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Just as a skilled rider is said to become part of his horse， the skilled oarsmen（桨手，划手）must become part of his boat. Harmony， balance， and rhythm. They’re the three things that stay with you your whole life. Without them civilization is out of whack（运作失常）. And that’s why an oarsman， when he goes out in life， he can fight it， he can handle life. That’s what he gets from rowing.
—George Yeoman Pocock（造船工匠兼大师波科克）
Ulbrickson took a position slightly up the ramp（斜坡）from them， to gain a bit of height advantage over these very tall boys. Things like that mattered to Ulbrickson. To marshal（引领）large men who were not all that much younger than him， and in many cases just as strong willed， he needed every advantage he could get. He straightened his tie and took his Phi Beta Kappa1 key from his vest（汗衫）pocket and began to twirl it on its lanyard（勋带）， as he often did on such occasions. He gazed out over them for a moment， saying nothing， letting his attitude silence them. And then， without prelude（前奏，开场白）， he began to tell them how it was going to be.
“You will eat no fried meats，” he began abruptly. “You will eat no pastries（油酥点心）， but you will eat plenty of vegetables. You will eat good， substantial（丰盛的）， wholesome（有益健康的）food—the kind of food your mother makes. You will go to bed at ten o’clock and arise punctually（准时地）at seven o’clock. You will not smoke or drink or chew. And you will follow this regimen（养生法，生活规则）all year round， for as long as you row for me. A man cannot abuse（滥用）his body for six months and then expect to row the other six months. He must be a total abstainer（节制者）all year. You will not use profane（亵渎的）language in the shell（轻赛艇）house， nor anywhere within my hearing. You will keep at your studies and maintain a high grade point average. You will not disappoint your parents， nor your crewmates. Now let’s row.”
There is a thing that sometimes happens in rowing that is hard to achieve and hard to define. Many crews， even winning crews， never really find it. Others find it but can’t sustain（维持）it. It’s called “swing（协调一致）.” It only happens when all eight oarsmen are rowing in such perfect unison（一致，和谐）that no single action by any one is out of synch（不同步）with those of all the others. It’s not just that the oars enter and leave the water at precisely the same instant. Sixteen arms must begin to pull， sixteen knees must begin to fold and unfold， eight bodies must begin to slide forward and backward， eight backs must bend and straighten all at once. Each minute action—each subtle turning of wrists—must be mirrored exactly by each oarsman， from one end of the boat to the other. Only then will the boat continue to run， unchecked（未遭抑制的）， fluidly（流畅地）and gracefully between pulls of the oars. Only then will it feel as if the boat is a part of each of them， moving as if on its own. Only then does pain entirely give way to exultation（狂喜）. Rowing then becomes a kind of perfect language. Poetry， that’s what a good swing feels like.
—George Yeoman Pocock（造船工匠兼大师波科克）
Ulbrickson took a position slightly up the ramp（斜坡）from them， to gain a bit of height advantage over these very tall boys. Things like that mattered to Ulbrickson. To marshal（引领）large men who were not all that much younger than him， and in many cases just as strong willed， he needed every advantage he could get. He straightened his tie and took his Phi Beta Kappa1 key from his vest（汗衫）pocket and began to twirl it on its lanyard（勋带）， as he often did on such occasions. He gazed out over them for a moment， saying nothing， letting his attitude silence them. And then， without prelude（前奏，开场白）， he began to tell them how it was going to be.
“You will eat no fried meats，” he began abruptly. “You will eat no pastries（油酥点心）， but you will eat plenty of vegetables. You will eat good， substantial（丰盛的）， wholesome（有益健康的）food—the kind of food your mother makes. You will go to bed at ten o’clock and arise punctually（准时地）at seven o’clock. You will not smoke or drink or chew. And you will follow this regimen（养生法，生活规则）all year round， for as long as you row for me. A man cannot abuse（滥用）his body for six months and then expect to row the other six months. He must be a total abstainer（节制者）all year. You will not use profane（亵渎的）language in the shell（轻赛艇）house， nor anywhere within my hearing. You will keep at your studies and maintain a high grade point average. You will not disappoint your parents， nor your crewmates. Now let’s row.”
There is a thing that sometimes happens in rowing that is hard to achieve and hard to define. Many crews， even winning crews， never really find it. Others find it but can’t sustain（维持）it. It’s called “swing（协调一致）.” It only happens when all eight oarsmen are rowing in such perfect unison（一致，和谐）that no single action by any one is out of synch（不同步）with those of all the others. It’s not just that the oars enter and leave the water at precisely the same instant. Sixteen arms must begin to pull， sixteen knees must begin to fold and unfold， eight bodies must begin to slide forward and backward， eight backs must bend and straighten all at once. Each minute action—each subtle turning of wrists—must be mirrored exactly by each oarsman， from one end of the boat to the other. Only then will the boat continue to run， unchecked（未遭抑制的）， fluidly（流畅地）and gracefully between pulls of the oars. Only then will it feel as if the boat is a part of each of them， moving as if on its own. Only then does pain entirely give way to exultation（狂喜）. Rowing then becomes a kind of perfect language. Poetry， that’s what a good swing feels like.