Day 102 of 366: Bear with me this is a little long, but it seemed worth saying.
Today is my rowing anniversary.
When I drove to the lake one year ago, as the sun was just coming up, my nerves were in overdrive.
I was starting something new, ready to learn and eager to meet new people (something that usually fills me with dread) but also incredibly nervous.
There’s no way I could’ve guessed that my life was about to be changed.
That may sound a little melodramatic, but this sport and these people have come to mean more to me than I ever dreamed.
I signed up for an 11-week session, and after the first few practices, I thought, “I will just get through these 11 weeks.” They were paid for, and I didn’t want to waste all that money.
It was hard — so much harder than I expected. Not just physically but emotionally.
I came home from practices exhausted with aching muscles and blistered palms. I could accept — even be proud of — the pain, but I hate doing things I’m not good at. The struggle of learning skills everyone around me knew was the harder part. Showing up knowing how bad I was and feeling like I was frustrating the people in my boat — that was not fun.
Most of the people were very nice, but it was harder to fit in that I thought, too. The veteran rowers were connected in a way I couldn’t be after just a few weeks, and there weren’t many opportunities to chat with the other newbies while staring at the backs of their heads for an hour.
I wanted to quit so many times, but I didn’t. We had a regatta at the end of the session. I thought I would race once, just to say I’d done it, and be finished.
But something changed that day too.
I spent 24 hours with my teammates.
I came to understand that other new rowers felt exactly like I did. I learned that even the veteran rowers were a little nervous on race day. We sweated, ate and rowed together. We won and lost together. We laughed and cheered and celebrated together. We bonded through all of that.
I was hooked, and here’s why:
Not to get too deep, but it’s taught me a ton about life. You know all that cliched advice we spout off to children? … Don’t quit just because something is hard. Do your best. Practice makes better. Be helpful. Remember, other people are probably feeling the same things you are. It’s OK to be a little scared of new things. Your team needs you. No one does something perfectly the first time. … They’re all things I’ve probably said to my son over the past few years. Well, the past year has reminded me of all that advice and forced me to take it myself, again and again.
It’s made me stronger. Not just physically — though there is a great sense of strength that comes from hoisting heavy boats out of the water and carrying them over your head and a pride that stems from rowing or erging 10,000 meters (more than 6 miles!) while your body is screaming at you to stop before you die. It takes intestinal fortitude to get up before dawn, head out into the cold and walk boldly into frigid waters to row on a 37-degree morning. It requires a mental toughness (and maybe a bit of stubbornness) to ignore that blister on your hand or that heron flying by or that boat creeping up behind you and continue to row through the distractions or setbacks.
It’s given me a kinship, a sense of camaraderie, like I haven’t had in years. These are my people, my friends, and I care about them. When we’re in the middle of a race, and I’m exhausted and my lungs are burning and I feel like I can’t pull one more stroke, I keep going because of my teammates. They are depending on me. I will give my all for them because I know they are doing the same for me.
So, today, I’m thankful I gave this rowing thing a chance. It’s given me a lot — so more than I imagined — in return.
