June 28 - Flirting with Disaster and Witnessing Miracles

“Snap!”
It was the sound, I thought, of my championship hopes being torn from my grasp and thrown away as my ankle buckled and I fell to the ground in excruciating pain. Leaving my sister’s front porch, I had placed my foot down without paying attention and I had stepped onto the edge of the stair so that the right side of my foot extended over empty space. Before I could recover, my weight shifted, I lost my balance, and the ligaments on my right ankle gave way, sending me sprawling forward into the grass. It hurt… badly.
Earlier in the year, I had experienced similar injuries by stepping awkwardly on the edge of a sidewalk and rolling my ankle. Then, simple ice and bracing had done the trick to get me back to normal. This time was different, though. The pain was much worse and the swelling much more severe. Accordingly, my dad didn’t have to work too hard to convince me to go to the hospital.
After about 3 hours of waiting, filling out forms, waiting, filling out more forms, waiting, getting x-rays, and, of course, waiting, the doctor finally came and gave me a grim initial diagnosis: “I think you have a fracture in your right fibula.”
The fibula is the smaller of the two bones that comprise the lower leg. Since my trip to the ER, I’ve since learned that fracturing this bone usually takes between 6 and 8 weeks to heal properly. When I heard that mine was fractured, I was simultaneously angry, disappointed, and frustrated. I was afraid that all my training had been for not, that my coach would not let me row injured, and that I would not be able to heal in time to compete in England. Personally, it hurt. I didn’t even want to think about the ramifications for the team.
I immediately began to think of every scenario under which I would still be able to row. If I could find the right doctor, I thought, he might be sympathetic to my cause and be willing to give me some aggressive treatment. If I can keep them from putting me in a cast, that I knew I would at least be able to train in a pool and stay fit. Given the date of the World Championships, that would give me just enough time to heal if everything went well.
Still, I knew it was going to be tough. Staying in shape is only a small part of the rowing equation. There is balance, flexibility, and technique to worry about. With a broken ankle, rowing in July with Jesse and the others would be impossible. I didn’t know what to tell them or if I even should tell them, for that matter. I definitely did not want to talk to Karen until meeting with an orthopedic specialist.
With a clunky plaster splint protecting my right lower leg and crutches supporting my weight, Dad helped me hobble out to the car around 1:30 AM for the long ride home. We prayed and tried to stay positive, but the feeling of anxiety in the air was palpable.
The next morning I woke up and crawled to the bathroom to lean over the edge of the tub and wash my face, hair, and as much of the rest of me as I could without getting my splint wet. I then called a few people and asked them to pray for me that day as I looked for a doctor. I was outwardly optimistic, but inwardly very concerned by the still present pain and inflammation in my ankle. Then the miracles started to happen.
Mom took the day off work and, by the time I made it downstairs, she had already called the specialist recommended by the ER physician, but he was not available until July 5. I contacted a sports medicine physician that I found online, but the story was the same: no openings until next week. Disheartened and worried, I pulled up Google on my laptop and searched for “Columbus Ohio sports medicine,” praying that God would lead me to a doctor who understood athletics, who was willing to take some chances, who would accept my insurance, and, most importantly, who would see me that day.
After a few more calls, we found the office of Dr. Diorio whose very compassionate assistant put me on his schedule for early in the afternoon. It was only after my appointment had concluded and I was trying to schedule a follow up visit that I learned that he was actually booked solid through July 11.
When Dr. Diorio came into the examination room, I gave him the speech I had been rehearsing in my mind since the previous night, telling him that I was a US National Team rower, that I had the World Championships in 8 weeks, and begging him not to put me in plaster so that I could keep working out. To my surprise, he listened intently and did not give any immediate protestations.
As he knelt to examine my ankle, Dr. D asked what boat I was in. This is a rather unusual question that betrays a good bit of rowing knowledge. People unfamiliar with the sport never ask what boat an athlete is in. Sometimes they ask what kind of boat we row or, usually, they make some inaccurate statement about how we must have strong arms. Anyway, I knew that I’d found a doctor with rowing knowledge, and I was pretty pleased.
As it turns out, Dr. Diorio actually worked at an Olympic training camp last summer as one of the staff physicians. There, he got to know both Olympic rowers and Paralympic athletes. Not only was he sympathetic to my plight, but he knew my sport intimately. I was blown away. Of all the doctors in Columbus, I had “randomly” found the one with Olympic and Paralympic experience in my own sport. I knew that God was watching out for me.
There were many good signs during the examination. For one, I could bear as much weight as I wanted on the ankle. Second, Dr. Diorio could twist it in almost every direction, even applying significant force, without causing me any pain. Still, I didn’t know what to expect as he surveyed the x-ray.
Then came the sweetest words ever: “I really don’t think there’s any evidence that you have a fracture.”
I felt like a kid at Christmas; I couldn’t stop smiling as the doctor went on to tell me that he thought we were only dealing with a serious sprain, that I could continue training as much as my tolerance for pain would allow, and that he was going to get me started on physical therapy to rehabilitate the ankle as soon as possible.
In a word, I was exuberant. I don’t think that I have ever felt so relieved in my life. I spent the entire drive home talking with mom about the incredible providence that God had shown by leading us to the right doctor. I also called all those whom I’d ask to pray earlier in the day to relate the news.
As I write this, I am getting ready to do another round of ice to cut down on the swelling that still covers the right side of my ankle. Today I have my first rehab session and tonight I’m going to try to get on the erg for a light piece, though I do not expect to be able to row full strokes because of my limited flexibility. The doctor’s office gave me an air cast that I have to wear when I’m walking around, but I can retire the crutches unless I am in significant pain. I also have a prescription for Vicoden from my night at the ER, but I don’t plan on filling it since I’m sure it would not look good on my drug test in August and since I’m not in that much pain, anyway.
It has been an eventful 36 hours, and I’m thankful that God has taken care of me. As I see it, this just adds another layer of complexity to my challenge, and I’m not concerned about it. I know that, of all the boats in the world, I am on the one that will be the least likely to over react to a sprained ankle. Something tells me that my two amputee team mates really won’t have too much pity for me.
All right, I’ve written too much already. I’ll keep it shorter next post.

June 19, 2006 - Done with Week 1

Looking ahead, it’s amazing how little time we really have before performing on rowing’s biggest stage. If I was feeling a bit unmotivated at the beginning of the week, those sentiments have been washed away by a flood of reality that tells me that I’ve got a lot of work to do and not a lot of time to do it in. Accordingly, I have had a very focused week of training.
At the completion of Week 1 of the National Team training program that Karen prescribed for us, I must say that the work outs have lived up to the Olympic hype. They have been, to say the least, challenging, but I have absolutely loved them. Pushing myself until my body is really exhausted and spent is one of the things that first attracted me to rowing. It’s very much a “mind over matter” kind of sport. To be doing tough training sessions with the added levels of accountability that I’ve picked up by making the National Team is really refreshing, even if tiring.
This week I had the added bonus of two nieces (ages 4 and 2) watching me work out. It was pretty funny to try to explain to them exactly what I was doing and, even more difficult, why I was doing it. My mother might have inadvertently given the most profound description of erging I’ve heard in a while in her discussion with the younger niece: “Look, he’s working pretty hard but he isn’t moving anywhere, is he?”
Now there’s something to ponder next time I am doing a long, steady-state row.
Overall, it has been a good week. Sunday I had to do a time trial and report my score to our coach and my team mates, and I felt really good about it (10 minutes, 22 SPM’s, 2,800 meters, 1:47.1 split for you rowers). In other good news, today my dad reported a lead on some prospective sponsors and, as icing on the cake, I spoke to Aerial on the phone tonight and she got me all pumped about the fun National Team gear we’ll get to sport for the games. Those of you who know me well know that I’m pretty much an equipment junkie, so I probably got more excited about the prospect of a National Team splash jacket than I should have.
Thanks again to all of you, the two Lindsay’s in particular, who have encouraged me this week with your letters and messages. They really mean a lot and keep me pumped. When I’m really tired and I want to cut work outs short or slack off, I put my friends in my mind and start dedicating strokes to each of you. It sounds pretty psychotic, I know, but it works for me. Thanks again.

June 13, 2006 - Late Night in Columbus

Today is the first day of the training program that was distributed last week by our coach, Karen Lewis. It is 10:28 PM, game 3 of the NBA finals is on TV, and I have yet to hit the erg. I have found that I prefer rowing late at night. This is a habit I’ll have to change, soon, for my body’s sake, but at least tonight, it will be a nocturnal row.
It’s strange, but motivation is hard to come by right now. I feel somewhat embarrassed to admit it. As someone who prides himself on his ability to motivate others, to assert that I struggle to find drive in myself is not easy. Truthfully, though, I feel a long way away from Eton. It’s so easy to rationalize laziness when surrounded by the comforts of home. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll do the work out tonight and I’ll give it my all, it’s just getting to the garage and my borrowed erg machine that will be tough.
Yesterday I watched the US men’s soccer team get trounced by the Czech Republic, and I couldn’t help but feel like they had let their country down… disappointed us and justified the criticisms of a skeptical international sport community. How could athletes with USA on their chests show so little passion? Frankly, I was ashamed.
I realize, though, that in a strange way the World Cup representatives on the television and I are brothers. We bear the same weight of carrying our nation’s standard in a field of competition that, traditionally, we have not dominated. In rowing, as in soccer, much of the rest of the world just seems to care more. They train harder, recruit earlier, and expend more resources than we do. Back home, though, no one cares about those details. They expect to see the USA atop the medal stand, as they should, and I certainly do not intend to fall short of expectations.
Gold is well within our reach. A piece of history is up for grabs. The only question now is who is willing to fight the hardest, to endure the longest, and dig the deepest to claim that moment for themselves and their nation? I am willing: it’s time to go work out.

PS (1:21 AM) Finally done.. I’m beat. U-S-A!

June 5 - June 11, 2006

After one of the worst days of flying ever thanks to Northwest, I made it home safely late Monday night. I spent the next few hours pounding out e-mails to friends and colleagues announcing the selection camp’s results. There were already several messages waiting for me in my inbox regarding the team, our practice schedule, flights to England, etc. I gave up sometime after 1:30 AM and dedicated most of Tuesday to writing everyone that needed to be written and responding to all the letters of congratulation. It’s awesome to have so much support, especially from Wake Forest and the Law School which, I just learned, will allow me to miss my first week of classes in order to attend the World Championships.
The rest of the week was pretty quiet as far as rowing goes. Really my major accomplishment was helping to demolish and rebuild my parents’ deck, a good 3 day work out, in itself. I also started rowing with the Greater Columbus Rowing Association, again, and look forward to getting some good reps on the water with them. As masters rowers, they are all solid technicians, and rowing with them is going to be really helpful to completing my transition to starboard side.
While we have one official training camp later this summer, my boat decided that we’ll have an unofficial camp on our own dime just so that we can get more time in together and build some chemistry. I’ll probably also spend a few days in Princeton rowing a pair with Jesse, which should be immensely helpful.
Aside from rowing, I’ve spent a good many hours this week thinking about funding, sponsorships, scheduling, and the like. It amazes me how many little details there are that must be dealt with in addition to training. It gives me a greater respect for the Olympians who do all this in addition to holding down full time jobs and raising families. It’s easy to see why the UK just hires its rowers and provides them with food and housing so that they can dedicate their whole lives to the sport. Elite training has a way of consuming all one’s time and all one’s mind, as well. It’s a good thing that I have the luxury of being a single, unemployed graduate student on summer vacation, right now, that’s all I can say.

June 4, 2006 - Selection Camp Day 4

Veni, Vedi, Vici! Final selections became apparent this morning when Karen put Jesse, Aerial, Jen, and me out together for a long row and then asked us to do an on-water time trial later in the afternoon. The team was formalized after our final rowing session. No one seemed surprised, but we were all still very excited.
In only our second row together, the final crew posted a time of 3:23 for 1,000 meters, traveling with the current of the river. This is probably about a 3:35-3:40 on still water. Regardless of the specific time, though, we know that we’re pretty fast relative to previous US adaptive boats (there have been adaptive crews in the past, but none sponsored by US Rowing). By Aerial’s recollection, the fastest US time for 1,000 meters was only 4:06. We’re not where we need to be to catch the Brits, yet, but at least the USA should make a better showing than it has in the past.
The ending to my weekend was pretty awesome, as the Tarbox’s threw a birthday party/congratulations party for me! Lindsay Perea, another Wake rower and Philadelphia native came over and we had an incredible meal and the best carrot cake ever made. After several weeks without soda, I enjoyed several icy Cokes.
It’s funny, though, because I really don’t feel like I’ve accomplished much, yet. I was in shape when I came to camp, maybe the best shape of my life, and I performed well. To feel like I’ve succeeded, though, I need to prove myself on the world stage. I want a medal, and I won’t be satisfied with my performance without it. Perhaps it will not come this year, but when the Paralympics come, I want the USA to stand atop the podium when the first medals are awarded in the sport of adaptive rowing.
The celebration was wonderful, but it must be short-lived. Now it’s time to get home and get back to work for the red, white, and blue.

June 3 - Selection Camp Day 3

It rained all night last night, and the river was a chocolaty brown, fast moving mess when we got to the boat house. We’re pretty sure that we saw a palm tree float by among all the debris. It was pretty nasty.
Our first attempt to push off the docks this morning was thwarted by thunder. When we finally got out on the water, the row was pretty good, until it started to rain. By “rain,” I mean “absolute downpour.” I can’t remember ever rowing in a deluge of that magnitude, before. It was an adventure.
Fortunately the sun came out for our afternoon races, and we really got some good work done. I rowed with both Jesse and Aerial in my boat today, and we proved to be a pretty fast combination, regardless of who filled the fourth seat.
As I predicted, today I got my turn to face a little direct competition. For the final seat race of the day, I switched over to the 3 seat of the other boat and Andrew took my place. In the day’s earlier races, my crew had been winning by between 2.5 and 3 boat lengths over only a 500 meter course. When I was switched out of the boat, the two crews finished in almost a dead heat, though the crew made up of Jesse, Aerial, Jen, and Andrew was probably a second or so ahead of my new boat. In any case, the difference in performance was noticeable. Jesse says that it was a decisive victory in my favor, but I’m not as confident. The only way to really be sure of anything is to win and to win big. I’d feel more comfortable if my second crew had finished out front, even if by only a few inches.
Oh well, what’s done is done.. Tomorrow the team selections will be officially announced. Some here seem to think that my inclusion on that list is a foregone conclusion, but I am not ready to declare victory just yet. Perhaps I have lower confidence in myself than others do, or perhaps I’m just trying to stay motivated and focused. In either case, I won’t breathe easily until I hear my name tomorrow afternoon.
As I told my dad before I left, this year I have a great chance to make the team. Selection will only get more difficult as we approach the Paralympic year. I have no contingency plan for failure, so I hope the basket in which I’ve placed all my eggs survives the weekend. Faith… Courage…

June 2 - Selection Camp Day 2

As they say in rowing, I am now officially “bisweptual” since my great accomplishment today was mastering rowing on the starboard side of the boat. Initially, I was concerned that making the transition from life-long port would prove difficult, but good coaching and a bit of luck made it easier than I’d hoped to at least develop a functional ability on the new side.
Still, I can’t say that I returned from practice this afternoon in the highest of spirits. I sometimes forget what it is like to row with younger athletes and the effects that one person can have on a crew. It’s interesting, a single rower cannot improve a boat drastically, but one rower can totally destroy a boat. If you combine the youth of some of those on my boat today with my inability as a starboard, it made for some rocky rowing.
During our morning session we simply did drills which helped me and others acclimate to rowing on different sides of the boat from those we were used to. At lunch, the Executive Director of US Rowing spoke to us about his expectations for our team. It was very motivating and encouraging to hear from him. I feel like US Rowing takes this program very seriously and expects great things from us. In any case, to be included along side the senior team and the other Olympic athletes is quite an honor. I’m not sure that any other sport has such a close relationship between its Olympic and Paralympic program.
With the afternoon heat also came the joy of seat racing. For those of you who aren’t rowing inclined, basically this means that we took out two boats and did a lot of sprints, trading personnel between each to see what combination of rowers made the boat move the fastest. My boat did not do as well as I had hoped. We led halfway through each 500 meter peace, but we couldn’t seem to sustain our power and the other boat always took us in the last few strokes. Inconsistent effort is one of my soap box issues as a coach, so I really had to fight to keep my poker face going and not get after the other people on my boat. Once a coach, always a coach.
Personally, my rowing was not pretty. Rowing starboard for drills is one thing, rowing starboard and trying to drill it is another. I felt like I was only able to use between 70%-80% of my potential power. I do not think that I was directly in the coach’s line of fire as far as today’s round of seat racing went, but I expect to have to defend my seat tomorrow. Hopefully another light morning session will improve my starboard technique to the point where I can really power it up for the afternoon races.
In the evening we all met and ate as a team at a local place right beside the river. It was a pretty good time and I had the opportunity to talk more at length to Aerial, Jen, and Jesse. I was glad to hear that they were as frustrated as I was after the earlier rows, not because I relished in their unhappiness, but because it shows me that they have higher standards for the quality of rowing of this team than the rowing we did today.
Karen assures me that Jesse and I will be in the same boat tomorrow. This is very exciting, since it will allow for a more balanced crew. Our power is very similar, so having him row behind me should really get the boat moving.

June 1, 2006 - Selection Camp Day 1

The first day of camp was a success on many fronts. For one, I posted the fastest time on our 1 kilometer ergometer test. My time was a 3:11, less than a second off my personal best. I’d hoped to be around 3:08, but I’ll live with this score for now (since I have to).
The day was also encouraging in that many strong athletes showed up for camp. Honestly, the rowers who are here are much like what I would have expected. There is a huge spectrum in both age and talent. There are serious collegiate rowers like Jesse (Princeton University), experienced master’s rowers like Aerial (Marin Rowing Club), beginning rowers and high-school students like Andrew (Greenwich High School), and some athletes who are recreational, at best. Of the 9 who are here competing along with me hoping to fill one of the seats in the 4+, I’d say there are definitely enough good rowers to field a strong crew. I fully expect this camp to grow every year, especially as we move towards the Paralympics, and I am going to dedicate myself to making sure that we really start serious recruiting and development programs to cultivate younger rowers, even if it means that the task of making the team becomes progressively harder for me.
The spectrum of disabilities among the competitors is also fairly wide, though perhaps not as wide as some might expect. Athletes competing to row the single have only arm ability. Those hoping to fill the double can use both their trunks and arms, and the four will be filled with those of us with leg, trunk, and arm use. In the latter category, there are mainly blind and amputee rowers. By rule, the four must have at least 2 women and can have no more than 2 visually-impaired athletes. I am told that the gender requirement might not stick in the long run but, for now, it is a good political tool for encouraging less open countries to involve women in athletics. The VI requirement is probably just to make sure that as many athletes as possible are given an equal chance to compete fairly.
I can already tell that Jesse is a strong rower. This should be obvious to anyone who knows anything about collegiate rowing, since I don’t know of any weak athletes coming out of Princeton these days. He seems like a nice guy, though he’s very quiet. Jesse was seated directly to my right during the erg test, which was helpful since hearing the power he was generating really motivated me to push hard. His time was very close to mine. I wonder if he is as intimidated by me as I am by him.
Our coach, Karen, seems like a straight shooter. It strikes me that she isn’t the type to take crap from anyone and that she isn’t afraid to speak her mind. Both of these are good coaching traits.
Today’s water work was pretty simple. We got in the boats in the morning to adjust the foot stretchers, slides, and riggers to our specifications. In the afternoon, we took a light row up the river and back. I was seated in the stroke seat which, for now, is rigged on the port side. I am told that tomorrow I’ll be switching to starboard which is a little nerve wracking since, of the thousands of hours of rowing that I have done, only about 3 have been on starboard. Let’s hope that I catch on quickly, because head-to-head seat racing begins tomorrow afternoon.
The little bit of rowing we did really wasn’t pretty. I felt pretty good and strong, but as a boat we struggled a bit. Everyone was just a little nervous and I could tell that some people were in seats that were foreign to them. I did not get to row with Jesse or Aerial, but I hope Karen will put us together tomorrow.
Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Jocelyn gave me a couple new good luck charms to go along with the awesome t-shirt that Tank, another Wake rower, made for me. Apparently the local grocery store has a machine that dispenses random rubber band bracelets with motivational words imprinted on them, much like the “Live Strong” band I already wear. Incredibly, Jocelyn put in $0.50 this morning and first got a gold bracelet that says “Courage.” Encouraged by her first find, she dropped another couple of quarters into the machine and out came a black bracelet that says “Faith.” She was amazed, as was I when she told me the story on the way to the camp site. Now I’ve got Wake colors and Faith and Courage on my left wrist. We laughed that anyone else probably would have been annoyed at getting a black bracelet with the word “Faith” on it, but, for me, it’s just perfect. In any case, I can see the contrast of the darker band against my skin, and I looked it a lot while rowing to get pumped up today. Go Deacs and go Jocelyn.

May 31, 2006 (Happy Birthday to Me)

It is my birthday; today I am 24 years old. It’s strange because this seems like a rather unimportant year in terms of social significance, but for some reason 2-4 makes me feel a lot older, like more is expected of me now. I guess that fits perfectly with the task at hand, as tomorrow I will be beginning one of the greatest rowing tests of my life.
US Rowing is hosting its first ever selection camp for the National Adaptive Team. I am here in Philadelphia to test myself against other athletes who have overcome not only the sport of rowing, but also the difficulty of a disability as well. The goal: to represent the USA at the FISA World Championships in Eton, England this August and to set the tone for the rapidly approaching Beijing Paralympics of 2008.
Like me, I know that many of the athletes here rose through the mainstream ranks of our sport and so “adaptive rowing,” promises to be a new experience for all of us. Unfortunately, the title “adaptive” makes many instantly lower their opinion of the team because they assume that we couldn’t cut it in the non-adaptive world. Already I can tell that some people question the legitimacy of our athletic prowess. More than once while talking about this camp with people at home or at school others have mistakenly referred to the “Special Olympics” when intending to talk about the “Paralympics.” It’s frustrating to have my efforts marginalized like that, but then I’m used to having that done to me my entire life. I have always maintained that I have to win in order to even be credited with the ability to participate. I suspect that the same is true of many of those whom I’ll be meeting tomorrow, and so I expect these to be some of the toughest-minded athletes I’ve ever encountered.
To be honest, I have many questions running around in my mind. I question my own strength, though I’ve been preparing for this for almost a year. I question whether I belong here. I question whether we will gain the respect of our colleagues of our sport or if we’ll be seen as some charity operation.
Fortunately, all those questions will be answered soon enough. Jocelyn Tarbox is a close friend and fellow rower from Wake Forest. Her family has graciously allowed me to live with them this week while the camp is going on. Tomorrow, Joce will drive me down to boat house row to the St. Joseph’s boat house where we’ll find out how tough I am, how strong our national team will be, and how seriously US Rowing takes its adaptive program.

The Quest

During the week of August 20-27, 2006, many of the world’s best rowers will come together in Eton, England to compete on behalf of their countries. Unbelievably, I will be among those wearing the red, white, and blue and representing the United States as part of US Rowings first ever National Adaptive Team. However, this is just the first step on what is to be, I hope, a very long journey ending on the medal stand in Beijing, China, the site of the 2008 Paralympics.
For the sake of you, my friends, and all those who have served as motivators, encouragers, supporters, and counselors, I have decided to keep an account of my quest to win the first Paralympic gold awarded in the sport of rowing. I hope that you will enjoy reading along and feel free to contact me often.

Make it count,
Jamie