Return to hallowed waters

Return to hallowed waters

Nothing gets rowers down to the boat yard like the impending warmth and promise of erg-free days spent gliding across glassy waters; the twinkle of the sunshine in your puddles; the crew perfectly in unison; and the trickle of bubbles tickling the belly of your beloved shell as it sings from one stroke to the next.

Experienced rowers know this promise is false! Spring rowing brings grey days; chillier water than one might remember splashing across your tight back as the timing of the catch is once again impossibly elusive. Is it possible the coaches launch gets louder and the coach's incessant criticism louder still? Blisters on hands surface in an instant and legs have forgotten their duty to scream and burn under the weight of oars that feel as if they're leveraged half as much as they were last season. 

Ah how we love this damn beautiful sport. 

Of course not one of us exits the shell to the safety of the dock regretting the decision. It's always, inexplicably, worthwhile. Most times it's more than that. And sometimes we experience ecstasy, clarity or tranquility out on the water. Naturally this only occurs when the coach isn't around. 

So come on down - or keep coming down - and strive for an impossible perfection. Don't worry, we all learn to love our failure to ever capture it. 

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