´óÏó´«Ã½

A common assumption made about my rowing career is that, as a Cornish girl, I must have started out in a , and I was always ashamed to admit I'd never even tried it.

I put that right on a beautiful, still, late summer's evening in the estuary at Falmouth, which made a welcome change from the normally freezing mornings and biting winds when training with the on the Thames.

The scene was only enhanced by the wooden pilot gigs, each one named and painted in bright colours, and they really are beautiful constructions compared to the forgettable yellow and black plastic German-made shells that we race in.

Read the rest of this entry