Monday, October 15, 2012

8' @ daydream

I came off of the end of race season and headed into a hardcore winter training plan. 10-11 workouts/week. I was strong. I was getting faster. My legs were getting bigger. My splits were getting lower.

My job was getting more stressful.

And I broke.

I am not a 20 year old collegiate rower. I am a 45 year old professional, working a 55 hour/week job and raising two young adult children. I fit my workouts in at 4:30 am and 7 pm, around work, around my day, around my family and around my stress.

Despite a healthy lifestyle, good diet, lots of exercise, and a good family health history, my blood pressure shot up. My resting heart rate soared as well.

I was barely surviving.

I land in my coach's office, feeling like death, thinking that death might be closer than I am comfortable with. I confess that I have to cut back. Training will have to go. I quit.

I stand up to walk out of the office.

"Wait, Robyn." My coach is not done with me. I sit back down.

After months of "8'@ 22" type workouts, my coach tells me I need to meditate.

MEDITATE?!?!?!? Hell no! I row to push harder, to get stronger, to beat people, to win, to avoid the thought that I am aging. To avoid all thoughts of life outside of the boathouse. To escape.

Meditation is for zen types. People who relax. People who are easy-going. Who don't need medals. People who can sit still. Who can just BE with themselves. Not for competitive athletes. Not for me.

I resist. I refuse. I rebel. My coach smiles quietly.

I leave his office.

The next morning, my emailed workout is waiting in my inbox:

"8' @ daydream. Get off the erg, walk around for a couple of minutes. Do it three times."

WTF!?!?!?

I don't even know how to begin. "8 minutes" is familiar. I set the monitor for an 8 minute piece.


Then what?

"@Daydream"

I am in the front corner of the erg room, windows all around me. The sky is still dark. I stare out at the darkness, and swear at my coach under my breath. "Daydream?!?! How am I supposed to daydream? What Stroke Rate is Daydream????"

I close my eyes. I breathe in. And I try to daydream.

I listen to the whirr of the ergs behind me. I hear the staggered breathing of hard work being done. I feel my own breathing, and sink in there. I smell the accumulated stench of sweat, bengay and tired bodies. I feel my own muscles contracting and relaxing. I ease back up to the catch.

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, press with the legs. Slow up the slide, press and hang. Breathe. Breathe.

It gets easier. I know I am not pulling as hard as I usually do. But I also sense that is not the point.

I feel the swing and the rhythm. Familiar after so many months of doing this twice a day. Breathing, breathing.  I don't have to think about this motion. Swing out of bow. What I should daydream about? Slow up the slide. delivering babies in Africa. Catch and press. biking across the US. Alone. Breathe. climbing Kilimanjaro...Mt McKinley...Mt Washington in winter. Swing. I remember last winter, snowy paths, and clear skies. An idyllic hike. Press with the legs. My kids, may they grow up to be happy. Breathe. The smooth balance of a crew completely in sync.  Swing. I imagine the crisp fall air and my oars slicing through the icy  water. Press. I feel the run of the boat beneath me. Breathe. Swing. Press.

Breathe. Swing. Press.

Breathe. Swing. Press.

Breathe. Swing. Press.

Breathe. Swing. Press.

8 minutes

@daydream

Friday, October 5, 2012

Seat Racing

In the Annals of Psychopathology, there are many articles about serious dementia, mental disorders or brain dysfunction. If you dig deep enough, you will see find the article entitled: Seat Racing Enjoyment as a Clinical Correlate to Axis I Disorder: Deliberate self-harm.

This disorder (a borderline personality disorder) is defined as the intentional, direct injuring of body tissue, frequently done on wheeled seats, facing backward, pressing with the quads until the serum oxygen saturation nadirs in the negative numbers and the pain centers of the brain explode.

This is a common pathology among those who enjoy rowing.

More specifically: it predominantly affects those rowers who enjoy seat racing.

Most specifically: this is seen frequently in those rowers who enjoy seat racing at 5:30 AM.

In general, I steer clear of the Annals of Psychopathology, as the topics explored therein seems far more personal than clinical.

This morning, we are put out on the water in undiagnosable line-ups of 4+s. We are told to race the other 4+ at a 26 SR. For 80 strokes (what a funny measurement. But then again, as a rower, counting strokes is easier than counting minutes. Or meters. Or breaths.)

We head downstream to warm up and find our swing. We press on the footboards. We take a few high tens. The adrenaline starts mounting. The perspiration collects on the brow...and the back...and the front...and the oar handles...

I love the feel of another crew by our side. That peripheral vision of the competition creates a surge of energy and with every stroke, I just press harder. I squeeze extra centimeters out of my drive. I breathe a few more molecules of oxygen into my anoxic muscles. The seering fire of agony ignites my quads. The bile surges up in the back of the throat. My lungs rasp in hunger for air. My heart races out of control. Every molecule in my being screams for this to STOP!!!!!

And I. DO. NOT. GIVE. IN.

Pain may come and pain may go, but winning is forever...or at least until we spin and head back for another seat race.