Blast from the past Part III. I remember those cold winter mornings, waking at 6am, and cycling in the freezing rain to the River Granta. Followed by the miserable cold runs to shake away the chill in our bones, and then choosing an oar, picking up the boat, and off we go, unto the River, practising, cussing, and wishing we were somewhere else. Those days were memorable for having stuck my neck out for a completely alien sport, just to know what it is like to be a "local". I suppose it was the English equivalent of joining a frat ... though much less mystical. I had fun. Our boat came in rather well for the Clares, even though we were the fourth boat. Many more weeks on the ergo machine, and I had shed a couple of kilos. Well worth the chilly frost-biten mornings...
