September 4, 2006 - Beginning the Climb
On the first 6,000 meter erg test that I took as a college Freshman, my average split was an abysmal 2:08.3. Of 14 or so novice men, I was the 14th fastest and not by a close margin.
For some people, performing poorly is a sign that you should pack up shop and find something else to do with your time. In this instance, though, my bad show became a great source of motivation. Results from that first test were posted online, and I started erging with the list of names ahead of me (it was a long list) in mind. I worked harder, longer, and more intensely than anyone else. I clawed and climbed my way up that list until I was faster than any of the other lightweight men and many of the heavyweights as well. I earned my seat in a boat.
Now, I have a much shorter list in mind: Australia, Canada, the Netherlands, and Great Britain. I’ve dug out my boots, polished my crampons, and sharpened my trekking poles and I’m ready to make another ascent.
I am the stroke of the fifth fastest adaptive boat in the world, not the gold medal deserving crew who just happened to have a weak performance. The results of our race in Eton simply are what they are, and I’m starting to come to terms with that. There’s no reason for excuses, for blame deflection, or for apologies. There’s only room for moving on.
And so I’m moving. After getting home late Monday night, I went to three law classes Tuesday morning and was on an erg again by 12:30 that afternoon. I just wanted to do something that felt familiar. I did not take a day of rest until Sunday, and I intend to start up 6 days a week again this week, including a serious lifting schedule.
What I need to do is clear. First, I have to get stronger. I have to lift furiously and transform myself from the 165 pound lightweight into a 180 pound elite. I’ve got to eat more and better food, and I’ve got to become an absolute piston. I’ve got to be desperate for speed.
Second, I’ve got to reconstruct my stroke, which requires a total demolition of almost everything I’ve learned in the past 5 years. My power curve looks like a bell. It starts low, peaks in the middle, and ends low. I need to learn to bring my power up from the first instant of the catch so that it climbs only slightly, plateaus through the majority of the stroke, and decreases slightly at the finish. This will be my greatest challenge, but it will make the greatest difference on the water. Last summer I became a starboard rower, now I’m going to become a good one.
Fortunately, I have help. My mentor here rowed at MIT and coached at Berkley. He was actually at MIT when they invented and beta tested the idea of the erg power curve. He is an excellent tutor, and he doesn’t have any time for dwelling on the past. By chance, he was in the erg room when I arrived to work out Tuesday, and he immediately began helping me. “You’ve got 11 and a half months to get better,” he said, “Let’s start today.”
So I’ve started, and I’ve left the Jamie of 2006 in the past. That rower didn’t know what to expect; now I do. That rower was motivated by a desire to win a gold medal, now I’m driven by a desire to pummel my competition. That rower was not strong or technically sound enough; I’ve got a year to fix those problems and I’ve already begun. In short, years from now when people look back on my rowing career, they will see that my loss in Eton did not crush me, it created me.
On with the climb.
For some people, performing poorly is a sign that you should pack up shop and find something else to do with your time. In this instance, though, my bad show became a great source of motivation. Results from that first test were posted online, and I started erging with the list of names ahead of me (it was a long list) in mind. I worked harder, longer, and more intensely than anyone else. I clawed and climbed my way up that list until I was faster than any of the other lightweight men and many of the heavyweights as well. I earned my seat in a boat.
Now, I have a much shorter list in mind: Australia, Canada, the Netherlands, and Great Britain. I’ve dug out my boots, polished my crampons, and sharpened my trekking poles and I’m ready to make another ascent.
I am the stroke of the fifth fastest adaptive boat in the world, not the gold medal deserving crew who just happened to have a weak performance. The results of our race in Eton simply are what they are, and I’m starting to come to terms with that. There’s no reason for excuses, for blame deflection, or for apologies. There’s only room for moving on.
And so I’m moving. After getting home late Monday night, I went to three law classes Tuesday morning and was on an erg again by 12:30 that afternoon. I just wanted to do something that felt familiar. I did not take a day of rest until Sunday, and I intend to start up 6 days a week again this week, including a serious lifting schedule.
What I need to do is clear. First, I have to get stronger. I have to lift furiously and transform myself from the 165 pound lightweight into a 180 pound elite. I’ve got to eat more and better food, and I’ve got to become an absolute piston. I’ve got to be desperate for speed.
Second, I’ve got to reconstruct my stroke, which requires a total demolition of almost everything I’ve learned in the past 5 years. My power curve looks like a bell. It starts low, peaks in the middle, and ends low. I need to learn to bring my power up from the first instant of the catch so that it climbs only slightly, plateaus through the majority of the stroke, and decreases slightly at the finish. This will be my greatest challenge, but it will make the greatest difference on the water. Last summer I became a starboard rower, now I’m going to become a good one.
Fortunately, I have help. My mentor here rowed at MIT and coached at Berkley. He was actually at MIT when they invented and beta tested the idea of the erg power curve. He is an excellent tutor, and he doesn’t have any time for dwelling on the past. By chance, he was in the erg room when I arrived to work out Tuesday, and he immediately began helping me. “You’ve got 11 and a half months to get better,” he said, “Let’s start today.”
So I’ve started, and I’ve left the Jamie of 2006 in the past. That rower didn’t know what to expect; now I do. That rower was motivated by a desire to win a gold medal, now I’m driven by a desire to pummel my competition. That rower was not strong or technically sound enough; I’ve got a year to fix those problems and I’ve already begun. In short, years from now when people look back on my rowing career, they will see that my loss in Eton did not crush me, it created me.
On with the climb.
posted by Jamie at 12:29 PM
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