Compiled by Holly Dayton ’13, Lens Section Editor
Every year, the Scroll runs a series of college essays written by the graduating seniors. This year’s seniors are a very talented class who are leaving CCDS to go to colleges all over (and even out of!) the country. Kicking off the series this year is Kate Taylor, a former Lens Section Editor, who chose to attend St. Andrew’s University in Scotland this fall.
Kate’s Essay:
In England we have something called the “stiff upper lip.” And after six years of residence in the United States, I’m still not sure of the exact translation, or even if one exists (maybe I should replace my Oxford English Dictionary with Merriam-Webster’s). My cross country coach describes it as “tough.” Others say it’s “grit” or “determination.” But whatever it’s called, I have it. I’ve always had it: from the age of two when I insisted on dressing myself, though I could barely pull a t-shirt over my head, to the age of seventeen when I carefully find the derivative in calculus. But there was one time my willpower didn’t work.
I joined the CCDS crew team as a coxswain my freshman year without any idea of what I was getting myself into. At the first practice I sat in the boat with my fingers turning to icicles around the oar and my wet socks turning my feet a worrying shade of light blue. To say I was miserable would be an understatement. I only returned to practice the next day because, as I told Mum, “I have to go back because it can’t be any worse than it was today.” As I was less than 5’2’’ and ninety pounds at the time, I wasn’t planning on being a rower. Maybe once I got into the cox seat things would improve.
The season was a torrent of broken cox boxes, confusion as I tried to think of something to bark during a race, and teary phone calls from hotels far from home. And though I didn’t think I could face another year, I returned, sure the next season was going to be different.
In the weeks leading up to the first race, I bellowed throughout the house “Power 10!” and “Catch, send!” to practice projecting my voice. This season I was going to be heard. This season I was going to show that I could do it. But when the gun fired at the first race, I hadn’t lined the boat up correctly in the lane and within ten seconds, the siren was whirring and the race was stopped. “CCDS coxswain, maintain your point and stay in your lane! All boats back to the start.” As we turned around, I knew it was my fault. But when a senior shouted at me from two seat, “Kate, all you have to do is keep us straight!” my confidence was crushed by the 200 pounds of muscle behind that voice.
All the grit, all that determination, all that “tough” was gone. And I don’t know how long it would have taken to come back if two things hadn’t happened that next week. First, out of nowhere, the Women’s Lightweight 4+ cox quit, leaving our reigning national champions without a cox. My coach looked at me expectantly. I was terrified. The thought of coxing the boat that had been the face of CCDS women’s rowing for the past year after I had almost crashed last week was unthinkable. Second, our new assistant coach handed me “The Down and Dirty Guide to Coxing: On the Water Audio.” “I knew we didn’t have any cox audio, so I thought this might help you,” was all she said.
My determination was restored. Those upperclassmen were depending on me, just a sophomore, to lead their boat. So I listened to that CD until I knew Mary Whipple’s Milan World Cup race by heart, and could recite Sarah Harrick’s and Kara McPhilips’ race plans back to front. I paid extra attention to my coach at practice so I knew where our technique was weak and where it was strong. I got to know those scary seniors and juniors, learning that Megan liked to be told exactly where we were in the race and that Emily loved to watch the opposition “die” as we passed them. I made a race plan, but also knew that I could be flexible depending on the course of the race.
The first time I coxed the Women’s Lightweight 4+ in a race was at Midwest Scholastic Championships. I got my point at the start, and steered the boat, the Jamaican Bobsled Awesome Oarsome Foursome, in a straight line, using only slight changes in direction. I didn’t stop talking once. I told my rowers where we were in the race, how many seats ahead or behind, and how much of the race course was left. When we exited the cove and emerged into the wind, I reminded them to roll up early and accent their layback. Most importantly, I knew how to motivate them all the way to the finish line, which we crossed first. Though we went on to win at US Youth Nationals, that first race was the best.
Ever since, my willpower has not failed me, in or out of the boat. It’s what made me stay after swim team training to practice starts and flip-turns in the hope of shaving just a few hundredths of a second off my 100 Backstroke time to
reach my goal of 1:10s. It’s what made me repeatedly practice the speaking section of the Spanish AP so I wouldn’t be nervous on exam day. Whether it’s my British blood or just the strength of Kate Taylor, this force fills me up from head to toe. It lies right under my skin and penetrates to my core. It’s my stiff upper lip.
Photo courtesy of unipages.org
