Cox:
It's pretty obvious what traits a cox must adopt and tries to learn to do a good job in this most unique position in the athletic world. I'll pass on the leadership stuff, napoleon complex garbage, and point out a secondary characteristic or two that coxes unintentionally inherit after riding in the box for a while.
They can't drive a car anymore. They take 10 miles to change a lane, oversteer, can't find the brakes, and yell to the car a lot. This has nothing to do with the coxes' former driving ability. Stick Richard Petty in a cox seat for a while, they'll take his drivers license away. Coxes also begin to squint a lot, no loss in vision, they just squint.

Stroke:
'It's a tough job but only I can do it.' The meekest, most frightened non-rower in the world - when plugged reluctantly in the stroke seat, stays meek up until the first few strokes. The first few paddle strokes, a thought grows in the wimps' sniveling little mind that this job is his/hers for life. Back on the shore, the real personality will percolate back to the surface. 'I hope you guys could follow me ok'. In the boat they're thinking: 'stop rushing, you weenies!" Strokes are born and made to be the most competitive person in the boat by far, and if they stroke long enough, become overly competitive in everything they pursue, or don't pursue.. Don't expect to finish a game of Monopoly, Risk, or Golf with a stroke. The only one that can beat him to the chow line is the three man (more later) because the stroke was delayed trying to put more oars away in the rack than anyone else.

Seven:
The seven seat is the Bitch Niche. I don't know if whining, overly bossy, big mouthed complainers are born, and I can't believe that the cosmic effect of this seat could possibly be so instantaneous, but you could teach Mother Theresa to row in a tank, stick her in an eight at seven for the first time, and as the stern four is rowing away from the dock, she'll turn around and yell at the bow four to 'set up the f*cking boat'. The longer one rows at seven, the more sophisticated and complex the bitching becomes, changing from a crude verbal rowing suggestion to the six man in the early stages to long winded level-voiced reasoned treatises after every piece explaining why the crew is slower now than last week. Ever wonder why when a coach drives up shell-side to ask how a piece went he says: 'So how did that go, fellas? -Not you seven.' I was a team captain, looked up to leader of my college crew, kept my mouth shut and did my job. I raced one week at seven, my coach told me to 'shut up Sullivan' in a post race meeting.

Six:
If you bred Arnold Swartzeneggar with a Golden Retriever, you get a six. Six is also Seven's yin. The gentle giant, gorilla in the mist. Six absorbs most of seven's bitching and keeps it from moving through to the rest of the crew. Six nods and agrees a lot. It is a hard thing for a normal person to row six. It seems like such a great seat, you're in the stern, the boats more stable here, but you are done with a rowing career at six, you find you been used. Sixes are characterized by great competence in execution of rowing and life, but poor self confidence and a propensity to self-flagellation. Take your 3 year stroke out of the stroke seat and stick him/her at six for a week. This will be the first time you ever hear him/her say: 'My fault, fellas', at the end of a poor piece. Sixes meditate. Sixes marry, go to work for, and lend their power tools to sevens. This support system keeps sevens with thriving businesses, mates they can walk all over, and a garage full of power tools at their disposal that they don't have to fix when they break.

Five:
God. Yahweh. Allah. Buddha. It's not that the five seat IS those things, it's just that's how (s)he gets treated. Five's stool don't stink, the catches don't hang. They're the older brother or sister that gets special treatment, and has no idea. If a photo is taken of the crew, f

Of all the battles a SEAL (Sea, Air, Land) must fight, none is more important than their first– the battle of mind over body.
The voice was back. That small, self-doubting messenger returned to pitch its familiar monologue, “This is BS! Why are you putting yourself through this? You are never gonna make it all the way, so quit now and call it a day!”

Basic Underwater Demolitions and SEAL (BUD/S) instructors know the human machine is capable of amazing endurance even in the harshest of conditions and environments, but they also know the mind must be made to ignore the pleading of the body.

As their name suggests, SEALs are trained to conduct operations in any arena, and successful candidates spend 18 to 24 months in training before being assigned to teams. Every step is a challenge, and each test is progressively more difficult.

On average, 70 percent of candidates never make it past Phase One.
For most, the greatest challenge lies in Week 4 of Phase One. A grueling 5.5 days, the continuous training ultimately determines who has the ability and mindset to endure.

“Welcome to Hell Week.”

Trainees are constantly in motion; constantly cold, hungry and wet. Mud is everywhere–it covers uniforms, hands and faces. Sand burns eyes and chafes raw skin. Medical personnel stand by for emergencies and then monitor the exhausted trainees. Sleep is fleeting–a mere three to four hours granted near the conclusion of the week. The trainees consume up to 7,000 calories a day and still lose weight.

The inner voice mimics the BUD/S instructor pacing the line of waterlogged men with his bullhorn. “If you quit now you could go get a room at one of those luxury hotels down the beach and do nothing but sleep for an entire day!

Throughout Hell Week, BUD/S instructors continually remind candidates that they can “Drop-On-Request” (DOR) any time they feel they can’t go on by simply ringing a shiny brass bell that hangs prominently within the camp for all to see.

“The belief that BUD/S is about physical strength is a common misconception. Actually, it’s 90 percent mental and 10 percent physical,” said a BUD/S instructor at the San Diego facility. “(Students) just decide that they are too cold, too sandy, too sore or too wet to go on. It’s their minds that give up on them, not their bodies.”

“Whaddaya think? All you have to do is get up and go smack the hell out of that shiny, brass bell. You KNOW you want to. …”

It is not the physical trials of Hell Week that are difficult so much as its duration: a continual 132 hours of physical labor.

Through the long days and nights of Hell Week, candidates learn to rely on one another to keep awake and stay motivated. They tap one another on the shoulder or thigh periodically and wait for a reassuring pat in response that says, “I’m still hangin’ in there, how ‘bout you?” They cheer loudly when they notice a mate struggling to complete his mission and use the same as fuel when they themselves feel drained. They learn to silence that inner voice urging them to give in and ring that hideous, beautiful bell.

Sleep. He would do anything for it. He couldn’t remember what day it was, or when he had last had sleep. But, he knew it felt good, and NOTHING about “Hell Week” felt good. He had been cold and wet for days. There were open sores along his inner thigh now from being constantly soaked. And every time he moved, the coarse, wet camouflage raked over the wounds, sending lightening bolts of pain through his body. Maybe the voice was right. Maybe he should just get up, walk over, and ring that bell.

As Navy SEALs put their lives on the line defending America, each member of that team must know without a doubt that the man fighting next to him will not give in or punk out when things start to get rough.

“NO! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” he silently screamed at the pessimistic voice as the sea came at him again. It wor

Quotes from
Gladiator (2000)


Maximus Decimus Meridius: At my signal, unleash hell.



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[Maximus looks at images of his wife and son]
Juba: Can they hear you?
Maximus Decimus Meridius: Who?
Juba: Your family. In the afterlife.
Maximus Decimus Meridius: Oh yes.
Juba: What do you say to them?
Maximus Decimus Meridius: To my son -- I tell him I will see him again soon. To keep his heels down while riding his horse. To my wife... that is not your business.

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Gracchus: I don't pretend to be a man of the people. But I do try to be a man for the people.

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Commodus: Am I not merciful? AM I NOT MERCIFUL?

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[To his dead friend]
Juba: I will see you again... but not yet. Not yet!

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Lucilla: I want to help you.
Maximus Decimus Meridius: Yes, you can help me... Forget you ever knew me, and never come back here again.

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Maximus Decimus Meridius: I knew a man once who said, "Death smiles at us all. All a man can do is smile back."
Commodus: I wonder, did your friend smile at his own death?
Maximus Decimus Meridius: You must know. He was your father.
Commodus: You loved my father, I know. But so did I. That makes us brothers, doesn't it? [stabs him] Smile for me now, brother.

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Lucilla: Is Rome worth one good man's life?

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[Watching Lucius sleep]
Commodus: He sleeps so well because he is loved.

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Maximus Decimus Meridius: What we do in life, echoes in eternity.

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[after swiftly dispatching another gladiator]
Maximus Decimus Meridius: Are you not entertained? Are you not entertained? Is this not why you are here?

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Maximus Decimus Meridius: My name is Maximus Decimus Meridius, Commander of the Armies of the North, General of the Felix Legions, loyal servant to the true emperor, Marcus Aurelius. Father to a murdered son, husband to a murdered wife. And I will have my vengeance, in this life or the next.

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Quintus: People should know when they are conquered.
Maximus Decimus Meridius: Would you, Quintus? Would I?

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Maximus Decimus Meridius: Five thousand of my men are out there in the freezing mud. Three thousand of them are bloodied and cleaved. Two thousand will never leave this place. I will not believe they fought and died for nothing.

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Marcus Aurelius: There was a dream that was Rome. You could only whisper it. Anything more than a whisper and it would vanish, it was so fragile.

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Gracchus: He will bring them death, and they will love him for it.

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Maximus Decimus Meridius: Strength and honor.

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[addressing his troops]
Maximus Decimus Meridius: If you find yourself alone, riding through green fields with the sun on your face, do not be troubled, for you are in Elysium, and are already dead.

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