Mad about Saffron: Missing the boat

Sep 23 2008 By Saffron Pineger

You’ll remember I joined a rowing club to start a new hobby to distract me from searching for dates.

It's a good place to make friends but the lessons help to take my mind off my interminable search for dates which had started to ruin nights out with friends.

Although to be honest, there have been a few moments at the rowing club when my attention has been diverted by lycra-clad rowers marching about.

But my coach has only had to tell me to stop staring at them a few times. Apparently it’s important to look straight ahead and concentrate while you’re rowing.

There was one dark haired chap who caught my eye. He’s obviously a serious rower because he has the special all-in-one outfit that’s like a skin-tight vest sewed to a pair of cycling shorts.

He’s tall and seems a little more thoughtful than his boisterous rowing mates. I tried smiling at him a few times and I think he smiled back but I’m not sure. Maybe he was just grimacing.

Anyway, after last session I walked back to the railway station with my housemate Kat, who had also joined the club.

We strolled onto the platform in our tracksuit bottoms with our rucksacks on our backs. And there he was, with his back to us, digging into a tub of pasta with a plastic fork.

My first instinct was to march up to him, yelling ‘Hi, you were at rowing weren’t you, what’s your name?’

But a sudden attack of timidity gagged me. I froze. “It’s him!” I hissed to Kat. She looked bemused.
 
I decided that we should hide from him on the platform then get on the same carriage he did. I would try to catch his eye and maybe he would be encouraged into a rowing-themed conversation.

To cut a long story short, it was a rubbish plan.

Once on the train, he pushed his way through several carriages until he was quite a long from us. Maybe he had spied me hiding behind that pillar.

And possibly I wasn’t looking my best. I have never worn sportswear well and my face was red and sweaty from my struggles on the rowing machine. I had tied back my frizzy hair whilst simultaneously trying to row and I don’t think I had done a very good job.

We decided that to try to follow him to his carriage might be perceived as weird so we sat down where he was just within sight.

He seemed to be avoiding eye contact with me and I felt that my chance was slipping away. I asked Kat if she thought I should go and talk to him and was forced to agree when she said no, it would look odd to do it now. I had missed the boat.

He got off at the station before ours. Either he hadn’t seen me or if he did, he didn’t feel like a get-to-know you chat.

On reflection, maybe my strange behaviour isn’t giving off the best vibes. Maybe I should be stricter with myself and try to completely focus on my oarsmanship (oarswomanship?).

But it’s not easy, I know I will be looking out for the dark-haired one next week. And this time I’m going to try to act on instinct rather than scampering around like a weirdo.