The girl at the back of the boat looks terrified. Donned in a glowing orange lifejacket, and letting out intermittent squeals of panic, she looks like she’s going to cry. Apparently she can’t swim. And I’m not exactly helping. In the sloshing choppy water of this Saturday afternoon, hundreds of metres off Stanley Main Beach, I’m kind of rocking the boat – literally and metaphorically. Some would even say that I’m completely at fault for this boat teetering on the edge of capsizing.

A friend has stupidly invited me to join his dragon boating crew, who are training in preparation for some upcoming carnival races. Little did he (or I) realise that I would be such a failure as a paddler – that, while the boat was floating in the middle of the wild ocean, I would be banished to the back (“the ‘girls’ end”, apparently). With much shame, I precariously walk to the rear of the long, phallic vessel, almost overturning the boat in the process.

Safely out back, the girls explain to me the finer points of paddling. “You don’t do much exercise, do you?” asks one of them, to which I respond by displaying an immense aptitude for splashing myself. Talented I may not be, but as we train, the ritual of the sport wins me over: the pulsating beat of the drum, the silent, nervous anticipation of the crouching ‘ready’ position, and the warm, fuzzy feeling induced by capital ‘T’ Teamwork.

Dragon boating, especially down here at Stanley, has always enjoyed a reputation as an excuse to party. But on the water, the scene sheds its jovial façade. Things turn nastily serious, more and more so the further we get from the protective eyes of the beach. Rival boats conjure menacing looks as we cross paths. A group of fluorescently clad, overzealous women try to destroy our humble boat with their sharpened aluminium vessel. And a capsule of pure testosterone powers past us, complete with grunting humans. A man with a guttural throat bellows “it’s showtime!” while the rest of his crew follow suit with a unnecessarily threatening roar. No one needs that on a serene summer afternoon.

But in a split second, a dozen boats respond, converging around us in a scene that’s half pre-battle frigate, half Fast and the Furious street racing. A fun afternoon paddling has become all out, impromptu racing war.

From the first flurry of splashes, it’s a blur of primal rhythm. All I recall is the glorious warmth of victory flowing through my body as we crossed the line first. And just like that, all my concerns evaporate, and the memory of almost killing my fellow crew fades conveniently into the sea. Winning cures all ills.

Mark Tjhung

The Hong Kong International Dragon Boat Race takes place on the Tsim Sha Tsui East waterfront on July 23 to 25.