Thought for today
Why do I like rowing? Why does it have a compelling side that drags me back into the sport? Why do I always look at stretches of water and rivers and think ‘could I scull on that’? Some people describe this as ‘getting the bug’. But it’s clear I’m not the only one.
Read this from Stephen Keisling’s "The Shell Game".
Last Rows
I
don’t know how many last rows I have had. There was my "last" practice
on the Housatonic at the end of my senior year at Yale. It was only two
days before my last Eastern Sprints so we were well rested and could
relish the full glory of those thousands of strokes of the early season
without the fog of training fatigue. A few weeks later I rowed my last
Harvard Race, the last time I figured I could really believe we were
putting our futures on the line in a boat race. A month later was my
last row on an international team, racing in the finals at Henley on
the Olympic team that never made it to Moscow. Then I retired. I would
never again be so strong, I figured. My body would never again sing in
the midst of such perfect harmony. The draw of the boathouse would fade
with my muscles. I would move on.
A lot of us do
manage to retire, at least for a while. We move far enough from a
boathouse or bury ourselves deep enough into jobs or relationships that
we can’t possibly spare the time to get back on the water. But the
sport does not let go so easily. For me, it was not just that my
metaphors came from rowing, or that I size people up by where they
might sit in a boat, or whether I’d want to be with them in the same
boat. The sport was locked into my body. It took only a year of virtual
abstinence before I bought an ergometer for my living room. Now, ten
years later, I don’t row much on the Housatonic - not more than once a
year - but I fairly often find myself at odd hours on the Harlem. The
long race against Harvard threatens to become an annual alumni event. I
used to snicker when I saw men twice my age training for the World
Master’s Championships. Why didn’t they grow up? I realise now that
rowing is one of those special old friends who will welcome back at any
time and tell you something new and wonderful.
If
there is any shame in rowing it is the tendency to be protective of our
small community of men and women. Rowing faces no threat of
commercialisation. The sport is too difficult to learn, and it is what
we learn from it that draws us together. We are an elite group, but not
an elitist group, with a colourful heritage created by watermen and
gentlemen, scholars and scoundrels.
Meditate on that!