Fourth in the Olympics: Final Thoughts from Jozef Klaassen
September 3, 2008 | Men's Rowing
Sept. 3, 2008
Photo Gallery (Updated Sept. 3)
Over the past nine years, there has been sacrifice, gallons of sweat during hours of workout, tears shed over physical pain, joy, frustration and anguish. It's been a long journey, but the past was the last thing on my mind when my alarm woke me up that Sunday morning. I pulled myself out of bed, rubbed my eyes and searched for my watch. My clothes lay ready, and a part of me wanted to worry about missing the bus to the rowing course, though I had worked out my exact schedule the previous evening.
I tried to relax and go through my routine. Took a shower and got dressed, picked up my bag, walked to the dining hall for breakfast, boarded the bus. I felt numb and opened a book, "Middle Eastern History," to let my mind drift to the Saudi Empire and its fight against secularism and western powers after World War I. I am used to shutting everything out and have become an expert at keeping my heart rate low and my mind distracted.
We arrived at the rowing park; nobody said anything, we just got down to the routine which we had agreed on: arrive, change and stretch, erg for five minutes, assemble at the boat and go for a short paddle to feel the water and loosen up the body. During the training, you only focus on your own rowing and the motions as you go through them. On the way back down the course the coxswain calls the moves of the race but I'm not listening; I know them already.
After training we showered, ate and left in little mini-vans to the rented houses five minutes from the course. On arrival, we went straight to bed and had a nap, because it's crucial to keep our heart rates as low as possible. Our coxswain eventually wokes us, and we watched clay bird shooting on TV while changing; Diederik Simon (our captain) jokingly handed out vitamin C tablets to everyone; "this is what will give you Gold", he laughed.
Medal ceremonies were under way for an earlier event when we got back to the course. The Olympic song and Dutch national anthem sound through the boat bays as we watched our flag rise for the lightweight woman's double sculls. I could feel my hair standing up, a feeling of anticipation because my chance is about to come. Stretch and head upstairs for the team briefing. "Be brave! Now is the time to look your fellow rowers in the eyes and ask him to fight with you, now is the time to put your hand up and show the world who you are." These are the only words I remember from Dave's pre-race talk. I take a moment to relax and visualize the race, going through the moves. Meindert came up to me and grabs my arm. "Let's do this," he said.
On the water, I focused on the warm up. There was a bit of wake around from the other boats on the water which makes it harder to row; I told myself to remain calm and keep my breathing deep and paced. A couple practice starts, some pieces at race pace and we were ready. Our coxswain backed the eight into the starting blocks, and I suddenly felt my nerves. Do I even remember how to row? Too late: "The Netherlands, USA, Canada, Great Britain, Australia, Poland... ...attention... GO!"
We were fast out of the blocks, third at the 500 meter mark, third through the 1000, fourth at the finish line (2000m).
The Days Leading up to the Final.
As previously mentioned, we rowed the repechage with a spare rower because our bow rower Olivier had injured his back. The evening after the race, we decided that we would to row the final with Olivier, no matter how much practice he had to skip to recover from his injury. We also decided not to train without him. Although he was recovering well, this was going to be a gamble.
With only four days to go until the final, we took the first two off while he got better. We were left with only three sessions to get back together and make the last changes to our technique. The whole month preceding the games had been close to where we wanted to be but not quite spot on, and we knew that perfection was only a hair's breadth away. On Friday we went out for a short session. We were now backed up against a wall and desperate to get it right. The technical focus was a collective and dynamic lean-back. Fat Joe our coxswain rallied us, calling out "lean back" in his very proper British accent. It started to come.
We went out again on Saturday; this time you could feel eight guys leaning on their oars together and the boat flew. We knew down to our socks that it was fast, fast enough to compete for a medal.
The night before the race we went to bed early, but I don't think many of us managed to sleep before midnight. No-one thought of the race or rowing in general but a rallying excitement lingered long after lights-out, no matter how hard we tried to dim it down or to think of something mundane. Like a drug, I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins.
After the Race
My personal feeling crossing the finish line was one of sincere achievement. Let's just remember how far we had come to make it into the final. We performed so poorly during the first two World Cups that the Dutch NOC almost refused to allow us to enter the qualification regatta in Poland. With barely two weeks to go before the qualification we fired both our coaches, our coxswain, and replaced two rowers. Put into this perspective, coming fourth is an achievement we can be proud of.
However, there was also a huge feeling of disappointment: we had come so close! I felt deflated as I showered, helped put the boat in the container to be shipped home, and climbed back onto the bus. That evening there was a massive party at the Holland Heineken House for the Dutch teams who had medalled during the day. Thousands of Dutch fans partied and glorified the athletes that had made it on to the podium. I didn't hang around and left to get some fresh air and clear my thoughts.
My mood picked up again during the days that followed. Our tournament was over, but we had another whole week to enjoy being at the world's greatest sporting event ever, and I was back on the high that came with being at the Olympics and successfully competing to the best of our ability. It was an amazing week. For months we had treated our bodies like shrines of good health, but following the final I only managed eight hours of sleep in four days, ate breakfast, lunch and supper McDonald's and ended up catching a cold. We partied hard by night, and explored Beijing and its surroundings by day. We got to visit landmarks such as the Great Wall, the Summer Palace, Tienanmen Square and the Forbidden City. In the evening we would start at the Holland Heineken House, and move from there to the Budweiser House or other clubs. We got to mingle with hundreds, thousands of athletes from around the world, from [Rafael] Nadal [a Spanish tennis player] to [Michael] Phelps, from Rumanian gymnasts to Kenyan runners.
On the last day before I left, I took a walk through the city centre and stumbled across a wall that was clearly meant to prevent tourists from viewing the buildings behind it. I slipped through a gap in the fencing and found myself in a totally different world. I was standing in an alley that, though well lit, looked like something from a war scene in Iraq. The houses surrounding me were ruins that were barely standing, and I felt as if I had just entered the unkempt remains of a museum. I walked down the alley to explore a little further, past a bicycle that looked well over 80 years old (with at least that many years of cobwebs gathered on it) locked to a wooden lamppost, to a small makeshift market where women were trading vegetables and stacked produce on newspapers that lined the ground. Further on, a group of elderly men in tattered shirts and shirts pulled up over their stomachs huddled in a corner, sharing a packet of cigarettes and enraptured in a Chinese board game. They didn't notice me at first as I leaned against a wall and watched the proceedings, and when they realised they had company, they gazed at me as if I dropped out of a spaceship. Walking further I saw a mother feeding her infant and watched children playing in the open air. I was stunned by the simplicity of the life I was witnessing, and by the happiness on the children's faces as they played what looked like tag. I felt a sudden strong resentment towards the wealth and complications of Western life.
Back in the reality of the Olympic Village, we got dressed and left for the closing ceremony. It was an amazing display of China, its Olympic vision and ambition. What a privilege to participate in such an amazing event! As I said to Meindert: it was all worth it!
