Page 84 of Eight Count Heat
"That's it! Half a length on Bayside already. Keep it clean, keep it strong."
We settle into race pace, the initial sprint giving way to the sustained power of the main race. Gray's stroke rate is metronomic, precisely where we need it. The crew responds beautifully, finding that perfect balance between maximum power and sustainable pace.
Through the rhythm of the race, I'm aware of the officials' launch pacing us, cameras and monitoring equipment trained on our shell. They're looking for any sign of irregularity, any evidence to support whatever suspicions linger from the morning's challenge.
"Coming up on the crosscurrent," I warn. "Prepare to adjust in five, four, three, two, one—"
The boat hits the disturbance, the pull from the tributary attempting to push us off course. I compensate with the rudder, keeping us straight while the port side adjusts their pressure.
"Perfect adjustment," I call. "We're through it clean. Maintaining position."
A glance to either side confirms our lead. Half a length on Bayside, more on the others. Exactly where we want to be at this point in the race.
"First marker coming up," I announce. "We're five seconds under qualifying pace. Looking strong."
The 500-meter mark flashes by. Quarter distance covered. I check our line, our speed, our position. Everything precisely as planned.
"Let's open it up a bit," I direct. "Power five in two. One, two—drive!"
The response is immediate. Eight bodies dig deeper, finding another gear. The boat surges forward, stretching our lead.
"Bayside responding," I warn. "But we've got them. Holding form now. Long and strong."
The middle section of the course stretches before us, a straightaway before the challenging turn at 1500 meters. This is where discipline matters, maintaining technique while fighting the building burn in muscles, the increasing demand for oxygen.
"Focus on your breathing," I remind them. "We own this middle section. Halfway point approaching."
As we cross the thousand-meter mark, I feel a sudden wave of heat flush through my body. The suppressant is failing faster than expected. Not now. Not here.
Along the safety route, I catch Andrea pointing excitedly at something, her phone recording. Kinsley stands beside her, both of them clearly hoping to capture my failure for posterity.
I push the panic down, focusing on the race, on keeping my voice steady.
"Coming up on the turn," I call, forcing calm into my tone. "Outside crew, prepare for increased pressure. Inside, ease off slightly on my mark."
The boat responds perfectly to my commands as we enter the long, sweeping turn. I use minimal rudder, relying instead on differential power to navigate the curve while maintaining maximum speed.
"Perfect execution," I approve. "Three-quarter mark approaching. We're still under qualifying time. Looking strong."
Bayside has fallen back to a full length behind us. Harborview challenges on the outside, making a push, but too late to threaten our position.
The officials' launch has fallen back slightly, but their cameras remain trained on us, documenting every stroke, every command, every moment that might validate their suspicions.
"Final 500," I announce. "This is where we separate ourselves. Ready for the sprint. On my mark."
I feel the anticipation build through the boat, eight bodies preparing for the final push. The finish line approaches, spectators visible now, their cheers a distant roar beyond the bubble of focus within our shell.
In the grandstand, my parents are on their feet, my mother's critical gaze replaced by something that might actually be pride.
"Sprint in three, two, one—now!"
Gray cranks the stroke rate up, the rest of the crew matching him perfectly. The boat leaps forward, eating up the final distance with renewed power. Every muscle straining, every breath burning, every stroke bringing us closer to qualification.
"This is it," I call, voice rising with controlled intensity. "Empty the tanks. Nothing left. Drive!"
The final hundred meters arrive. The moment when champions are made.
"Ten strokes to the line. Ten. Nine. Eight..."
