Stroke of Luck Read Online Free PDF

tackling rowing, she figured he’d chuckle at the sniper comparison too.
    She took a deep breath and locked her focus on the job as the officials signaled the start of the first heat. Time to get to work.
    * * * * *
     
    It was time. Robert joined his teammates on the small dock and boarded the scull. The coxswain readied them and Robert went through the checklist with the rest of the team. At the first time trial, it was important to get a feel for the water, then make their next one their best, earning a spot on the Olympic team. He knew his teammates felt the same way. This was the beginning of the real deal. It was vital that they start out strong and not have any glitches.
    The sights and sounds of the competition were addictive to Robert. If he hadn’t been competing, he knew he’d have been there on the sidelines, just taking it all in. The enthusiasm and energy of the fans was contagious. The area popped with color and smells. The scent of the sunblock some of the rowers favored, mixed with a healthy dose of anticipation, settled over the venue.
    The US finals competition was set up just like the Olympics. The best times in each heat would move forward, but there would also be a repechage round, which would allow them one more chance to move to the finals. Making it through to the Championship, and thus the Olympics, via the repechage was not on his agenda.
    The crew was settled and the coxswain had a focused look on his face. He was like the driver of the tram, and considering that the boat was sixty feet long and made out of carbon fiber, “tram” was a pretty good way to think of it. Robert always thought of the cox as being the squad leader. He’d been one back in the Rangers, but here he was happy simply to take orders.
    When everyone was settled in the boat, feet planted securely and oars at the ready, they looked at the Cox. Seconds later the horn sounded and they were off. Despite movie depictions, the cox didn’t yell “stroke, stroke” but the orders were obvious and fluidly counted out. The boat moved forward quickly at the release and Robert paced himself. He had been worried, as the new member, that some of the movements would be awkward. Rowing at this level was about working as a team and being certain that each oar blade hit the water in a precise way and with the correct angle to move them through the water. Fans watching the sport were known to say that something so flawless had to be easy. As his heart worked strenuously to keep up with his responsibility, and the muscles in his legs, arms, shoulders and back strained through the repetitive motion, he focused on one thing—the end of the line.
    The cox’s call for the “power ten”, meaning the finish was close, made his adrenaline spike higher. They were going to do it.
    * * * * *
     
    Annalisa caught her breath and almost forgot to snap the picture. Only her muscle memory allowed her to zoom in and do her job. Buchanan’s squad was working like a well-oiled machine and it was, oddly, the most beautiful sight she’d ever witnessed. She saw it all through her lens—the strain on each rower’s face, the ultimate concentration on the job at hand, the seamless and unhurried instructions of the coxswain. Her camera motor shuttered quickly and almost silently through a series of shots. A mere touch of her fingers changed the point of view from the cox at the back of the boat to the middle, where Robert was working. She took the pictures without conscious thought, knowing there were many winners in this grouping. As a professional, she knew her shots would be crisp and vital.
    As a woman, she felt a stirring inside her. The intensity on Robert’s face was compelling in ways that couldn’t be ignored. Sweat was running freely across his brow, down his nose and dripping off his chin. The muscles in his arms bunched and released with a precision that made her wish her fingers were resting against them. The motion of his hips and torso sent