Hook. Line. And Sinker.

Last year, I made the decision to sit out a season of the sweeps team. I would go it alone in my single.

My own schedule. My own workouts. My own terms.

I can hit the snooze button if it is raining. I can row in the middle of the day if I am tired. I can choose to row 22k before docking, or I can bail at 5k because I. am. just. too. beat.

No erg tests.
No grumblings about late roll-ups and early mornings.
No resentful "why did SHE make the boat?"
No parties in the bow.
No giggles in the engine room.
No muffled conversations between the stroke and coxswain.
Nobody's strong back in front of me to follow.
No one behind me, matching my stroke.
Nobody waiting for me after a bad row to ask if I am ok.
No team.
No team.

This has been part of my plan. Go it alone.

Yesterday, the women's coach walked up to me as I was putting my boat on my car in the drizzling cold rain.  Alone. He said "So, Robyn. How's the training going? You ready to come back to the team yet? I need a port rower."

No strong-arm pressure. Just a little nudge. A whisper. A temptation. A lure.

I hesitate.

Then, he said the magic words:

"I think we could place in the Head of the Charles."

Oh, the flutter in my stomach. The beads of sweat on my brow. The tingling in the soles of my feet. HOCR. The Race. The Big One.

Gulp.

"What do I need to do to try out for the team?"

He looks at me closely.

"A 4x1k. Then two weeks on the water."

That stupid erg.

"I will think about it."

The Coach smiles, and says "ok. have a good day." And walks away.

No. He bounces away.

Damn him. He knows he just played to my weakness. He knows I took his bait. He caught me. Hook. Line. And sinker.

I go home. And think. I think about a 4x1k. It is brutal for someone who hasn't sat on an erg in almost 4 months. The first one or two pieces will be doable. but the third will hurt. And the fourth will come screaming out of the searing pain of every fiber of muscle in my body. I didn't sign up for that.

But the Charles! HOCR.

I finally make a deal with myself. If it rains in the morning, I will do the erg test. If not, I am going out on the water.

(I checked the weather forecast before I made that deal--80% chance of showers. I didn't say I was leaving this completely up to fate.)

6am. 4x1k. The first two pieces hurt. They are doable, but they hurt. The third is agony. I pull through the final 250 meters and feel the burn in my chest. 4 minutes rest.

Not enough.

As I sit down for my final 1000meters, I want to quit. To give up. To go back to my own schedule. My own workouts. My own terms.

I don't need this.

I think about the Head of the Charles. I think about the woman in front of me, and the woman behind. I think about team mates.

I sit down. 5-4-3-2-1

Row!

And I pull through an agonizing 500 meters. I want to die. I haven't done this all year. My lungs hurt, my quads turn to stone. My arms can't keep going. I count strokes: 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10

And again

1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10

I am going to DIE!!!

I breathe for ten. I sit up for 10. I breathe again for 10, or maybe it isn't a full ten. I can't count. I can't think. I can't breathe.

Then I just have 250 meters go to. 30 strokes.

1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-oh. my.god. I am gonna stroke out right here.
1-2-3-4-5-6-7-this is friggin' agony. I can't....
10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-

and then it's done.

4x1k. Done.
Not stellar. Respectable is about the best I can say. But it is done.

Next step. On the water. In a team boat.

The team's schedule. The team's workouts. The team's terms.

I smile as I walk out of the boathouse.

No.

I bounce.