Crew is a mysterious sport that remained foreign to me until I started dating a rower last spring. Then, naturally, I wanted to know everything about it- hoping to better understand my man's obsession. Yeah, right! I am nowhere nearer to understanding the sport than I am to deciphering the meaning in life. Rowing is one of those things that you have to dive into if you are going to survive. You can't just stick your toe in and try it out- it doesn't work that way.
The athletes wake up at 5 am to trudge down to the boathouse and venture out onto the still water. They row their guts out, eat three meals worth of food, sleep, and then they do it all over again. It is never ending- I don't know how any varsity collegiate rower gets any academic work done, because their free time is spent eating and sleeping. (Kinda like a newborn baby) However grim this lifestyle may seem, these boys are ripped and they would tell you in a moment that all of their blood, sweat, and tears are worth the 6 minutes of glory when they finish a 2K in record speed and perfect synchronization.
Some say rowing is a metaphor for life--it's a sport that relies not merely on talent, but on unmatched discipline rooted in passion. It forces the athlete to "dig deeper" and push his or her personal limits. The athlete must achieve the ultimate balance of rowing independently and in unison.
New to the sport, I am completely naive. I jump at the opportunity to get up at early hours and skip down to the dock to take photos for my blog. I shiver by the water's edge and strain my eyes to decipher who is who in the small skull down river. "Go BU," I shout into the still-dark sky. Oops, that's Northeastern. Never mind.
It's not my fault I got confused. I can't see a darn thing in the fog and the sun has barely appeared behind the Boston skyline. Why does this sport have to be so unconventional? Can't the crew gods mandate race time at a "normal" afternoon hour, complete with ballpark stands and popcorn vendors like other traditional American sports? Of course not. Rowing is not for the weak of heart.
When you watch rowing, you are not a spectator. You are the coxswain, the stroke, the bowman. You are following the eight as it moves along the river edge. You are cheering and screaming and telling them to "Pull!" Your heart is beating fast and you can almost feel the boat move beneath you. And you forget for a moment the early hour, your freezing hands and toes, and the lack of morning coffee. You only have eyes for the boat moving on the water.
At the end of the race, when the horn blows and the oars slow, you look to see the expression on their faces; the deep disappointment and rage that surfaces as the men peel their shirts over their heads and hand them to their opponents. Or, the better scenario, a contagious grin on the face of each rower as he steps onto the dock in victory.
By Catherine Moore, camorous@gmail.com
