In Which Our Heroine Tortures Small Helpless Children
There are many joys in being a rowing coach. Great financial reward isn't one of them, of course, but still there are rewards. Depending on your point of view, one of them is making small children suffer. This is almost a universally accepted perk of the job. In fact, when I was sitting in the Good Life last week, the waitress came up to us while I was saying "I made her cry." (referring to obnoxious lying teenager, not one of my kids I hasten to add.) and said "What do you DO?" When I told her I was a high school rowing coach, she offered to bring me a stronger drink. But today, it was my turn to torture "my" kids. We were all set to row, but the launch was up on the dock being repaired, so it was time for land training. Break out the ergs, little children. Today we are going to discover our lactic acid production. 1000m, two minute rest. Repeat five more times. I tried to be diplomatic. I announced from the start that they were allowed to curse me. They didn't understand at first, but it didn't take long. But still, they double checked first. "We're allowed to hate you?" "Yes, you can hate me." "Anne" "Yes?" "Um, I really hate you right now." "Good, then everything is as it should be." They're really turning into rowers. How can I tell? Because all of them when they finished said "I really hated it while I was doing it, but now that I'm done it feels really good." As I said, all is as it should be. Tomorrow, two of them are coming to scull with me, which should be much fun.

Well, I have trained for my next job now. I am to be a "Make Way for Ducklings" tour guide. This will take up my mornings, when rowing takes up my afternoons. I will lead groups of 15 kindergarteners around Beacon Hill, through the State House, and down Charles Street. "With a tilt of their bill and an extra swagger in their waddle." I also teach them about architecture (different types of columns, which has required my learning them first, window types, boot scrapers, that sort of thing). Unfortunately, I wasn't thinking as I learned the tour and forgot to wear my sunblock and am now a bit pink across the old nose. And I don't think I impressed my boss by losing my book and file the first day! They do have lots of extra copies lying about apparently. Still, not the way to go first day out. Sunblock now acquired and applied without mercy. SPF 30.

Happy Easter, all!
Love,
Anne