What an exciting time the past 10 days have been! Probably the most stressful time period since college; I am happy to have made it through alive.
The naming date for camp boats was yesterday. That means a week of seat racing for everyone trying out for the 8+ or 4-, which is hard even if you aren't getting switched. (It means a lot of tough racing.) If your seat is on the line, it can be pretty miserable. To find the fastest boat, we race time-trial format. This means we essentially row a piece (hard) and swap one rower for another who has been sitting out. Whoever had the faster time gets to keep the seat, and the other guy is out of luck unless there is somewhere else he can fit.
I can't say too much without divulging National Selection Secrets. I know the coaches of every international rowing power are checking for new posts daily to see if there are any bits of inside information that can give them an edge, and I will not play into their filthy conniving hands. So other than what I have said, I will keep the week's selection procedures a black box, and only say two things about it:
- It was thorough and fair
- I was viciously exposed
Why such disappointment? The four is the priority boat, which means that after the pair, it has the fastest guys. I was looking forward to racing it internationally since it's a very difficult event, and Poland was a race where I could have built my reputation. In the four, each rower has more responsibility, since he's 25% of the crew. There is more resting on your shoulders than in the eight, and I was taken out because I couldn't handle the load.
I should clarify that I am OBVIOUSLY excited to row the eight. The disappointment is that it's simply hard to lose to anyone, even your own teammates. Especially your own teammates. Rowing the eight is a priveledge, and I would have loved to do it if the route into the eight didn't mean losing. However, as miserable as it was, I am thankful that I was exposed here in Princeton, representing only myself, in front of my friends. The alternative would be far worse: an exposure at the World Championships, representing the United States, in front of the world.
The whole sport of rowing is about self-discovery. It's extremely unsettling to find yourself deficient, but finding your deficiencies is the only way to improve. And that's why all of us are here. Everyone at Princeton has come here to lose. If winning was our goal, we could go to hundreds of races every year at clubs across the country and win, but that would be boring. Rowing at a high level, you will probably lose. If not to the people you train with, then to those at a training center somewhere else in the world. It is very hard to win.
In the end, we are lucky to have such a clear mirror in which to view ourselves; without rowing, how would we find our faults? How would we measure progress? Rowing is a clear forum in which we can show off our virtues, varied and questionable as they may be. Hence quitting is out of the question. The obvious reason, of course, is that I can't brand myself a quitter. The more subtle reason I can't walk away is that I can't imagine what I would spend my waking hours trying to accomplish.
The conclusion, as always, is that I am lucky to be here. Wait...LOSING?! LOSING IS LIVIN THE DREAM?! Hella. Because losing means I'm still playing, and if I weren't still playing I would definitely go crazy.
