Christmas Post, A Little Late
12/25/05 9:37 PM
My feelings about the holidays are not a secret; being a lightweight, is probably just as bad as being single around this time of year. What if you're a lightweight and single? It's a situation without a solution, one has to go. To mess around with the fairer sex is akin to tampering with weapons of mass destruction, so I ended up giving up on worrying about my weight and enjoying the bounty that awaited me this afternoon. My coach would've killed me had he seen me at dinner on Christmas Eve. I'm over, but I don't have to worry about weight-ins for another two months. And hey, CRASH-B weight is 165.
Winter Break is much tougher, training-wise, than any other break during the school year. It's too long that you can't take some time away from the erg (like Thanksgiving, where running or cycling can keep your fitness levels up), yet too short to waste money on a membership at a gym or the summer rowing club's winter training program. Here in the northeast, it's also tough to train outdoors. The temperature outside today was about 35 degrees F, compounded by a cold drizzle that keeps even the heartiest runners indoors. I've been able to wrangle some temporary training ergs at a university that's in close proximity, but they'll be closed until the New Year. The next best thing? Go to every health club you can find around town and inquire about a free trial membership. They usually last about a week, but it's enough to keep you where you won't crap out the next time you hit the ergs.
Here at home, we don't have high-speed internet, so on my downtime, I've been watching rowing tapes that I've recorded from TV. I've got tapes of most of the '05 IRA grand finals, and some of the heats and finals from the Athens games. Every time I watch them, I can feel my heart rate start to climb. These tapes, well, I've watched them so many times, I can quote the commentators and know who's going to finish where about 80% of the time. It's not the general excitement that I get from watching a boat race, either. It's the knowledge of what the men and women in the video are going through as the tape plays that makes my heartbeat speed up. I'm already starting to imagine our duals this season, rowing down the course at Quinsigamond.
It's always grey, and I can feel the chill of the April wind on my shoulders. It's never at the start; usually it's the middle thousand of the race, when you've settled into your rhythm and are doing what you can to attack or hold off the crews you're racing. In my mind, we're usually about an oars length apart from our opponent, the boats locked in a dead heat. The lead changes with each stroke, as the team currently on the drive pushes their bow ball ahead of the other. We are rowing very aggressively, attacking the body of the race at a 36. From my position in the bow, I can see the spray from the oars at the finish leaping out of the water to chase our boat as we fly down towards the finish. The set is perfect (hey, it is a dream), and our blades square in unison as they hook into the water at the catch. My heart is pounding out of my chest, my breath coming in massive gulps as I try to consume as much air with each inhalation. This is where the dream merges with reality, as I can feel my heart pounding in my chest as I recline in my chair, thinking about a reality that has not yet come true.
I never finish the race. The dream always stops around the 500 to go mark, where the rate starts to come up and we start our sprint. The vision that dances before my eyes is not of the result, but of the act, of the race itself. I an at once nervous and excited, terrified and eager, to get to that point in the season. Don't get me wrong, I can see victories, and I can imagine the joy and excitement that comes from winning t-shirts and medals. But that really isn't part of the dream. It's what I'm working for between now and April, therefore it wouldn't be right to drift idly off into fantasyland thinking about the winning stroke, or the medals dock. Those are more lucid, and at the same time, less tangible; they are the images that motivate me through the solitary hours of winter training at home.
My feelings about the holidays are not a secret; being a lightweight, is probably just as bad as being single around this time of year. What if you're a lightweight and single? It's a situation without a solution, one has to go. To mess around with the fairer sex is akin to tampering with weapons of mass destruction, so I ended up giving up on worrying about my weight and enjoying the bounty that awaited me this afternoon. My coach would've killed me had he seen me at dinner on Christmas Eve. I'm over, but I don't have to worry about weight-ins for another two months. And hey, CRASH-B weight is 165.
Winter Break is much tougher, training-wise, than any other break during the school year. It's too long that you can't take some time away from the erg (like Thanksgiving, where running or cycling can keep your fitness levels up), yet too short to waste money on a membership at a gym or the summer rowing club's winter training program. Here in the northeast, it's also tough to train outdoors. The temperature outside today was about 35 degrees F, compounded by a cold drizzle that keeps even the heartiest runners indoors. I've been able to wrangle some temporary training ergs at a university that's in close proximity, but they'll be closed until the New Year. The next best thing? Go to every health club you can find around town and inquire about a free trial membership. They usually last about a week, but it's enough to keep you where you won't crap out the next time you hit the ergs.
Here at home, we don't have high-speed internet, so on my downtime, I've been watching rowing tapes that I've recorded from TV. I've got tapes of most of the '05 IRA grand finals, and some of the heats and finals from the Athens games. Every time I watch them, I can feel my heart rate start to climb. These tapes, well, I've watched them so many times, I can quote the commentators and know who's going to finish where about 80% of the time. It's not the general excitement that I get from watching a boat race, either. It's the knowledge of what the men and women in the video are going through as the tape plays that makes my heartbeat speed up. I'm already starting to imagine our duals this season, rowing down the course at Quinsigamond.
It's always grey, and I can feel the chill of the April wind on my shoulders. It's never at the start; usually it's the middle thousand of the race, when you've settled into your rhythm and are doing what you can to attack or hold off the crews you're racing. In my mind, we're usually about an oars length apart from our opponent, the boats locked in a dead heat. The lead changes with each stroke, as the team currently on the drive pushes their bow ball ahead of the other. We are rowing very aggressively, attacking the body of the race at a 36. From my position in the bow, I can see the spray from the oars at the finish leaping out of the water to chase our boat as we fly down towards the finish. The set is perfect (hey, it is a dream), and our blades square in unison as they hook into the water at the catch. My heart is pounding out of my chest, my breath coming in massive gulps as I try to consume as much air with each inhalation. This is where the dream merges with reality, as I can feel my heart pounding in my chest as I recline in my chair, thinking about a reality that has not yet come true.
I never finish the race. The dream always stops around the 500 to go mark, where the rate starts to come up and we start our sprint. The vision that dances before my eyes is not of the result, but of the act, of the race itself. I an at once nervous and excited, terrified and eager, to get to that point in the season. Don't get me wrong, I can see victories, and I can imagine the joy and excitement that comes from winning t-shirts and medals. But that really isn't part of the dream. It's what I'm working for between now and April, therefore it wouldn't be right to drift idly off into fantasyland thinking about the winning stroke, or the medals dock. Those are more lucid, and at the same time, less tangible; they are the images that motivate me through the solitary hours of winter training at home.
posted by Anonymous at 20:16
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