Thursday, October 27, 2011

the edge of the season

Ice on the river's edge. Frost on the grass. My teammates head rationally to the erg room to start the winter ritual of indoor training.

I waver as I stand on the dock. I glance up at the steamy windows of the weight room, and turn down to see the last of the geese beckoning from the water. Should I go out in my single one last time?

Although I hate the erg less than I used to, I still love rowing more. I fear forgetting those technical improvements I have made over the season. I fear losing the balance that I have perfected over the months. I fear the stench of the sweaty crowds in the weight room.

I worry that the swans will forget me. That the geese will head south without.saying goodbye.I need one final row.

I don my pogies, my wool socks, my neck warmer and fleece vest, and venture down the slippery dock.

The river is empty.

My briefly exposed fingers struggle to close the oarlocks, and my toes wiggle stiffly as I shove them into the shoes.

For one moment, I breathe in the stillness.

I have made the right choice.

I push off the dock, and settle into a soothing rhythm as I set off, away from the threat of the end of the season.

Monday, October 17, 2011

Complacency vs Insanity

I had an angry coach once. He was slightly irrational, emotionally unstable, frequently hungover and he yelled a lot. But he cared. And he never settled for complacency.

For some very good reasons, he left. And was replaced by some very rational coaches who were slightly more stable, weren't angry, and didn't yell.

To coach a masters team, it is arguably more important to be able to handle the emotional drama than it is to push past the edge of insanity in search of athletic excellence.

But I miss that insanity. I miss his crazy drive to do better. I miss working with someone who cares so much he will risk his own job and security because he believes we can push harder, get faster, do more, break through barriers.

Don't misunderstand me. Every coach I have worked with believes in me. Some have called me too intense, or too much of a perfectionist, yet they appreciate my speed and dedication. The difference is that they all urge me to seek a more balanced approach to rowing. And, if they are looking at my overall functioning and happiness, they have a point. I would be happier if I could accept a little more imperfection in life. My work colleagues might appreciate a little more complacency. My family would prefer a little less insanity.

So I try to be more complacent. And it works. I still win races. I still get faster. I just care a little less. And as I head into a long winter of erging, I wonder why I am still doing this existential, meaningless training. Why should I care? What goals do I have?

Out of the blue, my angry coach emails me. He asks how I am doing. Why I am not racing more. Why haven't I done a 2k this fall? Why am I slacking?

Slacking?!?

I think about my accomplishments this year, and I know I haven't been slacking. This coach is crazy. But then he asks me what my goals are. Am I going to take 15 more seconds off my 2k? How good do I want to get?

My initial reaction is "Damn you. There are not15 more seconds to take off my 2k. That is TOO HARD"

I want to cry. I am never good enough for him. I cannot succeed by his unreasonable standards. I will only be a slacker in his eyes.

Complacency lets me feel successful right where I am.

But a minute later, I feel the remembered thirst for excellence. The taste of desire. That primal "want". The drive. A familiar flavor, but one I have not tasted in a while.

In his crazy, unstable view of this world, my old coach thinks I should look past my current successes and reach further, dig deeper, work harder, want bigger, do more.

He says "Don't be a chickenshit, Robyn."

I bristle at his words. I am NOT a chickenshit!

But I know what he means. Complacency has spread her warm fingers around me, surrounding me in her oily grasp, holding me down, massaging my ego, plying me with drink, allowing me to feel self-satisfied without the soul-wrenching self-doubt and vulnerability.

I examine my options. Sanity vs. Manic Drive. Good vs Best. Complacency vs.Excellence.

I click shut the email from my old coach, and know I have more reasonable coaches now. I don't have to listen to him.

But as I lie in bed that night looking up at the ceiling, I start calculating the splits I would need to take 15 seconds off my 2k.

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

My team

There is nothing richer or more wonderful than being part of a team. A team is a group of people who win when you win and lose when you lose and believe in you either way. They bring icy cold cloths to lay on your necks when you come into the dock in 99 degree heat after a race. They carry your oars, or even your boat, when you look like you are about to fall over. They pull the moldy shoes off your feet and carry them--muddy and stinky--over to the other dock where you will need them when you come back after your race. They cheer from the 300 meter mark and scream and holler and jump up and down to convey their love and support. And you hear them from your boat and their collective love lends its weight to every stroke, and you pull harder because you hear them. And when you come in last, you still hold your head high and know you will come back to the supportive hands of your teammates, and that you are still welcome and cherished as a vital member of the team. And when you come in first, you have your team who is as happy as if they were in your boat, crossing the finish line first. And either way, you have a group of committed comrades to join you in sorrow-drowning or celebratory beers.

I love my team.