Dreams

Up here in the still-frozen north, temperatures haven't risen high enough to enable on water rowing. My teammates are still land-locked, sweating their lives away on ergs while oarsmen further south and west are on the water, already racing. I won't be joining them this year, although I hope to get to a few races along the way.

It's funny. The more I'm not training for the spring, the more I think about it. When I'm churning out morning after morning of high-intensity pieces, I don't usually have the energy to contemplate it; the very act is inherently maddening enough that it makes contemplating unbearable. If I was training and concentrating on every little aspect of the race like I am now, I would probably end up burning out or quitting, the intensity of it is so great.

I have this image in my head, and I can't get rid of it. It looks like the intro to some kind of film. Opening shot is the blank surface of the water. Out of nowhere, an oar swings across from the top of the screen, mid-feather. It grabs the water at the catch, perfect backsplash. The video goes into slow-motion, arcing through the water in a perfect application of power, a bend in the shaft right up to the release.

Zoom out. The camera picks up with the movement of the shell passing by. As the boat fills the camera, more and more of the oarsman can be seen. He is poised, taut like a rubber band, ready to go off at the next catch. The boat runs perfectly set underneath his blade. As he rotates to take the next stroke, we finally see the face of the oarsman about to drive the eight forward. Usually, the face is mine, although it's not always the case. Onward with the next stroke; the camera continues zooming out until the entire shell is on display, eight bodies swinging as one, rotating in a clear line down the shell. It's a beautiful sight.