On the morning of a race it is a good thing to send a crew to run sprints of seventy or eighty yards, twice. This clears the wind greatly for the rest of the day, without taking any appreciable strength out of the man. A crew thus ‘aired’ do not so much feel the severity of a sharp start in the subsequent race, and they gain their second wind much sooner.
The meal before a race should be a light one, comparatively: something that can be digested very easily. Mutton is digested sooner than beef. H. Kelley used to swear by a wing of boiled chicken (without sauce) before a race. The fluid should be kept as low as possible just before a race; and there should be about three hours between the last meal and the start. A preliminary canter in the boat is advisable; it tests all oars and stretchers, and warms up the muscles. Even when men are rowing a second or third race in the day, they should not be chary of extending themselves for a few strokes on the way to the post. Muscles stiffen after a second race, and are all the better for being warmed up a trifle before they are again placed on the rack.
Between races a little food may be taken, even if there is only an hour to spare: biscuit soaked in port wine stays the stomach; and if there is more than an hour cold mutton and stale bread (no butter), to the extent of a couple of sandwiches or more (according to time for digestion), will be of service. Such a meal may be washed down with a little cold tea and brandy. The tea deadens the pain of stiffened muscles; the brandy helps to keep the pulse up. If young hands are fidgetty and nervous, a little brandy and water may be given them; or brandy and tea, not exceeding a wine-glass, rather more tea than brandy. The writer used often to pick up his crew thus, and was sometimes laughed at for it in old days. He is relieved to find no less an authority than Mr. E. D. Brickwood, on page 219 of ‘Boat-racing,’ holding the same view as himself, and commending the same system of ‘pick-me-up.’
AILMENTS.
A rowing man seems somehow to be heir to nearly as many ailments as a racehorse. Except that he does not turn ‘roarer,’ and that there is no such hereditary taint in rowing clubs, he may almost be likened to a Derby favourite.
Boils are one of the most common afflictions. They used to be seen more frequently in the writer’s days than now. The modern recognition of the importance of a due proportion of vegetable food blended with the animal food has tended to reduce the proportion of oarsmen annually laid up by this complaint. A man is not carnivorous purely, but omnivorous, like a pig or a bear. If he gorges too much animal food meat, he disorders his blood, and his blood seeks to throw off its humours. If there is a sore anywhere on the frame at the time, the blood will select this as a safety valve, and will raise a fester there. If there is no such existing safety valve, the blood soon broaches a volcano of its own, and has an unpleasant habit of selecting most inconvenient sites for these eruptions. Where there is most wear and tear going on to the cuticle is a likely spot for the volcano to open, and nature in this respect is prone to favour the seat of honour more than any other portions of the frame. Next in fashion, perhaps, comes the neck; the friction of a comforter when the neck is dripping with perspiration tends often to make the skin of the neck tender and to induce a boil to break out there. A blistered hand is not unlikely to be selected as the scene of outbreak, or a shoulder chafed by a wet jersey.
A crew should be under strict orders to report all ailments, if only a blister, instantly to the coach. It is better to leave no discretion in this matter to the oarsman, even at the risk of troubling the mentor with trifles. If a man is once allowed to decide for himself whether he will report some petty and incipient ailment, he is likely to try to hush it up lest it should militate against his coach’s selection of him; the effect of this is that mischief which might otherwise have been checked in the bud, is allowed to assume dangerous proportions for want of a stitch in time. An oarsman should be impressed that nothing is more likely to militate against his dream of being selected than disobedience to this or any other standing order. The smallest pimple should be shown forthwith to the coach, the slightest hoarseness or tendency to snuffle reported; any tenderness of joint or sinew instantly made known.
To return to boils. If a boil is observed in the pimple stage, it may be scotched and killed. Painting it with iodine will drive it away, in the writer’s experience. ‘Stonehenge’ advises a wash of nitrate of silver, of fifteen to twenty grains to the ounce, to be painted over the spot. Mr. Brickwood also, while quoting ‘Stonehenge’ on this point, recommends bathing with bay salt and water.
Anyhow, these external means of repression do not of themselves suffice. They only bung up the volcano; the best step is to cure the blood, otherwise it will break out somewhere else. The writer’s favourite remedy is a dose of syrup of iodide of iron; one teaspoonful in a wineglass of water, just before or after a meal, is about the best thing. A second dose of half the amount may be taken twenty-four hours later. This medicine is rather constipating; a slight aperient, if only a dose of Carlsbad salts before breakfast or a seidlitz powder, may be taken to counteract it in this respect. It is a strong but prompt remedy; anything is better than to have a member of a crew eventually unable to sit down for a week or so! An extra glass of port after dinner, and plenty of green food, will help to rectify the disordered blood.
Another good internal remedy is brewer’s yeast, a tablespoonful twice a day after meals. Watermen swear by this, and Mr. Brickwood personally recommends it.