Carnegie Currents: March/April 1999, Vol. XIII, No. 2
Our Roving Rowers
The Thrill of Defeat
Report from San Diego
It’s the third week of March and CLRA has just finished indoor winter training. We’ve had two days back on the water and it’s been cold, dark and wet. Now let me see ... New Jersey, California? California, New Jersey? OK, California! Not a tough choice when you’re offered an opportunity to sub in a boat headed for the 1999 San Diego Crew Classic.
Within a matter of hours I was rowing on Mission Bay, sitting 2-seat, behind seven experienced, like-minded women from my home town of Boston, with my sister seated behind me in bow. The thrill of a lifetime. The monotony of erg and tank training behind me. The crystal blue sky above spotted only by howling seagulls. Not a goose in sight. SMACK! The reverie is broken as I take a direct hit in the eyes from the Pacific — my first painful reminder of the business at hand. Using the stinging saltwater sensation to toughen myself up and put my head back in the boat, I have exactly five seconds before we surge forward, reaching a stroke rating of 42 for 500 meters. I’m no longer worried if my hair looks good (it doesn’t) or that my mascara is running (it is). The feeling is great. I can’t believe I’m doing this. I’m racing in San Diego!
Back on the water at 6 a.m. the next morning, our races are slated for late in the day. My relatively peaceful night’s sleep leaves me feeling confident about my job in the bow end of the boat. At precisely this moment, our coxswain asks me to practice sculling the boat from 2-seat. To what? At the when? Swell! Now I will have the direct responsibility of keeping the boat lined up for the start. No problem. But doesn’t that involve handling two oars — at the same time — during the countdown? I can see the Carnegie Currents headline now: "Klutzy Sweep Rower Lost in Seas Off California. Was She Lost or Was She Tossed?" I somehow survive this maneuver, and all that’s left to do is be at the start at the appointed hour, in the right boat, for our two races: the Masters Women’s B 8 followed shortly by the Women’s Club 8.
Not to under-emphasize the thrill of participating at this level of competition in this magnificent setting 3,000 miles from home; and not to undermine the importance of rowing in whatever conditions you’re given by the man above; nor to minimize the personal growth that takes place when you allow yourself to be challenged by the great unknown — the bottom line is, WE GOT CREAMED! Even with final 2000-meter times of 7:52 and 8:34 for the two respective races, we were out of our league against the native competition.
Now with that said, our newly bonded eight exchanged typical accolades shared by those who have faced defeat: "We had a great row." "We rowed well." "We had a personal best." "We had fun." And when those heartfelt expressions of good sportsmanship wore off (approximately three minutes) we got down to the more realistic dialogue older female rowers mutter, like: "Oh, my God! Have you ever seen lats like that in your life?" "Would you look at that babe’s shoulders? They’re the width of two of us together!" "And that group over there — there isn’t one who doesn’t have platinum blond hair down to her waist and legs up to her chin." "Check that one out. What is she, 18? My kids are older than that!"
It’s now one day after finals, and I’m on the plane back to Newark after my three-day West Coast tour. I’m writing down my thoughts for permanent storage and sipping my Merlot. Some things are already becoming less important and some things will stay in my memory. For instance ... giggling like a school girl at my sister in bow seat, pulling with all we had, knowing we had reached our goal of rowing together in the same boat; spotting a Carnegie Lake T-shirt on a total stranger in a massive crowd so many miles from home and being proud to be a member of the club; seeing national team rower Jim Neil a few feet away and (after catching my breath) remembering how he corrected my form in the tanks just a few seasons back when he was coaching us; watching the Princeton Lightweight Women several boat lengths ahead in their heat and knowing we share some of the same equipment, wash the same boats and pull with the same oars as the Princeton crews; discovering that all in all I don’t look so bad in a uni (although I’m looking into designing a prototype with tummy control); feeling incredibly proud while being toured through the ARCO Women’s Training Center by Stephanie Gregg (PU ’96) as she described the "Sandi Chu go fast" cookies baked from scratch for her boat (hey, how about us, Sandi?). And lastly, realizing that I wouldn’t have been able to endure one stroke of the rating we hit in our boat in San Diego if I hadn’t been for our training program this past season. Even though I cursed each and every one of our coaches (under my breath and out loud in the parking lot) night after night as I cranked on that stupid erg, the end result feels pretty good.
— Pam Kitty