Greg Searle: 'I brace myself for a collision'

This was the day we have been working towards for 18 months, the first race. As we leave the dock, the remainder of the 80-strong team, the families, including my daughter Josie running around like crazy, and a host of British supporters cheer us off. I feel excited – and responsible to everyone who has put so much into this project.

Most of the team are quite moved by the send-off and ready for battle, but as we get near the race course, it is good to get back into our routine. We go into autopilot once the sails go up. One of our experienced America's Cup campaigners, Chris Mason (Maso), reminds us to keep control and not to be too hard on the equipment. Just do what we've practised so often.

Finding the start would have been hard for me; it is denoted simply by a small boat and a buoy in the middle of the Hauraki Gulf. It seems strangely transient for such a big event. I know our race has been chosen to be the live "Match of the Day" on New Zealand TV and around the world, so millions of people will be watching. The private spectator boats remind me of Henley, only with warmer hats and no garden-party music; quite a relief!

The few minutes just before the start of the race are often the most important and difficult time. We wheel around unpredictably trying to get to the line ahead of the other team – today it is Dennis Conner's Stars & Stripes, a hugely experienced outfit.

Everyone is very calm and in many ways it is easier than training, because neither helmsman tries anything particularly high-risk.

I try to stay poised, listening to the conversation that might demand a big manoeuvre any second. I have worked at not allowing my peripheral vision to close down, which happens when I'm focused, nervous and concentrating. In rowing it helps as it cuts out the distractions, but in sailing you need to be focused on all around you.

After the start, the boat goes silent. We are slow off the line, but we feel we are in a good position. Stars & Stripes tack first, and when the boats come together it is unbelievably close. They cross in front of us, missing us by inches. As they sail over us I brace myself for a collision.

We race on, uneventfully for me until we drop the spinnaker and head upwind. This is my bit and I'm into my element. The helmsman leans the boat on to the sails as he tries to slingshot us into the wind. We aim to keep wind in the sails through the turn – it's fastest, but hardest on the grinders. I love this as it's tough and I'm isolated, grinding in the jib while Wheelie, my grinding partner, helps with the team grinding the larger mainsail in. Then we start tacking – even better. It starts to hurt, my arms wrench, my legs get tired as I struggle for breath and to keep composure.

I want to take on their grinders. I know this is where we are strong – we are well trained. I have seen my opposite man. He is a veteran, with a big moustache – a former American footballer. I want to challenge him (not to a drinking competition or bar brawl) but to a long-drawn-out battle. Stars & Stripes choose to sail away from us and the battle is over before it really gets going. Suddenly disaster strikes – we have a winch problem and we lose the opportunity to engage them again until the last lap.

As we enter the final upwind leg we have another good spinnaker drop and big grind, we win the right-hand side of the course and pray for the wind to blow for us. A final throw of the dice. The wind gods do not rule our way, giving Conner's team the race by 20 seconds. In two-and-a- quarter hours, it is the biggest time-gap between us.

We grinders feel bad, because the winches had let the side down. We all feel we could have won the race on another day, but in this event, if we don't win there won't be other days.

Greg Searle, the former Olympic gold medal rower, is a grinder with GBR Challenge