In Which Our Heroine Meets Even More People You've Never Heard Of
Please forgive me if I act a little strange (ok, apologies to David Gray there), but I am exhausted. It has been a busy busy busy weekend. There were some last minute e-mails on Friday, which established that I was helpfully minded, and would therefore be at Howie's house early Saturday morning to make 180 sandwiches. Ok, to help make them. Who needs 180 sandwiches? CRASH-Bs. They need them for the volunteers that help man the event. What are CRASH-Bs? The World Indoor Rowing Championships. They're held right here in Boston, and up until now, I've raced them. But this year I didn't. Why not? I'm really not sure, but at the end of the day, it just wasn't what I wanted to do this year. But I still volunteered. Starting with making sandwiches. But the making sandwiches got me an invite to the luncheon for foreign competitors. This set into motion a few things. For starters, it marked a good kickoff to auction co-chair season, as I grabbed Sir Steven Redgrave and had him autograph three CRI shirts. One for me, two to sell at the auction. Now, if you're not a rower, or you're not English, you probably don't know who this chappie is, so I'll tell you. Winner of 5 consecutive Olympic gold medals in rowing, 9 world championship gold medals, and the UK's "sportsman of the year" for 2000, he was knighted for his services to sport the same year. In short, he is the greatest oarsman to ever live. He was also very gracious in the signing of the shirts. I, on the other hand, was genuinely suprised. He just wasn't as tall as I thought he would be. Then again, this was exactly my reaction when I met Janet Reno.

Sir Steve wasn't rowing due to recent shoulder surgery, but was there to captain the British contingency as they attempted to win hammers. Bits of PR, bits of coxing, bits of autograph signing. But it was an interesting thing. The Brits were eager to be photographed with him, but the Americans didn't really do much about it. To me, and even more interesting, was when he attempted to address the crowd and just no one paid attention to him. It was hard to hear him, but no one was even trying.

Auctioneering just brings out something in me. Frankly, there are few things I dislike more than meeting new people, but if I'm in auction mode, I'll walk up to any old OBE and thurst things in front of them to sign. And apparently I will also throw myself in national team member's paths as well. Poor Carol Skricki fell victim to my high velocity, but she was exceptionally nice about it. Carol learned to row at CRI about 10 years ago. Since then she's been on the national team. Still is, actually, and she was sporting a rather impressive ring from the Sydney Olympics. She was also kind enough to donate to the auction. National team polo shirts, Olympic polo shirts, Olympic unisuit, a great windjacket and two pairs of training shorts. Huzzah!!!!! She also proceeded to set a world record in her age group, and inspire me to get going back to training, and row my little legs off. Can't wait for it.

In between all the signings, Maura explained to me that about 20 volunteers had bailed at the last minute, and could I please fill in this morning? Oh, and could I be there at six? Well, I couldn't since the train didn't start running til 6, but I could be there shortly after, so I did. In fact, I spent the night at a friend's in the Back Bay so that I could be there as early as possible. In return I said that "I want to cox hotties." This seems to have become a bit of a mantra. I suppose I did get to cox two of them who were pretty hot, but generally I coxed men in their 60s, who are too old for me, or junior men, who would make me a felon. Not much hottie potential there. But I was offered the chance to cox the finals, but almost every one brought their own cox with them. I headed back to the sidelines. Ten strokes into it, my friend Howie, not even looking back at me, informs me that I missed my chance, and the hottie on the end had been looking for a cox. Ah, the cosmic humor of injustice!

As aforementioned, I am pooped. To bed! Sleeping, sleeping, and zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Love,
Anne