In the spring, we set out for the San Diego Crew Classic, one of the largest, most prestigious regattas in the rowing world. Of every single race I have ever raced in my five years of rowing, this particular race was by far my favorite. I will never forget this race, probably the craziest, most exciting thing I have been a part of. This regatta is notoriously known for very poor conditions, usually very high winds and extremely choppy water. Again, I led the Junior Varsity Eight. Saturday morning we executed our race plan perfectly, and secured the best lane we could have in the top final on Sunday. The conditions were abnormally swell, and we all discussed how lucky we had been. We met on land, and got our heads straight as we knew we were racing for a trophy the following morning. Come Sunday, conditions were again uncharacteristically excellent. However, once we were locked in seconds from the starting call, the conditions completely shifted, bringing on the usual winds and side chops. We had a very poor start, led by my own lack of a proper point and failure to prepare for the conditions. Off the line, we were in fourth. Due to our haphazard start and the conditions, our race plan went out the window, nerves erupted, and we began a long race down the course at a high 40 strokes per minute. Marist, the race leader, sat with clear open water in front of us for nearly the entire race. I did my absolute best to keep my boys calm, level headed, and in a position to win. Finally, at about 550 meters to go, with Marist over a full boat length in front, I yelled "WE CAN STILL ABSOLUTELY WIN THIS. I DIDN'T COME OUT HERE TODAY TO LOSE. YOU KICK THE RATE AS HIGH AS YOU CAN GET IT AND WE WILL SURGE THROUGH MARIST AND WIN." My stroke seat Leon Friedrichowitz, kicked us to a comedically high 46 strokes a minute, backed by the powerful guys behind him, and we began the most crazed sprint I have ever been a part of. The announcer laughed when he clocked our strokes per minute. With less than 250 meters to go, Marist's coxswain was sitting clear on my bow. By the sheer refusal of the men in my boat to lose, and to the shock of every person watching that race, we ran them down and came out 0.65 seconds in front. I still get emotional every time I recall it. Sure, we could have executed our race plan properly and probably beaten Marist by a full length, but my brothers and I wouldn't change the way we did it for anything.