Rowing/Sam Lynch's Diary: If it's Wednesday, this must be Belgium We're down on the slip. The boats are in racks behind Thor. The water is perfect. So is the morning. Our stomachs are filled with butterflies.

We drove down here a little while ago in silence. People began appearing, till there was a little congregation of us, but the silence wasn't broken. Everyone changed and charged. Now we're standing for this briefing from Thor, our coach.

Except I can't stand. I'm hopping. Fidgety. Too excited. Not nervous. Just a bit wired. It's the same with the group, you can feel the tension in the air. Today we turn the key in the ignition and we'll see what happens.

There's a briefing before every outing on the water. If we talk in a group for 10 minutes a day that's as much as we see of each other but this morning is different. Thor is good, he prepares you in the head as well as the heart. There's a start time for these pieces we are about to do, we're competing today against the heavyweight men's double team. The women's double will have a start on us. 10 seconds or so, and we have to close them down. Thor has produced a list. We all have to be at the start at a certain time or we'll be disqualified. Be there on time or just don't bother. That's how it will be in Duisburg this weekend, so that's how it is today.

You're given a lane and orders, the whole shebang. And away you go.

This morning won't be a race as such. It will be worse. Truth. We'll do 1,000 metres at maximum and 500 metres at maximum. We call it overproduction of speed. We actually go faster than we would for a race. Produce tremendously painful surges of lactic acid. If race pace for 2,000 metres is 6:20, we'll do a 3:03 today. That's well above race pace. So far above it the air is thin.

Today we see what we have. This weekend we show everyone else. This weekend we race.

If it's the weekend, it must be race time

Calm. Calm. Calm.

Last night Thor did something unusual. He gathered us all together after dinner and told us that he'd noticed a lot of tension in the group this week, a lot of anxiety. He told us we were to ease down. This weekend is Duisburg. It's not the Olympics or the World Championships. It's an early season race. A progress report.

This Duisburg regatta is important in a limited way. We're racing against heavyweights. We'll see what we have learned. What we have to do. More important in the big picture is Munich the week after.

In Duisburg there won't be that many established doubles. The big threat will be from the Poles and the Ukrainians. Both of them have medals before. If we win we'll be doing well but you don't know till you get there, though, what these countries are focusing on.

Calm. Thor is very clinical on race day. This morning is a run through for Duisburg. This isn't a sport where men bang tables and talk about dying for the colours. On race day this weekend Thor will discuss the race in terms of tactics. Everything is about being controlled and calm.

He does the job well. I remember we were very nervous last year about a heat at the World's. The Danish had been bronze medallists the year before and we were nervous about them. Thor sat us down and went through the list.

"These are who we are racing today. We'll do our own thing. We'll go off this way " And yadda yadda yadda.

We were sitting rapt. Waiting for the discussion of the Danes to begin. Thor continued. "Please don't try to control the race until you have at least open water between yourselves and all the others."

Gags (Gearóid Towey) and I looked at each other. Was that it? We were imagining a race we might win or lose by .2 of a second. The way Thor put it, though, removed all doubt. This is how good you are, he was telling us.

That day we had open water after 25 strokes. It was our best ever start. It was a good win. Five seconds. We went through the 400 metres mark knowing we had 1,600 metres of looking at the other guys struggling behind us.

After that, there was no adrenaline. Just working to the finish.

So why so jumpy today? No matter what way Thor dresses it up, it's a training session after all.

I can feel it, though. It's not a huge feeling, but it's there. For these performance sessions where there's a time at the end of it, you need to feel it in the stomach. You need to fool yourself into starting the adrenaline. A little while ago we did some warm-up pieces. Just a short burst over half an hour. One minute at well below race-pace than maybe two times 40 seconds at race-pace, then a 40-second burst above race-pace, spreading it about just to get sharp.

I could feel that we were going well. I almost said it to Gags, but to do so would be to curse us. We came here a few days ago feeling very flat. We went straight into a heavy programme that was quite performance-oriented. Everything was fine, but there was no sparkle about what we did. This morning, though, when we did our warm-up work it was really good.

So now we're on the slip and Thor is talking and I can't wait to be in the boat. This is what we live for.

If it's planned, it must be Thor-planned

Look at Thor. A morning in May. A bunch of us here all wired and nervy. How he loves it. How for a man in his 70s he brings his enthusiasm to everything we do.

In Mechelen, we're staying in this nice, really nice Novotel. Thor saw it being built three or four years ago and got in touch with the management. He agreed a rate for us before the hotel was built.

Now when we come to Mechelen we stay in this lovely hotel for half nothing. It's beautiful. Everyone is dispersed around the place. We're not in each other's pockets. You can drift off on your own. It's in the middle of the old town. It's so quiet it lulls me into thinking the place is pedestrianised.

And we train at this lovely lake about 10 kilometres away. Nice course. Peaceful place. Gives you the reassuring feeling of well-being.

It's perfect for racing. I was talking to Paul O'Sullivan this week. He's a good guy, an up-and-coming heavyweight, and he was asking me what he should be thinking of between now and the race. I said, "nothing".

"How do you mean, 'nothing'?" Not sure precisely how to define nothing, but when you're not rowing it's good to do stuff to make yourself feel good. Have a coffee, read a book, take a stroll. Just don't waste energy thinking about the rowing. Mechelin allows you do that. You can completely switch off. Away from everything. If Thor had created it himself he couldn't have done a finer job.

If it's luck, it must be me

A long time ago I got lucky. It's stayed that way. I was a small junior when I rowed at home. I had a good physiology. Technically, I wasn't great, but we all had a good time as juniors. I was moody, I suppose, but what teenager isn't? I was in crews all the time and hadn't gone through the single sculler thing. It was all crack. All good.

I made the junior team on my last year at the grade. I never stood out as a talent until that last year. As I say, I was very small, nine and a half stone and painfully skinny.

Then it happened quick. In that last year as junior I won an intermediate title. Two years later I was in the Olympics. I got big fast, grew up quickly. Thor had come on board around the time I was becoming a good junior.

He went on a mad talent development programme and suddenly I found myself stuck on an ergometer in the National Coaching Centre in Limerick. I was 17.

I did this ergo test. I did a decent score for my age. They measured my VO2 max, my oxygen uptake. It's a good measure of potential. In those terms I was as big as the best guy on the lightweight team even though in terms of absolute scores I was way, way down. Luckily, Thor said, "okay, we'll keep an eye on him for a while".

Gags was coming through as well. We got caught in that net. That period of excitement for Irish rowing. We got a lot of knowledge and expertise invested in us at the right time. I'm sure there are guys out there who are better than I wasat 17, but at that time there was an urgency to find people for Atlanta. I got the break.

In our club, Dermot Heneghan, who is now with the Olympic Council, coached us as juniors. We were taught how to row well and how to win well. With dignity. It was important to Dermot that we behaved in a sportsmanlike way. He'd give out if we didn't. If we were winning a race by miles, he'd be cross unless we won by as much as we could. You don't patronise people by slowing up.

And when we won we were barred from any screaming and roaring which might make the other crews feel small afterwards. How you react in defeat and victory says something about you as a competitor.

The lessons stayed. Munich in 2001. The Czech beat me in the semi-final. I had some equipment problems. That's a reason as opposed to an excuse. I went off the blocks in the final the next day and I won. I was four seconds clear at 500 metres. Won by four seconds. Destroyed him.

Afterwards we shook hands.

"Ah I looked over after 300 metres and I didn't see you so I thought you were behind me." he said.

Told me lots.

If it's a big celebration, it must be a small moment

I'm right. We're feeling good. We have that something extra. We row the 500 metres. The girls have an eight-second start on us. It's no big deal. The stagger isn't enough and they aren't meant to be crossing the line ahead of us.

Still, when we catch them and pass them it's a relief. We cross the line and stop up and when they pass us they pull up to have a chat about how we are feeling and how they are feeling.

For Gags and myself, though, there's this great, unspoken relief. Better than relief really. Confirmation of good news. We went well and it wasn't a grind.

So instead of talking to the girls, spontaneously we start cheering and screaming and hugging each other as if it had been a really big race. It's childish, but we can't stop.

"Good race, thanks very much. Gave us trouble there." All that bullshit. It must be really annoying for the girls; it's just one of those things that means nothing to anyone outside the boat.

In our own boat in the depths of winter we'd breeze along, row and go and do our own thing. Now there's a sense of camaraderie. We spend more time together, hanging out, just to build that feeling you need going into the season.

His well-being and mine are tied together in something we've been aiming at for four years. You notice it in the group, people getting tighter with each other.

There's more to talk about. The boat is going well and that helps a lot. We both react the same way when it comes to races. We're coming down to weight, both of us dieting harder than anyone else. I have to leave the table early because I'll pick at what's left. It all adds up. It's nice when you're not on your own.

If it's changing all the time, it must be suspect

Under Thor there are staple things we do, a staple philosophy. It feels like you are doing the same things for years. I moved into a new flat the last time I was at home and Mum and Dad sent up everything I had in the house at home in Limerick. There were papers from 1994 and 1995, college stuff that I couldn't decipher. And in the middle were training programmes from 10 years ago.

Looking at them I realised I hadn't noticed that the training programme had completely evolved over the last 10 years. Still some core sessions there, but there was something new every year.

Thor isn't flighty. Change is slow and thought out. Everything is based on a philosophy. If you can amend this or add to that you have to do it in the context of that philosophy.

There's a work study concept called the Hawthorne Effect. If you change something it will be better. Even just by studying it you alter the conditions. I don't really believe in it. Thor doesn't embrace change for the sake of it. The philosophy, the style of doing things is the key. We've been working together for so long now I have become his straight man.

He uses me as the foil. The lightning rod. He plays to the gallery off me, especially if we are in a new group. It looks demeaning, perhaps, but I'm used to it.

We had a Spanish competitor, Nuryia, in the car with us last year driving up the hairpins of the Sierra Nevada. And Thor was off. "Look at this long streak of Irish misery with his bad posture and his attitudes and his weight and think to yourself if he can win well so can I!"

We arrived at the hotel and Nuryia put her hand on my shoulder and said "Are you okay, Sam?" And I said "Yeah sure. why?.

"He gives you such a hard time." Never noticed.

I know he doesn't mean it. There's a reason. And he can turn it around. He does it because he knows I can take it and he has his purpose in doing it. He did it for me with Niall O'Toole when Niall was in his prime. He conscripts you on to his side. His regular theme is my weight and my posture.

Once in Seville back in March 2003, I'd come off eight weeks of injury. I'd had a bad time of it, got beaten up at Christmas and then got an injury and lost the plot for about six weeks. So, I got through it all and was back and on reduced gains for three or four days. Thor put me back in the single just to get a feel for rowing again.

We were all gathered looking at the video. I came up on the screen. Thor didn't pay that much attention. I could see it. I know what he'd be looking for.

"Look at this!" he was saying, "will he drown? What is he doing?" There was a lot of laughter. One of the boys was laughing a little too hard for Thor's liking, though.

We could see Thor's face register this. "It's funny, though. He's been world champion twice. What do you say about that? Some people here can't say that."

The laughter stopped. There was a line there that was never crossed again. Everyone noticed it. Or maybe Thor just felt that maybe I was fragile!

Being badly beaten this weekend or next weekend in Munich would be a setback. It might alter Thor's thinking. It's an information gathering experience, though. May is early enough if you are planning towards August. Crews will come into form. I would be very disappointed if we lose by a lot, but we won't throw the baby out with the bathwater at this stage. I believe what we are doing is fundamentally sound.

We'll keep going because we believe in the guy at the front. We'll keep doing what he tells us until he changes his mind.

If it's Tuesday, it must be Belgium again.

It goes like this Mechelen-Duisburg- Mechelen-Munich. Lots of to-ing and fro-ing. Planes (to Munich). Trains (back from Duisburg). Automobiles (to Duisburg). It all gets more hectic now.

I was in the room writing some notes the other day when I found myself pausing over the calendar and doing something I never do. Counting the days. I realised it was 101 days to our Olympic final. The thought hit me like a slap in the face. 'Wow! Just 101 days'.

Fortunately, I'm confident in what we've done and what we are doing. Pretty much regardless of what happens this weekend in Duisburg I don't think we'll feel the need to change our approach because it's an Olympic year. You have to have faith.

After all these years, I have faith in Thor.

And in that sense I realised that whether it's 100 days or 101 days, doesn't really matter. The path to Athens is built on your attitude and willingness to prepare and keep on preparing. Realising how close the Games are makes everything easier. One hundred days is a manageable amount. One hundred days you can't eat chocolate. One hundred days of pasta and tomato sauce. It's manageable.

Better than manageable. There's no real denial or sacrifice. I love it.

I went running with Eugene Coakley yesterday. Just a 20-minute loosener along the bank. Eugene is three years younger than me. We were talking as we ran. He was wondering if Beijing was on the cards for me. I was saying "definitely".

That's the plan.

"And you?" "Yeah and London if they get the Games." "I love it," I said. "I know," he said, "same here".

And we continued running, just looking out over the lake which was as still as glass with just one crew on the water scoring across the perfect surface. A few minutes later it would be ours. We'd be out for a session. Our pace quickened a little. We're in good shape. Nothing to do onlyrow, relax and prepare. Nowhere to do it except some of the most interesting and lovely places on earth, getting a sense of the world as we go.

One hundred days. Less.

Wouldn't change a thing.

(In conversation with Tom Humphries)