Running west along the Schuylkill River trail last week, during a rare, only partially cloudy day, I noticed, as I often do, the fleets of rowers on the slow-moving waterway. The sheer number of shells was like a scene from the movie Troy, without the sails or atrocious acting.
Mixed in among the rowers were a number of coaches, using bullhorns, directing, often yelling, orders at the amateur athletes: "You in the back, you're off by a split second. Step it up a notch. Most of you are not turning the oars properly. Don't break your scull. Flow, dammit, flow. Be lighter than the boat."
As I listened closely I began hearing commands that took my attention from the crowded trail ahead and back to the water.
"You call that a hoagie?" I heard shouted through the bullhorn. "You don't even have tomatoes on that thing."
Were the rowers eating on the boat? From my vantage point this was not the case. There was, however, a young couple sitting down by the bank of the river having a picnic and, yes, they were eating hoagies.
"What kind of blanket is that?" screamed the coach. "Looks like wool. It's summer out here buddy. Oh, look at me, I am sitting on a wool blanket in the summer. I need the attention that a wool blanket gives me in the hot summer."
The coach, and not just this coach, was critiquing and criticizing picnickers enjoying their spreads all along the waterfront.
As he steered the small, quiet boat upstream he moved to the next couple who was enjoying some wine and cheese.
"Looks like Boone's baby. At least spring for some Bartles and James. Oh, and sip the wine, don't gulp it."
The couple attempted to cover up the Boone's label, and did admit that "a nicer bottle of wine was only a few more dollars."
Most of the couples didn't really know what to make of the coach shouting at them. Some laughed, others pointed up with a certain finger and some countered with their own advice, often harsh, back across the water.
Just then I heard a second voice coming from my back left, another coach. "Get those knees up. Straighten your back. Get some real running shoes. Are those Velcro laces?"
They were not Velcro laces, I am proud to say, but I did realize that I was leaning forward quite a bit while running. For the remainder of the run I implemented the unsolicited advice and felt much better.
"Sure, we're out here to help the rowers," said University of the Arts men's rowing coach, Ben Baxter. "But we want to offer advice where ever we see fit to the throngs of recreationalists that gather along the river's bank. It would be silly if we didn't help out."
Many coaches claim they have been "helping the land lovers" for quite some time and, for whatever reason, it has only been noticed in the last couple of years.
A word of advice: if you don't want to be harshly judged on the chip selection accompanying your picnic than go with Cool Ranch Doritos, as they seem to be equally liked among the rowing coaches.
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