December 14, 2006 - Seeing for the First Time
It was during my first round of exams (each comprising 100% of my class grade) after a long and challenging first semester of law school that I remembered why I love rowing so much. After a two week hiatus from the erg thanks to a strained muscle in my lower back (who ever thought rowing at a resistance of nine was a good idea?), my body was hungry for the activity. Even more exciting, I had just downloaded some software developed by Concept2 that allowed me to connect my laptop to the erg monitor and receive audible feedback about my splits, distance, time, stroke rating, etc.
Just a few technical difficulties, and then I was off and running. It was magic. Everything from the preceding semester—school stress, coaching dilemmas, relationship break downs—it all fell away as the meters climbed. Body and brain settled into the familiar rhythm, all working together to catch, drive, finish, and recover with power and efficiency.
Now, plugged into my laptop with numbers being fed to me every 10 seconds, it was like discovering the sport a new. Without being able to see the screen, I had grown sadly accustomed to coming to the erg room, doing a piece using my cell phone, computer, or music to keep time, then leaving without any idea how my efforts were reflected by the numbers. If I wanted to know what was on my screen, I had to bring a coxswain with me: something that often seems to add more stress and frustration than it’s worth.
Now, though, I was in the erg room alone. I was getting the feedback I wanted when I wanted it, and it was Heaven.
For a sighted rower who is used to the luxury of following his/her progress on the erg screen, I don’t know that it will be possible to fully appreciate how much the advent of a talking performance monitor will and already has changed my training. Before, I pushed based on how my body felt or based upon the sound of the fan. I had to count strokes or find other inefficient and imprecise means of timing my pieces. Once done, I didn’t really feel like I had accomplished anything, because I had no final statistics to record. More than anything, lack of feedback made training mundane and often discouraging.
Suddenly, though, it’s all fun again. I can hear my splits changing. I can associate my exertion with moving through the meters. I can sense my capacity for speed.
Of course, full information isn’t always a good thing. I am gaining mercy for the athletes I coach who hate trying to do long pieces, counting down every second until the work out is done. I can also now begin to appreciate the frustration of knowing that your splits are climbing, despite your persistent and often increasing effort level. In fact, on the second day I used the software, about 30 minutes into my row I did the blind-person’s equivalent of flipping up the erg screen. I pulled off my headphones and rowed for about 10 minutes without any sound other than the fan spinning. Hearing numbers was revealing that I didn’t just feel tired, I was rowing tired, and I was too frustrated with my numbers to listen any longer.
Ultimately, though, I slid the headphones back on and I forced myself to listen, to control my body, and to work the numbers back down. Certainly, this is a new way to row. No longer is the race just against the fictional competitors in my mind, but against the unforgiving, cruelly objective, and relentless erg machine, as well.
For the first time, I feel like I can train the way I always wanted, combining science with spirit to see just how far I can push my body. In a few months, there will be others I have to race and beat if I want to represent the USA at another World Championship. For now, though, there is only me. I’m excited to take myself on.
Just a few technical difficulties, and then I was off and running. It was magic. Everything from the preceding semester—school stress, coaching dilemmas, relationship break downs—it all fell away as the meters climbed. Body and brain settled into the familiar rhythm, all working together to catch, drive, finish, and recover with power and efficiency.
Now, plugged into my laptop with numbers being fed to me every 10 seconds, it was like discovering the sport a new. Without being able to see the screen, I had grown sadly accustomed to coming to the erg room, doing a piece using my cell phone, computer, or music to keep time, then leaving without any idea how my efforts were reflected by the numbers. If I wanted to know what was on my screen, I had to bring a coxswain with me: something that often seems to add more stress and frustration than it’s worth.
Now, though, I was in the erg room alone. I was getting the feedback I wanted when I wanted it, and it was Heaven.
For a sighted rower who is used to the luxury of following his/her progress on the erg screen, I don’t know that it will be possible to fully appreciate how much the advent of a talking performance monitor will and already has changed my training. Before, I pushed based on how my body felt or based upon the sound of the fan. I had to count strokes or find other inefficient and imprecise means of timing my pieces. Once done, I didn’t really feel like I had accomplished anything, because I had no final statistics to record. More than anything, lack of feedback made training mundane and often discouraging.
Suddenly, though, it’s all fun again. I can hear my splits changing. I can associate my exertion with moving through the meters. I can sense my capacity for speed.
Of course, full information isn’t always a good thing. I am gaining mercy for the athletes I coach who hate trying to do long pieces, counting down every second until the work out is done. I can also now begin to appreciate the frustration of knowing that your splits are climbing, despite your persistent and often increasing effort level. In fact, on the second day I used the software, about 30 minutes into my row I did the blind-person’s equivalent of flipping up the erg screen. I pulled off my headphones and rowed for about 10 minutes without any sound other than the fan spinning. Hearing numbers was revealing that I didn’t just feel tired, I was rowing tired, and I was too frustrated with my numbers to listen any longer.
Ultimately, though, I slid the headphones back on and I forced myself to listen, to control my body, and to work the numbers back down. Certainly, this is a new way to row. No longer is the race just against the fictional competitors in my mind, but against the unforgiving, cruelly objective, and relentless erg machine, as well.
For the first time, I feel like I can train the way I always wanted, combining science with spirit to see just how far I can push my body. In a few months, there will be others I have to race and beat if I want to represent the USA at another World Championship. For now, though, there is only me. I’m excited to take myself on.
posted by Jamie at 12:33 PM
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