A near perfect row

The perfect row is not, in fact, perfect. This is something I am learning. To be pleased with improved mediocrity. Technique evolves toward, but never attains perfection.

This morning, I had a row that was perfect in its imperfection.

The set was good. Not great, but good. And most importantly, responsive. This means when the cox'n said "we are down to port" we made subtle shifts, and then went down to starboard. This is a good set, with a responsive crew.

Fall, with the crisp, nose-biting air, kodachrome colors, and soft mist rising off of still waters, is the sweet last taste of a season. Ergs loom threateningly ahead, and sweaty t-shirts are a distant memory. Every cold morning is the promise of one more day on the water. The ice on the dock is a reminder that tomorrow's row might be the last.

The river is quiet--most crews have already retired to their tanks and weight rooms. Only the hardy brave the cold, wet splashes of the stern pair's oars. We are the bow pair. We follow our stroke pair in the 4+. We rush the top quarter of the slide, we are slow at the catch. We rock. We rock the boat.

And yet, today, with the cox'n's precise calls, we stop checking the boat at the catch. We let the boat run underneath us. We press with our legs. We breathe in sync. We are one unit of massive boat-moving power.

As we catch up to the die-hard Harvard crew in their slick little pairs, I call out a challenge in jest. In good humor, they laugh, and put their paddles in motion, taking the bet from the grey-haired masters women's boat. We have twice the oars and half their power. Their advantage is that they are burdened by neither coxswain nor age.

Three strokes into this spontaneous scrimmage, they pull ahead. Never rude. Never patronizing. Only good-natured. We press harder and increase our rate. Our breathing quickens, our heart rates surge. An adrenaline rush shared between perimenopause and youthful strength. They leave us in their wake.

We pull our stroke rate to 32 without losing our form. They cross the finish line far ahead. Our cox'n calls a power ten, and we finish strong, smooth, together. This near-perfect row is our victory.

We paddle down, and smile, congratulating ourselves on a really good row. We thank the coxswain. We thank the stroke pair. (We never thank the bow pair, but the bow and I share our own quiet moment of congratulations...we kept up with the stroke.)

We dock and talk about our next practice--in which we will attempt to attain the imperfect perfection of today's row.