Lightweight Eats

Heavy fog coated the bay this morning, reaching up through the streets and sitting heavy on the water. With low light and poor visibility, we all made our way up the boathouse stairs to start our workout on the erg: twenty athletes sweating together.

As we settled into our workout, pockets of rhythm appeared. One rower latched onto the rhythm of another, and, as the rhythm spread through the room, ten fans sung out, whirring in unison. Filling in the background, smaller groups—two bodies matched perfectly over here, a trio of swing there—buzzed and hummed between the strongest rhythm.

Over the course of forty five minutes, the rhythms and the groups changed, each of us finding our own stride throughout the workout; others, sensing our flow, using our constancy as an anchor.

And though I could swing with the rhythm all day, the water beckoned. The fog just a whisper, we grouped into a quad and, with barely a word, took out our equipment to launch. And this is where the real beauty began.

Not four hundred meters from the dock, we are halfway through a warm-up initiated with but two words: pick drill.

From the bow seat, I am looking over my left shoulder, the toe of my right shoe swiveled hard to our starboard side, steering cleanly through the bridges, buoys and boats surrounding us. My hands grip my oars firmly, holding the handles and, by extension, the boat steady.

In front of me, our two seat gently glides back and forth on her seat, blades floating across the surface of the water. She reaches her hands forward, clearing space in the water for the rower astern. Then, she sweeps back, moving the handles from the arc of his shoulder swing.

As he rows, our three seat murmurs the occasional words, extending the stern pair's stroke from arms only, to arms and swing, then gradually adding segments of the leg drive. Silently, he counts strokes, making his calls as the count extends beyond ten.

The ultimate leader and the ultimate follower, our four seat mimics herself, one stroke after another. She trusts us to manage the practice as much as we trust her to find and keep our perfect rhythm.

And together, by some unspoken agreement, we make our way down the estuary, slicing the water as the emerging sun warms our backs.