I can’t do this. No one can possibly do this holy god it hurts please make it stop hurting-
---
I’m at the freshman activities fair, lingering near the crew team table. My brain is being annoying.
Why are we doing this? It conflicts with cross country.
That’s the whole point of college, trying new things.
What if I turn into a man?
“You’re the perfect build for crew. Are you interested?” The coach is smiling at me, somewhat creepily. She hands me a flier.
Two hours later, I’m wandering into the basement of the rec center with thirty other girls. I am judging them, and it’s fun, but the voice again.
Practices are at 5 a.m.
At a beautiful reservoir.
You’re supposed to be focusing on school.
“In fact, the rowing team has the highest average GPA of any sports team...”
There’s no chance to shine, though.
Wouldn’t that just be the worst thing, Narcissus?
Shut up. Look at these girls. One is asking, "Do we have to run a lot?"
“No. When the weather is bad, we use the erg machines.”
The girl nods and, glancing around, gives a relieved chuckle. “Because I’m not into running.”
“That’s fine. But you have to understand, rowing is probably the hardest physical thing you will ever do.”
The coach looks at me again, but I find myself returning the creepy smile.
---
I don’t sleep anymore. Six days a week, I blink at 10pm and wake to the screech of my alarm clock, flashing 4:30.
I’m quitting today. Right after practice.
When we arrive at the reservoir, the landscape can only be seen through the sky: The stars silhouetting the hills, the moon on the water. We row through the darkness, watching an orange streak on the horizon spread itself higher and higher until suddenly, the sun breaks over the hills, and in every direction is rolling green. Next to us, a flock of geese skids onto the water, trying to seize the gold playing on its surface but only multiplying it.
I want to be tired, but I don’t have a choice. I’m jarred awake by beauty. It’s happened so many times now I’ve almost learned to stop fighting it.
“…and bury your blades.”
I settle into my seat and look up at our coxswain. The gesture is more intimate than a kiss. From a foot away from my face, she’s about to watch me suffer.
---
Coach says it’s her favorite sound in the whole world. It’s the sound of eight oar blades feathering in sync. Sometimes we hear it across the water, a flawless echo from a UC Berkeley crew, but for us, it’s usually SHUNK-clatter-clatter-clatter, which is the sound of my patience running out.
Good rhythm comes painfully slow to novice rowers. In "stroke seat," I'm the leader; I’m supposed to set the pace for everyone behind me.
Physics tells us that the slowest part of a rowing stroke should be the "recovery." When you reach forward to put your oar back in the water, the boat loses momentum, since you’re facing backwards in it. “Rushing up to the catch” is one of our biggest problems. If I do my job correctly, I often fight the movement of seven other bodies. I often get slammed around like a sock puppet. Today, coach doesn’t seem to notice.
“Three, more lay back! Six, hands high!”
TELL THEM THEY’RE IDIOTS
“EIGHT! Head up! Stay focused!”
I’m just a number again. It’s a godsend.
“That’s it. Seven, watch her shoulder…”
When our SHUNK happens, I don’t hear it. I feel it. It’s raw human power multiplied by eight and concentrated into one fluid motion. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
---
It's race day and this sport should be banned. I want to scream in pain, but we’re not allowed. It’s a waste of energy.
“ALRIGHT, A POWER TEN FOR YOUR STROKE! SHE’S BEEN WORKING HARD UP HERE-”
Our boat surges forward.
It’s pure human heart multiplied by seven and concentrated into one fluid motion. It’s the most beautiful thing in the world. I want to cry, but we’re not allowed. It’s a waste of energy.
---
Five years later, I still have rowing dreams.
Our coach had a degree in sports psychology. After a particularly brutal erg workout, she pointed out that some of us were subconsciously shaking our heads. It’s the body saying, “No” to the pain. By then, something had changed. I was nodding.
I’m at the freshman activities fair, lingering near the crew team table. My brain is being annoying.
Why are we doing this? It conflicts with cross country.
That’s the whole point of college, trying new things.
What if I turn into a man?
“You’re the perfect build for crew. Are you interested?” The coach is smiling at me, somewhat creepily. She hands me a flier.
Two hours later, I’m wandering into the basement of the rec center with thirty other girls. I am judging them, and it’s fun, but the voice again.
Practices are at 5 a.m.
At a beautiful reservoir.
You’re supposed to be focusing on school.
“In fact, the rowing team has the highest average GPA of any sports team...”
There’s no chance to shine, though.
Wouldn’t that just be the worst thing, Narcissus?
Shut up. Look at these girls. One is asking, "Do we have to run a lot?"
“No. When the weather is bad, we use the erg machines.”
The girl nods and, glancing around, gives a relieved chuckle. “Because I’m not into running.”
“That’s fine. But you have to understand, rowing is probably the hardest physical thing you will ever do.”
The coach looks at me again, but I find myself returning the creepy smile.
---
The rower builds up a fearsome level of lactic acid, as much as 50% higher than any other athlete.
I don’t sleep anymore. Six days a week, I blink at 10pm and wake to the screech of my alarm clock, flashing 4:30.
I’m quitting today. Right after practice.
When we arrive at the reservoir, the landscape can only be seen through the sky: The stars silhouetting the hills, the moon on the water. We row through the darkness, watching an orange streak on the horizon spread itself higher and higher until suddenly, the sun breaks over the hills, and in every direction is rolling green. Next to us, a flock of geese skids onto the water, trying to seize the gold playing on its surface but only multiplying it.
I want to be tired, but I don’t have a choice. I’m jarred awake by beauty. It’s happened so many times now I’ve almost learned to stop fighting it.
“…and bury your blades.”
I settle into my seat and look up at our coxswain. The gesture is more intimate than a kiss. From a foot away from my face, she’s about to watch me suffer.
---
Rowers have some of the highest power outputs of athletes in any sport.SHUNK!
Coach says it’s her favorite sound in the whole world. It’s the sound of eight oar blades feathering in sync. Sometimes we hear it across the water, a flawless echo from a UC Berkeley crew, but for us, it’s usually SHUNK-clatter-clatter-clatter, which is the sound of my patience running out.
Good rhythm comes painfully slow to novice rowers. In "stroke seat," I'm the leader; I’m supposed to set the pace for everyone behind me.
Physics tells us that the slowest part of a rowing stroke should be the "recovery." When you reach forward to put your oar back in the water, the boat loses momentum, since you’re facing backwards in it. “Rushing up to the catch” is one of our biggest problems. If I do my job correctly, I often fight the movement of seven other bodies. I often get slammed around like a sock puppet. Today, coach doesn’t seem to notice.
“Three, more lay back! Six, hands high!”
TELL THEM THEY’RE IDIOTS
“EIGHT! Head up! Stay focused!”
I’m just a number again. It’s a godsend.
“That’s it. Seven, watch her shoulder…”
When our SHUNK happens, I don’t hear it. I feel it. It’s raw human power multiplied by eight and concentrated into one fluid motion. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
---
So, why do kids cry when they’re born? Well, it is said, Satan stabs a child at birth, as an introduction to pain. You know…welcome to the world, right?“500 TO GO!”
-K’naan
It's race day and this sport should be banned. I want to scream in pain, but we’re not allowed. It’s a waste of energy.
“ALRIGHT, A POWER TEN FOR YOUR STROKE! SHE’S BEEN WORKING HARD UP HERE-”
Our boat surges forward.
It’s pure human heart multiplied by seven and concentrated into one fluid motion. It’s the most beautiful thing in the world. I want to cry, but we’re not allowed. It’s a waste of energy.
---
Five years later, I still have rowing dreams.
Our coach had a degree in sports psychology. After a particularly brutal erg workout, she pointed out that some of us were subconsciously shaking our heads. It’s the body saying, “No” to the pain. By then, something had changed. I was nodding.
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