August 24, 2006 - Getting Ready
Twenty-four years of life, three days of racing, and less than 12 total minutes of rowing to validate my existence. That is the barrel I am staring down today as I look ahead to our first heat—participants yet undisclosed—tomorrow afternoon.
I have always been very good, but I have rarely, if ever, been the best at anything. It’s always winning the county championship but losing at states; graduating Sum Cum Laude but not as the valedictorian; making the finals but not medaling.
When I leave and go back to my life as a law student, I will not be the most brilliant or talented member of my class. In 10 years, I will not be the wealthiest or the most famous. No woman would ever pick me out of a crowd as the most handsome or the one she simply must meet.
Beginning tomorrow, though, I can change the course of history of my whole life. I can defeat the entire world at this one thing, the art of rowing that has become my passion, and there will be no one standing above me glaring down to dampen the joy of my accomplishment.
To win a world championship is to achieve something that is permanent. I can lose my medal or stop racing Monday morning, but that cannot take away the title of “champion” that would brand me for the rest of my life.
In 40 years, I don’t want to tell my grandchildren about how I came in second because I didn’t have the power to overcome Great Britain in the last 250 meters. In four days, I do not want to be writing e-mails telling people that we gave it our all and had a great race, but that our best just wasn’t enough. In one week, I do not want to face my new classmates for the first time still stinging of defeat and blathering on about how I’m not discouraged and we’ll get them next year.
At 12:34 PM Eton time Sunday afternoon, I want to be raising my fists in the air alongside Aerial, Jen, Jesse, and Ryan, gold medals draped around our necks, tears streaming down our faces as the Star Spangled Banner is played, while everyone looks up at us in our complete elation and wishes that they could have just a drop of the pleasure that we are feeling.
Right now all that is just a dream, but I’ve got three days to make it a reality.
August 25, 2006 – Gut Check
Now is the time that we really find out what we’re made of as a crew. In our first heat of the tournament, we finished second by 0.59 seconds to the Netherlands. We were walking through them in the last 250 meters, but just ran out of space before we hit the line. Five more meters and the results might have been reversed.
The small boats all advanced out of their heats with relative ease. They each had pretty favorable draws and won’t see their toughest competition head-to-head until Sunday’s finals. From what I’ve seen and heard, all of them have a good chance to medal if not win their events outright.
For my four, the road to the finals is a bit more circuitous. Since only one boat advanced directly to the finals from our heat, we must race in the repechage round tomorrow and finish in the top two in order to qualify for the A final.
This morning’s race was tough. Personally, I felt like I completely emptied my tanks. The pain of racing, though expected, is always a little surprising in magnitude. I spit blood and mucus for about 40 minutes after we were done. Fortunately, we are a very fit crew, and I do not think fatigue will be an issue tomorrow or Sunday.
Other than a little bobble in the last five meters, the race was a great piece for us. The rhythm of the boat was good. The balance and run were likewise nice. We just didn’t quite give it enough juice.
Though disappointed with the finish, I think we are far from disheartened. If anything, we are better focused now than before. That’s good, since we are now into the “do or die” phase of the regatta.
The fastest time of the day was pulled by GB, but it was less than three seconds better than ours. We think we can catch them. Correction: we know we can catch them if we really dig in deep and row the best 1,000 meters that we are capable of rowing.
In our repechage heat tomorrow, we’ve got to want it, bad. There are no givens and, though we go in as the first seed, that really doesn’t mean anything. It’s hard to know if the crews we’re facing—Croatia, Italy, and Hong Kong—really went out hard in their first races or if they backed off once it became clear that they would not be challenging for first place.
I don’t want to leave any doubt tomorrow. In fact, I want to pull an even faster time than we did today. It is in us; I can feel it. We are not the strongest crew or the biggest, but we are fit and we are clean. We don’t lose as much as others do in the last 500 meters. If we can get a few seconds in the first half of the race, victory is still attainable.
First things first, though. We have a rep heat that we must win. We have adopted a warrior’s spirit; we will not be denied.
I have always been very good, but I have rarely, if ever, been the best at anything. It’s always winning the county championship but losing at states; graduating Sum Cum Laude but not as the valedictorian; making the finals but not medaling.
When I leave and go back to my life as a law student, I will not be the most brilliant or talented member of my class. In 10 years, I will not be the wealthiest or the most famous. No woman would ever pick me out of a crowd as the most handsome or the one she simply must meet.
Beginning tomorrow, though, I can change the course of history of my whole life. I can defeat the entire world at this one thing, the art of rowing that has become my passion, and there will be no one standing above me glaring down to dampen the joy of my accomplishment.
To win a world championship is to achieve something that is permanent. I can lose my medal or stop racing Monday morning, but that cannot take away the title of “champion” that would brand me for the rest of my life.
In 40 years, I don’t want to tell my grandchildren about how I came in second because I didn’t have the power to overcome Great Britain in the last 250 meters. In four days, I do not want to be writing e-mails telling people that we gave it our all and had a great race, but that our best just wasn’t enough. In one week, I do not want to face my new classmates for the first time still stinging of defeat and blathering on about how I’m not discouraged and we’ll get them next year.
At 12:34 PM Eton time Sunday afternoon, I want to be raising my fists in the air alongside Aerial, Jen, Jesse, and Ryan, gold medals draped around our necks, tears streaming down our faces as the Star Spangled Banner is played, while everyone looks up at us in our complete elation and wishes that they could have just a drop of the pleasure that we are feeling.
Right now all that is just a dream, but I’ve got three days to make it a reality.
August 25, 2006 – Gut Check
Now is the time that we really find out what we’re made of as a crew. In our first heat of the tournament, we finished second by 0.59 seconds to the Netherlands. We were walking through them in the last 250 meters, but just ran out of space before we hit the line. Five more meters and the results might have been reversed.
The small boats all advanced out of their heats with relative ease. They each had pretty favorable draws and won’t see their toughest competition head-to-head until Sunday’s finals. From what I’ve seen and heard, all of them have a good chance to medal if not win their events outright.
For my four, the road to the finals is a bit more circuitous. Since only one boat advanced directly to the finals from our heat, we must race in the repechage round tomorrow and finish in the top two in order to qualify for the A final.
This morning’s race was tough. Personally, I felt like I completely emptied my tanks. The pain of racing, though expected, is always a little surprising in magnitude. I spit blood and mucus for about 40 minutes after we were done. Fortunately, we are a very fit crew, and I do not think fatigue will be an issue tomorrow or Sunday.
Other than a little bobble in the last five meters, the race was a great piece for us. The rhythm of the boat was good. The balance and run were likewise nice. We just didn’t quite give it enough juice.
Though disappointed with the finish, I think we are far from disheartened. If anything, we are better focused now than before. That’s good, since we are now into the “do or die” phase of the regatta.
The fastest time of the day was pulled by GB, but it was less than three seconds better than ours. We think we can catch them. Correction: we know we can catch them if we really dig in deep and row the best 1,000 meters that we are capable of rowing.
In our repechage heat tomorrow, we’ve got to want it, bad. There are no givens and, though we go in as the first seed, that really doesn’t mean anything. It’s hard to know if the crews we’re facing—Croatia, Italy, and Hong Kong—really went out hard in their first races or if they backed off once it became clear that they would not be challenging for first place.
I don’t want to leave any doubt tomorrow. In fact, I want to pull an even faster time than we did today. It is in us; I can feel it. We are not the strongest crew or the biggest, but we are fit and we are clean. We don’t lose as much as others do in the last 500 meters. If we can get a few seconds in the first half of the race, victory is still attainable.
First things first, though. We have a rep heat that we must win. We have adopted a warrior’s spirit; we will not be denied.
posted by Jamie at 1:26 PM
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