Supporting from the Sidelines

Whether it’s rugby, football, music or dance – a student’s co-curricular journey never only involves them. LWC parent (and teacher) Jo Mackenzie, reflects on the canoe race that gave her purpose and some unexpected partnerships.

 

When my son first told me he wanted to do the Devizes to Westminster Canoe Race, my initial reaction was admiration, mixed with a little scepticism. I’d seen students prepare for it in previous years and always thought it was an impressive feat. But as a rower myself, I’ll admit, I didn’t really ‘get it’.

 

Then came the moment I realised that I wasn’t only going to be cheering from the sidelines. I was to be part of the machine that made this race possible. That machine, I quickly learned, runs on early mornings, precise logistics, portage snacks and the mysterious co-ordination of a man named Tony.

 

To prepare ourselves for the big event, my husband and I started to support smaller, four-hour races. These provided training both for the paddlers and for us, the crew. That’s when I first encountered the curious ritual of feeding the paddlers mid-race. I’ll admit, I was baffled. Surely teenagers could survive four hours without a jam sandwich or jelly baby? Apparently not.

 

Suddenly, my precious Sundays vanished into a blur of Google Maps, lock stops and warnings from seasoned parent-supporters shouting, ‘No touching the boat!’ and ‘Don’t hand them their paddles!’ We became aware that only two ‘feeders’ were allowed during the Devizes to Westminster Race, or we would face penalties. It all felt a little over the top. Surely the other parents were taking it all a little too seriously?

 

Then came race day.

 

I was as nervous and excited as my son by this point. Over the next three days, we were up by 5am and driving cross-country to be at the right lock, at the right time. The Tupperware was firmly in hand. I wasn’t just feeding my own child, but became part of a well-oiled support system, feeding several other crews (apart from when my husband left the food behind). It was all a blur of brownies, energy gels and words of encouragement shouted from riverbanks.

 

Then there was Tony.

 

This potentially mythical figure co-ordinates every support crew across the entire route via WhatsApp. Who’s meant to be where, when and what they’re doing seems to all fall to Tony.

 

‘Tony says we’re late to the next lock.’

 

’Tony needs the last lock time.’

 

‘Tony’s moving us to Feed Point C.’

 

At one point, I genuinely questioned if he was real, or an AI experiment gone rogue. Other parents claimed to have met him. I remain unconvinced. But one thing is certain—without Tony, none of us would have had a clue. And the paddlers? Well, they’d still be somewhere in Wiltshire, wondering where their energy gels had gone.

   

It was on the first day of the race that it all finally made sense. This wasn’t just a physical challenge for the students. It was a test of community, teamwork and endurance for all of us. The paddlers needed constant nourishment, but they also needed our presence, support, cheers and jam sandwiches (which I lovingly cut into little squares every morning).

 

On the final day, I caught sight of my son, paddling with his partner toward the finish line; so determined after more than 100 miles of paddling.

 

I can’t think about this moment without welling up. It was, quite simply, one of the proudest moments of my life.

 

But it wasn’t just about him. It was about all of them. The other students (many of whom I teach). The parents I now feel bound to by early mornings, shared tips for feeding and the genuine support we gave to each other’s children. And not forgetting the amazing coaches who gave so much of their time to support us, as much as the students.

 

When it was all over and I woke to no scheduled locks or 5am jam sandwich-making, I felt a bit lost. The bubble had burst, having stayed airborne for four days, giving me purpose and unexpected joy.

 

I’ve supported my son through many competitions—tennis matches, rugby games, school performances—but nothing has come close to the emotional and physical journey of this one. The camaraderie, the chaos, the utter commitment of everyone involved—all worth it.

 

And guess what? He wants to do it all again next year!

 

Maybe I’ll finally get to meet Tony.