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I participated in a London tradition last week: The Oxford/Cambridge Boat Races.

Just to be clear, my role in this situation was to drink Prosecco and take photos from the comfort of a friend’s garden by the Thames. I did zero strenuous things.

The Boat Race has been happening every year (save a few) for 160 years between Oxford and Cambridge universities. Going into 2016’s race, the score was practically tied, with Cambridge ahead by two races (81 to 79, with one tie). The teams of strapping young men and women have one shot to win it each year. I think if they did ‘best-two-outta-three’ each athlete would pass out in the middle of the second race. So the pressure is on.

The teams locked their shoes into the boat.
The helicopters circled, filming the live-stream.
Boats full of photographers and officials were idling, anticipating the start.
I filled up my glass.

We’re ready.

The women raced first. It took about a minute for teams to get to our view of the Thames, and they glided by in about thirty seconds. Sooo… after 120 seconds we all went back inside — it was really windy that day! — to watch the race on TV. That’s when it got interesting.

The wind caused a long stretch of the Thames to be extra choppy, and Cambridge’s team began to take on water. They were sinking.

We watched as they rowed, wondering amongst ourselves if a member would have to jump out in order to save the boat, which was betraying them with every stroke. They were told to stop. It’s over. They kept rowing.

And slowly, the water started whooshing out with every stroke instead of splashing in. And they kept rowing.

Then Oxford crossed the finish line. And they kept rowing.

They were a true representation of perseverance (with a healthy does of “eff you, we’re not stopping now!”) and teamwork. And it was over in less than 20 minutes.

Sure, they were disappointed, but I was inspired. Way to go, Cambridge: you showed up — and you kept rowing.