Thursday, November 12, 2015

Stolen November Morning

Mid-November is post-season in the rowing world. The last of the regattas are over, winter training is around the corner, and the cold, dark mornings don't suggest water sports. A late November morning on the water is not expected. It is stolen.

Yesterday's rains came with 20 mph winds and temperatures in the 30s. Icy docks and gusty waves kept me off the river and consigned me to my basement erg. It was a long, lonely workout I was desperate not to repeat.

This morning is warmer though still cloudy, but the river calls faintly, and I decide to give it a try. Two faithful friends join me and we launch in the pitch black, little red and green lights bravely shining from our bows. Silently we shove, breaking the silence only with the plop! of the oars and the whisper of the water flowing by the hull. Although their bow lights are visible, my friends are not, and I row in virtual solitude for the first 2000 meters.  We meet at our agreed upon rest area, for reassurance more than rest.  We continue 9000 meters into the middle of the Charles basin and spin.

Three of us side by side, in a vast expanse of flat water, and a city skyline peppered in lights, outlined in gradually brightening clouds. No red. No flames. No explosive dawning of a new day.

"Where's the beautiful sunrise?" I ask, thoroughly disappointed at the monochrome dawn.
"It's too cloudy" comes Loryn's practical response.

I watch a bit longer, hoping for color, but greeted by none. I know we have to head home, and I fight the feeling that daybreak has let me down.

Our return row is long, but as I relax, the familiar rhythm and flow takes over. There are few boats to be seen and the river is ours. I remember why I am here, and begin to enjoy myself.

As the last stretch approaches, Loryn slows down for me to catch up. We row, side-by-side, stroke-for-stroke, for the full 1200 meters. Catch and press...glide, Catch and press...glide. We mirror each other, pair partners in different boats, perfectly matched, rowing in sync. The rhythm of the late fall morning is ours.

One last November morning, stolen from the cold, snowy winter that lies ahead.