February 1, 2007 - Put Your Money where Your Mouth Is

Sometimes I think that everything boils down to discipline, but it is one of the traits that we notice least.  Emotion, passion, drive, and the like are all white-hot characteristics that draw attention to their bearers, but discipline seems to exists in the background, quietly and inconspicuously helping to create strength and poise.

I often think too much about motivation.  Recently, the team I help coach at Wake Forest participated in “Row for Humanity,” a nationwide event wherein teams erg throughout a day to raise money both for themselves and the non-profit organization Habitat for Humanity.  In order to get my athletes pumped up for the event, I threw down a challenge.  I promise that if any male beat me outright on his one hour piece or any woman came within a certain range of split time, I would take them to the nicest steak house in town.

The end result?  I am going to have to dust off my suit and tie and get out my wallet.  During the final grouping of the day, one of my rowers beat me by about 30 meters.  Next year I will be sure to stipulate that I get to go last.  Fortunately, the price of losing is only a delicious dinner.

In any case, I am proud of the student and the team.  Of course I like to win, but as a coach, I am encouraged to see people get excited about a challenge and really work to meet it.  Had I won, it only would have reinforced that I am fast.  That a student won, I hope, demonstrates that speed is something anyone can have, if they choose to do the work it takes to get it.

Since the national adaptive team’s winter rowing camp in San Francisco, the concept of “choosing to be fast” has really been on my mind.  We had a great week of training at Marin Rowing Club and I felt that we got a lot accomplished.  Still, I left with more questions than answers, most of them revolving around myself, the reasons I row, and the things that drive me.

After some heart to heart discussions about commitment levels, sacrifices, and pending training decisions, I have come to realize that I think too much about the steak dinners and too little about the hours of rowing it takes to earn them.  Put another way, I want so badly to win that I often lose sight of the beauty of the process of training, itself. 

This brings me back to my initial thought: when all else fades away, it is discipline and little else that separates the average from the awe-inspiring.  Anyone who has talked to me about rowing or who has read this blog for any amount of time knows that I tend to mystify the sport.  Indeed, part of the reason that I have written less in recent weeks is that I feel almost irreverent when I reduce rowing to something as basic and blaze as discipline.

I am maturing, though, and I am no longer ashamed to admit that sometimes I just don’t feel excited when I sit down alone in the erg room or when my alarm clock goes off after a late night of work.  Sometimes, not even the thought of victory, of national pride, or of gold medals can make the monotony of steady state erg pieces any more tolerable. 

Right now I do not feel as angry or determined as I did at the end of last year’s World Championships.  I do not feel as connected to my team mates as I do when I get to be with them in person.  Really, though, it doesn’t matter, because I still feel the same level of discipline as always, and probably even more. 

The emotion will come.  Adrenaline, pride, frustration, love, and all the other fuels that boil over in the heat of battle are sure to reappear.  Until then, though, I will keep plodding along as I always have.  Anyone can push himself when there’s someone watching, but I am pushing myself now: alone in a dingy erg room in the middle of winter.  I am not striving for a finish, I am living in the race.