We were off and racing in a heat for crews of eight on the Olympic rowing lake near the southern English village of Dorney in one of the last regattas on the proper 2,000-metre course before the real athletes turn up to fight for gold at the summer Games in London.

We were up against five mostly university crews in our category on Saturday, including the boys from Clare College at Cambridge University, whose gleaming new boat contained a former blue and a reserve crewmember from this year's Boat Race.

This was going to hurt.

Our crew from the Champion of the Thames Rowing club in Cambridge and another crew from Twickenham Rowing club were the only "town" clubs in the heat, with the men in our boat ranging in age from 55 to 28 and of varying heights.

I'm 48 and in the "engine room" in the middle of the boat at the five seat.

We've been training all year to get here. Along the way we picked up a national championship last month as a veteran or "masters" crew, came seventh in the annual Cambridge winter league and spent a lot of time in the cold rain bashing up and down the Cam river alongside all the university college crews.

Metropolitan Regatta, which has been handing out the silverware to the cream of British school, university and club rowing crews since at least 1866, holds its modern annual regatta here at the Eton College Rowing Centre, created for the elite British school attended by princes William and Harry.

The purpose-built lake surrounded by the green and rolling countryside of southern England about 25 miles west of London is beautifully laid out. It has an enormous rowing complex at the finish, sleek floating docks to boat from and a separate lake beside the race course just for rowing up to the start. But the bucolic surroundings have been scarred with fresh earthworks.

Green security fencing hems the complex in against the countryside, giant steel grandstands facing the lake have begun to sprout from the ground, scaffolding covers most of the works and enormous squares of blue plastic are dotted around the lake.

At the moment, those observations are just a blur following a horrendous start where the other crews disappear ahead, leaving us in dead last at the 300 metre mark as the lactic acid starts to make itself felt in my legs.

HANDS AWAY

Despite the excitement of rowing on the course where the Canadian, British and German national eights are the hot favourites for medals this summer, I am trying to concentrate on the sequence of the stroke, having to think through each phase of a movement that is second nature to Olympic muscles.

Blade into the water and push on the legs with every ounce of strength until knees down, lean back, pull arms in, tap hands down to extract blade...

"We're settling at 33 (strokes per minute) shouts our 17-year-old cox Cathy Rule and my lungs are already burning.

I wonder how much more it might hurt to be settling at an Olympic pace of around 35-38 strokes per minute before an image of an entire crew with their eyes rolling back in their heads comes to mind as the 500 metre sign flashes by.

"I'll never keep this up for another 1,500 metres," I think and then the stern of the boat to our right appears out of the corner of my eye. It's the other town club Twickenham.

Rule urges us to push up on them and we go for it.

We move through Twickenham and put them to our stern but although I can see Southampton University crew out of the corner of my eye, we just can't reel them in. We finish half a boat length behind them, but then they are 25 years younger and we are fifth out six boats. I'm gasping and I want to retch.

AMATEURS

Later, after taking the boat apart and stowing it on the trailer for the long, inglorious ride back to Cambridge, we discuss the humbling experience of coming fourth to last out of the 17 crews in the regatta's lowest event for eights and some two minutes slower than the Olympic medallists will do down the same course in a few weeks.

I look out admiringly at the sea of lycra-clad rowers: Leander crew in their distinctive pink livery, Molesey in piratical black and white, Oxford blue, Cambridge blue, crews in skin-tight scoop-necked to the thighs all-in-one unisuits of every colour under the sun from lurid lavender to cherry red.

Rowing is often viewed as an elite sport. The Boat Race is between Cambridge and Oxford. The top British event, Henley Royal Regatta, is part of the British summer season and crews from around the world, including Ivy League universities such as Harvard and Princeton are often contenders.

But below the elite level for top international oarsmen in Britain, a vast amateur network stretches out across a nation with traditions and trophies dating back to the days when Britannia really did rule the waves.

And everyone from old duffers in a double scull to the potential Olympian will find a welcome at some level in the sport. Former Olympic gold medallists such as Matthew Pinsent and Steve Redgrave are often seen marshalling at lower level events laughing and chatting with delighted amateur competitors.

For an amateur tennis player it would be like being umpired by Boris Becker at Wimbledon or for a runner like getting starting instructions from U.S. gold medal-winning sprinter Carl Lewis at your local meet in the Olympic stadium.

"It's only a few weeks before the Olympics, so it's pretty cool to do something on the same course as the Olympians," said Jamie Campbell, a 36-year-old scientist and our boat's captain, summing up the day and the real democratic, have-a-go spirit of rowing in Britain.

"Your average running club wouldn't be able to do that."

(Reporting by Paul Casciato)

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