the finish post approached. It was the closest finish in years for the women and the men were shouting at the screen, urging them on; Cambridge gaining with every stroke and pipped them at the post in the last stroke. The men all groaned in frustration.

The Oxford Blue team got up to stretch their legs. Colin approached Scott. “How are you feeling now?” he asked rather nervously.

“Sick,” Scott replied.

“I wish you hadn’t said that,” Colin said as he made a rush for the bathroom.

Scott bit his lip and frowned, hoping that Colin throwing up in the toilets wouldn’t interfere with his performance.

Colin appeared several minutes later. “You all right?” Scott asked concerned.

He nodded. “Yeah, nerves just got the better of me, you know? I don’t like waiting about.”

The women’s reserve team race had started fifteen minutes later and finished fourteen minutes after the previous race; won by Oxford, to a great deal of cheering from the Blue team. The Isis team were already on the water and rowing for their lives and the Blues were watching the screen intently; the reserve team were slightly ahead of the Cambridge Goldie team as they approached the mile post meaning they had a slight advantage going into the bend.

A cheer went up as they lengthened their lead and it filled the Blues with hope that they could also be successful. One eye was on the race whilst they prepared themselves for their own one. Isis appeared to be rowing quick and steady and it looked like it was going to be a fast one.

The coaches called the Blue team to order and gave them their final instructions, doing their best to raise their spirits and motivate them with a resounding speech and lots of encouragement. Positive Mental Attitude; it was a really important factor. The crew had to believe that they could win the race. They couldn’t do any more. Diet, exercise, training, rest, sleep patterns, motivation, even bullying. Now it was down to the eight men and their coxswain to bring home the ultimate prize.

Everyone studied the screens as the boats went under the Barnes Railway Bridge; Oxford almost a whole length in the lead and able to take advantage of the final bend. Everyone started shouting at the screen.

“Come on, Isis! Come on!”

There was less than half a mile to go and they could all see the Isis crew were putting everything they had into those last few hundred yards. The coaches were still lecturing, telling the Blues they needed to keep energy in reserve for these final yards. Isis were struggling, using their final reserves to maintain their lead. Position 5 looked ready to collapse and seemed to be on automatic, going through the motions.

“Jeez, McCready looks like he’s gonna pass out!” Richard muttered.

They were so close, but with one man now not pulling his weight, Goldie were gaining with every stroke. The finish line seemed to be taking forever to reach and Cambridge were now just a mere half a boat length behind.

Scott felt his left leg jiggling as the boats reached the final hundred yards. It was going to be close, then they all watched as McCready seemed to get a third wind and managed to start pulling at least part of his weight which seemed to halt Goldie’s progress and with just a yard’s difference, Oxford won.

The Blue team all screamed in excitement, and it helped to wind them up for their own race. It was time.

The BBC switched their attention to the main event. Starting with the Cambridge crew, introducing them with photos, their name, age, what they were reading, vital statistics, position in the boat and a brief biography. There were a couple of very tall members of the crew which could be both an advantage and disadvantage depending on the height of those around them due to their increased reach possibly interfering with the rowers behind and in front.

Then it was Oxford’s turn.

At the finish line just before Chiswick Bridge, Scott’s family had a perfect view, and a large screen had been erected that was showing the BBC’s broadcast and they were all watching it as it showed the Blue Team emerge from the building accompanied by coaches and other staff who would collect their hoodies and wellingtons once they were in the boat.

It showed the team carrying their boat to the river’s edge and placing it in the water, and being handed their oars which were clipped into place.

“There’s Scott!” Alan shouted excitedly, jumping up and down in his enthusiasm.

It was only a quick shot before the BBC switched to doing the information share on each member, starting at position 1. They managed a quick live shot of the rower then switched to a photo on one side of the screen and bulleted information on the other which the commentator read out.

This was done for each member of the crew and when they reached position 6, the Tracy family all screamed and cheered as a live close-up shot of Scott appeared on the screen of him removing his zipped hoodie and handing his boots over to one of the staff before placing his hands on his oar, then it switched to a lovely photo of him smiling, his deadly dimples on full display and the commentator went through his notes.

“At position 6 is Scott Tracy, eldest son of world famous astronaut Jefferson Tracy, the first man to step foot on Mars. Scott is the youngest in the crew at 18 years old and if they win today it will be a great early birthday present as he will be 19 on the 4th April. He is in his final year at Oxford, and can you believe this, ladies and gentlemen, is completing his Masters in engineering and business studies! Scott is six feet four and weighs in at 178 pounds. On completion of his higher degree, Scott will be following in his father’s footsteps by joining the United States Air Force as an officer, destined for fighter duty.”

The rest of the crew and the coxswain were introduced and the coverage switched to the two teams manoeuvring into their start positions. The commentator continued with his narrative, explaining that Oxford had opted for the Surrey side. Those watching the screens, saw a map of the course appear before it switched back to the live coverage. The commentator then introduced the umpire for the race—an Olympic rowing champion—and everyone waited.

Both coxwains had their hands in the air, indicating that neither were ready, the commentator was explaining about the tide.

Ronnie did a final check with his crew and they confirmed they were all okay and ready, so he dropped his hand, and gave them some encouraging words and they waited.

The Cambridge coxswain dropped his hand shortly after. Everyone waited with baited breath and suddenly the umpire dropped the flag. They were off!

Cambridge went all out with a very fast stroke, whereas Oxford eased into it. It was obvious the Light Blues were attempting to use the slight bend to their advantage to get ahead of Oxford so they could cut across to the Surrey side. Ronnie didn’t let them get more than three quarters of a length ahead and held them there.

From where he was sitting, Scott couldn’t see the Cambridge boat and his worry must have shown on his face, as Ronnie shouted. “It’s okay, they aren’t far enough ahead to cut over, you’re all doing great boys! Keep that rhythm, keep that technique smooth, don’t tense, relax, enjoy the row. We’re doing it! we’re doing it!”

Scott felt himself relax slightly. It was important he didn’t tense up, or he’d cramp, so he concentrated on listening to the cox, and controlling his breathing, drawing air deeper into his lungs to feed his muscles.

They were already approaching Fulham Football Club that was on the Middlesex side. If they could hold Cambridge all the way to the Crabtree Tavern, then they would be in with a real chance of winning the race.

They were forced to up their stroke rate to 43 to stop Cambridge getting any further ahead, but they knew they’d be able to drop it slightly as they took advantage of the large U-shaped bend that was coming up.

The mile post came and went. Scott was conscious of his heart rate rising. A quarter of the way done and they were managing to hold their own, but the real test would be in the last half mile. He licked his lips and concentrated on the job in hand. The entire crew had to trust the coxswain to know what he was doing, to believe in his strategy.

They were now approaching the Crabtree Tavern and Cambridge hadn’t managed to pull completely clear, but they pushed their luck and suddenly the umpire was screaming at them through his megaphone.

“Cambridge! Cambridge right!” he was screaming at them. The oars of positions six and eight drew perilously close to those of Oxford’s positions one and three. “Cambridge! This is your final warning! Move right! Cambridge!”

Slowly, Cambridge moved right and Oxford gained ground as a result.

Unconsciously, Scott took measure of himself and how he felt. Just over a mile and a half in and his muscles were feeling okay; no ache yet which was a good sign and he realised he had prepared himself well.

The Harrods Depository was the next landmark and as Scott saw it pass he knew they were starting on the huge sweeping bend. This was where they could gain a good advantage. They gradually dropped their stroke rate as they entered the bend, using the shorter distance to full advantage and were level with Cambridge as they rowed under Hammersmith Bridge. The noise of the crowd standing on it was deafening as they cheered the crews on. Vaguely he caught sight of the two crews on a large screen, but he didn’t need to see that to know they were level. Glancing left he could see his equivalent position 6 and that sight raised his spirits no end as his muscles started to let him know they were there.

The advantage of the bend and the slower stroke speed gave Oxford some respite and Ronnie was doing a fantastic job of encouraging and praising them which also added fuel to the fire. We can do this! Scott dared to think, especially as he saw he was now in front of his counterpart. He knew this also had to be inspiring his crew mates.

“Yes! Yes! YES!” Ronnie was shouting. He was getting very excited and this feeling bled through to his crew as they dared to believe, and with that belief came the resolve.

They were just over half way now; St Paul’s School was passed and although Scott’s muscles were letting him know they weren’t entirely happy, the rest of his body was humming. They were only half way round the bend and still had another mile or so of its advantage to come. If they could get completely ahead before they reached the Barnes Railway Bridge, they could cut across to the Middlesex side and take the shorter route of the next bend to the finish.

They passed the Chiswick Eyot three quarters of a length ahead of Cambridge and spirits were lifted further at the sight. Ronnie was almost hoarse in shouting his encouragement and excitement at their position, but a lot could happen in the last mile and a half.

The stroke rate was increased by Oxford so they could endeavour to pull completely ahead of Cambridge who had been forced to row at a higher rate to even try to maintain their current position and they were grimacing in pain with the effort. Muscles were starting to scream in protest and they still had another mile to go.

Scott could feel the slow burn in his own muscles as he rowed. It was uncomfortable and it was hurting but it was as if they were on automatic, consistently pumping out 44 strokes a minute to gain the full advantage of the final turn if they could just pull out enough of a gap to cross to the Middlesex side.

They passed Chiswick Pier and a couple of minutes later finally they drew level with The Crossing and found themselves a length and a half in front. Ronnie began to steer them across to the Middlesex side. They passed the Bandstand and Ronnie saw the Barnes Railway Bridge in the distance. Just under a mile to go.

Scott hated to think what his heart rate was up to, but they were in the lead, on the slightly shorter route and the stroke speed gradually dropped again allowing them the briefest of respites, as Cambridge tried to catch them. His muscles were absolutely screaming at him to stop.

It was overcast again, but the sweat was pouring off both crews as they battled towards the finish line. The expressions on both crews showed the agony they were in as they approached the railway bridge.

“We’re almost there!” Ronnie screamed. “Less than half a mile after the bridge! Come on guys! We’re gonna do this! We’re gonna win! Let’s do it in style!”

He kept shouting at them, Egging them on, praising them, telling them they could see Cambridge behind them and that’s where they needed to stay. They were aware as they rowed under the railway bridge and knew the end was almost in sight. As they rounded the bend it came into Ronnie’s view.

“I can see the finish line!” he screamed. “Row! Row! Row as if the devil himself is after you! Come on, you can do it! You can do it! We’re gonna win! We’re gonna win!”

Calling on their last reserves, Oxford gave it absolutely everything. Scott was sure he wasn’t the only one crying in agony. His arms were on fire, his legs felt like they were about to spontaneously combust, but somehow he kept going, the crew kept going. The little gain that Cambridge had managed was wiped out as Oxford threw everything they had into winning by a decent margin. Lungs were about to explode out of their chests as they tried to get sufficient oxygen in them to fuel their muscles in the final yards.

Scott became aware of black spots in the corner of his eyes. Oh God, please let the finish line come soon, he begged, realising he was going to pass out.

“One hundred yards!” Ronnie screamed and Scott responded along with the rest of the crew.

Suddenly a horn rang out.

“We’ve won! WE’VE WON!” Ronnie screamed, and the Oxford crew literally collapsed.

Scott burst into tears with the effort he had expended and collapsed back, his chest absolutely heaving as he became light headed. Vaguely he was aware of Edward in position 5 squeezing his shoulder.

“You did great, kid,” he panted at the youngest member of the crew, who was openly crying; his body a complete mass of pain.

Scott somehow managed to lift an arm, and his hand was grabbed and squeezed tightly. “You all right, kid?” someone asked him, but he couldn’t answer.

The TV camera had zoomed in on the Oxford crew and from the shore, Jeff Tracy saw the agony his eldest son was in. Most of the crew weren’t much better, but he could see that his son was in the worst shape. His brothers were biting their lips in worry, seeing Scott completely done in.

“Scott! Scott are you still with us?” Ronnie asked him in concern. He had never seen the young man in such a state and realised he had thrown everything he had into the race.

“Give him a minute,” Edward replied gasping. “He’s coming out of it.”

Scott had no idea what his heart rate had reached, but he bet it was a new record for him. It was still thudding at ten to the dozen, but he was at last managing to breathe deeper and get some oxygen into his lungs. It took him another minute, and then with the aid of Edward behind him, he managed to sit up.

He was trembling, blood was roaring in his ears, but as it began to subside, he heard the noise of the crowd and it was deafening. Edward was squeezing his shoulder again and the rest of the crew were screaming in joy and after another minute, he was joining them. They had WON!

Cold water splashed him as his crew mates celebrated by splashing their hands in the river and he wiped his eyes as his body slowly recovered. Oh he was going to be so sore tomorrow!

“You all right, Scott?” Ronnie asked him again.

Scott nodded. “Yeah cox, I’m okay. Sorry about that.”

Ronnie smiled kindly at him. “You gave everything you had, you have no apology to make,” he replied. “Well done.” The coxswain looked up at the rest of his crew. “Well done all of you!” he cried. “I am so proud of you all!”

They all cheered, then took hold of their oars and rowed back to shore, where they handed them over, got out of the boat, and lifted it out of the water to take back to the rack. For a minute, Scott wasn’t even sure his legs would hold him, but they did.

With the boat taken care of, the crew disappeared indoors. There wasn’t time to shower, but just about enough time for some fresh body spray and a change of uniform before the medal presentation was to take place.

Looking presentable again, they clapped and cheered as the Cambridge and Oxford women’s crews received their medals. The event had been sponsored again by Chanel and prizes included perfume and sunglasses.

Finally it was time for the men’s presentation and they all marched out in sharp order where they were presented with their winning medals, men’s perfume and sunglasses and then the trophy which they all took turns in hoisting aloft passing it down the line then back to the captain. Scott hadn’t realised that his family had managed to get a couple of group shots and one of him holding the trophy up when it had been his turn.

With the ceremony over, family and friends were allowed into the area and suddenly Scott was surrounded by his family all slapping him on the back and congratulating him; then his father was hugging him and whispering in his ear.

“Well done, son. I am so proud of you, but are you all right? You looked pretty beat at the end.”

“Yeah, I’m fine dad. I gave it my all and paid the price, but I’m recovering. We all gave it our all, and we won!”

“So that’s it now? You get to concentrate fully on your studies?”

“Yes, that’s it.”

Jeff nodded.

Penny came up to him, gave him a hug and a kiss. “Congratulations, Scott. I’m very proud of you,” she said.”

“Thanks, Penny. Say, are you all coming to the party at the university this evening?”

“No, they are not, they’re too young,” Jeff said and Scott’s face fell.

“I’ll be there Scott,” Penny said. “Can’t let you celebrate alone now, can I?”

His face brightened immediately.

They were able to spend about an hour with him before he had to leave with the rest of his crew on the coach back to the university, but told them he’d see them at Easter. Tearful good byes were said with lots of hugs, then his family was gone.

It was a noisy journey back to Oxford, with the crews cheering and singing all the way. They had all drunk a couple of bottles of water and electrolyte drinks to prevent any headaches.

Back at base, the coaches collected them together and gave them a congratulations talk, thanking them for their efforts and that he was proud of them all and ending by hoisting the trophy up and instigating three cheers.

“And here’s to next year!” came a shout, and everyone cheered again.