The third－and final－training session was hellishly tough, going full tilt, up and down the lake, for over an hour. I slept very well that night, even though, for the next few days, it seemed as if my left and right sides belonged to two different people.

Sleep, however, abandoned me the night before the race; my nerves were jangling as much as my muscles after that first, punishing training session. I feared, more than anything, letting the side down.

The adrenaline coursing through my veins got the better of me as the report of the starter's gun echoed across the lake. I started paddling way too furiously. I realized that I'd pulled myself out of time with the drum, and was, as a result, probably having a detrimental effect on the rhythm of my teammates behind me.

After scolding myself, I settled into step with the drum and everything narrowed into just my paddle, the beat and the frantic splashing of water. It was then I looked up and realized that we were dragging way behind our opponents, who had streaked into an early lead and were in no danger of surrendering it. The bitter taste of disappointment lingered on my palate as we eased our vessel home.

Despite this, I clambered out of the boat, helping my teammates alight onto the pontoon, surprisingly with no sense of fatigue and a burning desire to do it all again. All the pain, worry and nerves had been distilled into just 1 minute and 56 seconds.

While there is no tale of underdog victory with which to bore people in the pub, joining the team has helped me overcome my crippling cynicism toward company-organized "fun "and my reticence to get involved with group activities because of a supposed cultural and linguistic barrier.

As we gathered together as a team after the race, I was embraced and applauded for my effort, and I reciprocated heartily. We collectively found solace in watching three other teams post slightly worse times than us, making light of our lowly ranking with jokes and promises to come back stronger next year.

And why wouldn't we? If Wind in the Willows taught me anything, it's that a small, furry British-born character knew how to get the best out of a boat, and next year, I believe, is the year of the Rat.

mccarthy@chinadaily.com.cn