Thursday, June 14, 2012

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.





Saturday, June 9, 2012

Existential Slacker Rowing

All right. I have been slacking here. Once I got through the excited neophyte rower phase, I feared that writing about rowing was becoming mundane, repetitive, monotonous, and boring.

And maybe it is.

But the actual rowing is not.

This morning was a case in point. I had just had a ridiculously hard workout yesterday. (It turns out I really need a coach, because this year, while I am essentially coaching myself, I read everyone else's workouts, and consistently choose the most difficult ones to do--on consecutive days--with no rest days in between. My back has been hurting, my legs are like lead, and I fall asleep at a moment's notice...)

So this morning I PROMISED myself I would do a long, easy workout. A mundane, repetitive, monotonous, and boring row. Nothing hard, just strong, solid strokes, with lots of technique work. I would rest my back, my legs, and my poor tired body. I would do some slacker rowing.

And I did. For the first 7000 meters.

Which brings me to the Basin--a windy, open stretch of river bordered by the Boston skyline. On a Saturday morning at 6am, there is an alone-ness, and a wonder, and an insignificance that leaves me thinking I could blow away and nobody would notice.

That feeling, combined with the sore back, heavy legs, and primal fatigue makes me wonder if life is worth the struggle.

This morning, with the 8 mph headwind, the crisp blue sky, and open water, it also makes me wonder if I row really hard, can I make it through the Mass Ave bridge in under 5 minutes?

(which would not qualify as an easy slacker workout. )

And thus, on this fair Saturday morning, I face that existential dilemma in my single, on my sacred recovery day: Will I falter, and lose myself and my life's meaning in the overwhelming watery power of the Basin? or Will I rally, pull a hard 1k, and know I am alive because my heart is exploding in my chest, my quads are screaming with acid pain, and I taste the bile in my throat from the oxygen deprivation?

They say that those who experience near death appreciate life more than those who never have.



Suffice it to say, as I nurse my sore back, my leaden quads, and my drooping eyelids, that I have a renewed appreciation for life after this morning's row.






Friday, June 8, 2012

My new single

As I have written here before, there is a cost to sharing boats with a busy rowing community. Missed practices, scratched races, and a certain lack of control when someone else is using your boat.

These are not insurmountable issues, and there are benefits to sharing boats. You can compare technical issues, suggest rigging changes, and discuss the pros and cons of different boats in the boathouse fleet.

But there comes a time in each rowers life when it becomes necessary to dissolve the boathouse bonds which have connected her with another....

And in a moment of weakness, I bought a Hudson S1.11.