Seven minutes for a lifetime of glory as Puspure goes for gold
THE crisp chunk of the blade through water is the only sound she hears. This is where the race will be won.
Lake Varesi, northern Italy.
A motionless morning in mid-August, simmering heat combining with the heat of movement making it seem even hotter than the 26C.
To the north, although 350km away, Sanita Puspure can see the majestic Alps and cups her hand as if to roll them in a ball for safe-keeping.
Although some of the record 17-strong Irish team are also in the three-week camp, sometimes she just likes to do her own thing.
Patrick, 11, and Daniella, 10, are home in Cork with their dad, Kaspars; they have known no other life.
“A few years ago, every time I went away, I promised myself I had to make it count so much,” says Puspure. “But it wasn’t good for me. I’m more relaxed now. I know nobody at home is demanding that I win all the time.”
Plovdiv, Bulgaria. Another still morning. Yesterday’s single sculls semi-final. She is at one with her blade, like a sculptor with his clay.
The relaxed, loose shoulders and arms betray the solid core of her middle as, with every stroke, the legs compress for the catch and are pushed down for the finish. She wins, pulling away.
Funny how in this sport you can’t see where you’re going but you can see the people you’re beating.
Puspure knows this is also a sport where the only way to go forwards is backwards.
The two-time Olympian, now 36, has suffered injury this season and decided to skip the European Championships and a World Cup regatta, but then claimed a silver medal in the two she did enter.
Puspure, limbs throbbing, head banging, flashes a smile at the sky and allows a small fist pump to illuminate her satisfaction. She has submitted to the process and progress has followed. Tomorrow is another day.
London, the Olympics, 2012. “I thought my life would change.” But nothing changed. Out of her modest funding, she spends around €3k on entry fees alone.
Even with the O’Donovans’ global fame, rowing is not sexy. Few Irish care, only when the big events are on, then the bandwagon revs up and ministers press send on those obsequious self-congratulatory emails.
“Since the O’Donovans’ success, expectations have soared. The whole country was on their feet. Everybody expects them to win. And then that becomes the normal because we keep delivering.
“Despite all the medals, and my fourth at the worlds last year, our funding didn’t change. We have more athletes, our biggest team, more boats. The women’s pair is patched up, terrible state, but they make it work.”
She used to have an agent but now she just lists her email on her Twitter handle; you half-guess she’s disappointed when a sports writer contacts looking to get something from her, rather than a sponsor looking to give something to her.
“I’m not expecting anything. Maybe some day it’ll work out.”
She sees the families on holiday at every training camp and longs to be one of them, normal.
“It always feel like you’re leaving part of yourself somewhere else. Like you’re a slightly different person. We never have holidays.”
The do visit but time is precious; yesterday, they all ate ice-cream together. Precious moments.
Silver
They are old enough to know what she does now. When she won silver in Lucerne, Daneilla told her she could have done better. Who needs a coach?
At least they are witnesses to the sacrifice. But whose sacrifice is it?
“It’s unfair to them that they have to make the sacrifice in order for me to pursue my dream. It bugs me. But at the same time I hope they will see some benefits from this, self-discipline, knowing that hard work gets rewards..most of the time!”
She’d ask them if she wasn’t afraid what the answer might be. What if they told her to stop? Maybe she’ll ask them next week.
For now, this is where the race is won. Seven minutes for a lifetime of glory.