Row Jake Row!

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2009-09-03T18:38:00.000-07:00

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On Athletic Hatred

2009-08-21T11:05:00.000-07:00

Normally, I have no problems with national diversity. Our boats are manufactured in Canada. Our coaches are Polish and Australian. Fifty-one weeks out of the year, I am open to people of all nationalities and cultures. But for the next nine days, the alien crowd gathering at Malta Lake are my enemies, and I have no reservations about saying so. I expect them to say the same about me. This animosity should be public knowledge.

Let me be the first to say that hatred is bad. I am happy to say that the revulsion I feel toward my athletic opponents has been tempered over the years. For instance, I now look forward to conversing with our international friends after the medals are handed out, and I am confident this geniality will not hinder my ability to get one. I was not always able to isolate the heat of competition from the rest of life so easily.

This is because for me, rowing has generally been fueled by negative emotions. Growing up, I found that anger is a powerful feeling. One would think this is sufficiently evidenced by war, genocide, and the Star Wars trilogy, but for me it took teenage temper tantrums and the wake of destruction they left behind. Unfortunately my family bore the brunt of these youthful outbursts of discovery, for which I am very sorry. The following are some sample manifestations of my adolescent frustrations, in order of occurrence:

-Toilet bowl smashed by toilet seat
-Kitchen knife thrown through microwave
-Hole punched into wall
-Road sign felled by 1988 Mercury Grand Marquis
-Rowing

Thankfully, rowing finally provided a constructive (or at least less DEStructive) outlet for my immature expressions of rage. The unhappy by-product of this was that rowing angry became a habit. At first, I rowed because I was pissed off. Later, I was pissed off because I rowed. By this, I don't mean that rowing made me upset. Rather, I found that the most effective source of energy for training and racing was anger. This almost certainly made me row poorly, but hacking around while pulling hard made my boat go faster than my opponents rowing beautifully soft. It became difficult to row without it.

Once I grew out of my teenage angst and realized that my life is actually pretty enjoyable (aka "the dream"), this became a problem. Without a true source of angerfuel, I rowed like a pussy, and I still rowed like crap. Clearly this was not an option. As a result, I developed the dubious habit of intentionally cultivating a hatred of my opponents. Don't tell my current teammates, but in college I wanted to put their teeth through the back of their heads. There was no logical reason to dislike them, of course. This emotion was consciously manufactured, but it was real. I couldn't understand how our guys could befriend rowers at other schools, or how Craig could talk to rival coaches on the phone every day. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?? WE ARE TRAINING TO RIP THEIR F****** THROATS OUT, AND YOU'RE TALKING TO THEM ABOUT THEIR FAMILIES?!! Ah, the good old days. (There are still remnants of this. At a visceral level, seeing blue and gold still makes me want to kick puppies.)

Fast-forward a year to 2007, and these mortal enemies became my teammates. Clearly this gave me reason to question this worldview. It was slightly disorienting, to say the least. We're rowing with Huskies...we've got no jobs..our pets heads are falling off!? Apparently, the oarsmen at Washington don't cultivate a hatred of Stanford rowers. This could be because we never beat them, or it could be that these athletes are more emotionally stable than I am. Regardless, it immediately became apparent that my manufactured hatred would not work in this environment, for three reasons:

1) For ten months out of the year, our primary competition comes from the people with whom we train, eat, sleep, work, and party. Without these people, I would have no friends. The prospect of isolating myself from everyone who might help me enjoy life was unappealing.

2) Another four years of purposeful hating seemed far too exhausting. Training in college was difficult, but not because of the four hours a day we spent training. It was hard due to the 20 hours outside of training spent accumulating the weapons-grade fury required for this approach to the sport. For my plan to yield success in Princeton, I would have to hate more than a select group of rowers in the US. I would learn to hate the entire world, which hardly seems like a success. That sort of mindset probably isn't even worth an Olympic gold medal. Probably.

3) I still rowed like a wounded donkey, and anger would not solve this.

Long story short: Now I only hate my opponents for one week a year, which seems manageable. I don't really even hate them, but I do I hate what they stand for, which is me losing. I suspect they feel the same way. Now, instead of hating flags and people, my energy comes from a vicious aversion to losing, which is relatively benign. Hence after the racing, I will probably have beers with the Canadians and Brits and Germans without wanting to do them bodily harm. I hate to say it, but I probably have more in common with them than most Americans. And besides, in my book, any story that ends in beer is a good thing.

Tapercrazy

2009-08-19T06:12:00.000-07:00

Life on a taper seems dull. With racing starting on Monday, coaches are careful not to prescribe overly taxing workouts. Throughout the year, we row up to 50k per day. Now we are averaging less than half that, and I, for one, am getting restless. Other than my "week off" in Lucerne, this is already the least work I've done since last September, and we still have days to go until racing. I am slowly going crazy.

Yesterday's afternoon off was NOT a trap, for once, and subconsciously that makes me nervous. I am also consciously nervous of course, because with so much time off I have the energy and the hours to think about the implications of next week. Watching the track and field on TV doesn't help, since the women at the starting line of the 400m hurdles look as though they are about to cry before the starting gun fires. I am confident I won't cry when we pull into the starting blocks, but I am certain I will want to be elsewhere.

This is all familiar of course. Before seat races, erg tests, selection regattas, the Boat Race, the Cal duel... it's always the same. It varies in degree, of course. Erg tests, for instance, usually aren't a big deal. They hurt like hell, but that's the only thing you have to worry about. They are good for you, like vaccinations. They protect your body against evil invaders (weakness, cowardice, boredom), and they're over before you know it. They are all the same; the erg never changes, but you always get better. If you're doing your job, that is. The problem with racing other people is they have done been doing their job too, and that is cause for concern.

For the past year, all we have done is prepare for this race. And for the next 14 months, I'll either have an achievement from which to draw encouragement, or a failure to inspire regret, anger, and self-directed fury. Both will make me faster, but the former is far less painful. I am sick of managing the emotions of loss, trying to twist them into something productive. Even without the pain of losing, the effort of getting over a loss is so much work it's worth winning the first time around. Managing failures is a part of the sport, and it sucks. I would rather not get any better at it.

Managing the preparation effectively is also part of the sport. Kreek used to say that nerves are like "a little nuclear reactor" in your core. He is right. Fact: It is uncomfortable to have nuclear fission occurring in your stomach, especially if it lasts for days. The by-product makes you no friends on the elevator. In addition to effecting my digestion, pre-race nerves make me lose my appetite. It's a good thing the food here is so delicious, or I wouldn't eat enough.

Being nervous also hampers my sleep. When I do get to sleep, I have weird dreams. Last night, I had a dream that Holbrook was moved to 7 seat, and that Tyler had put bees in our air conditioner and they came shooting out like bullets trying to sting me when I turned it on. Why would he do that to me?! I wake up panicky, but he is calm/asleep, so clearly the bees have been exterminated. But why would Tim be switching the line-up around the week before racing? This is of greater concern to me, and I am confused until I get up, urinate, and realize that it was a false alarm as well.

Before races, there is a sequence of thoughts that occurs in my head several times an hour. It is initiated by distraction. Conversations, books, TV, etc. will draw my attention away from the task ahead, and it takes awhile before I remember: "Oh shit. It's coming." I feel it in my intestines and in the muscles in my wrists and neck. "It's almost here."

(Sorry for swearing, Mom, but this situation calls for profanity. Remember when I was nine and didn't come home from school because I was playing at the creek? That is the first time I remember you cursing, and it was because you were terrified. I have no children yet, so this is as scared as I get. At least once I realize the bees are not real.)

Let's take a step back. What is there to be afraid of? Rowing is what I do best, so logic dictates that I should be more comfortable rowing than doing anything else. I am not very good at a lot of things: jumping rope, making smalltalk, playing video games, fixing the Grumbler, using Powerpoint, on and on and on. I trip walking up the stairs far more often than I should. I really ought to be nervous before doing anything except rowing. I do get sort of nervous flipping my eggs in the morning, because I don't like it when I break the yolk. Other than that, my life is fairly nerves-free.

My problem--and it's a big one--is that for some reason I have decided that rowing matters. Ironically the very reason it matters is that it is what I do best. And if I fail at the one thing I do better than anything else, what does that say about how well I can manage the rest of my life? What does that say about who I am? If I fail in this race, I will be tasting the broken yolk of defeat for a long time. Without being melodramatic, I will be tasting it until I die. We are only at the plate for one at-bat, and life only gives us a certain number of pitches. This is my only chance to be a 24-year-old world champion. I could get hit by a bus on Nassau street this September and never get the opportunity to race again. This could be it. This IS it, buses or no. Life is short and very fragile. Hence, my moment of panic. And my profanity.

However after this "Oh shit" moment, the next thought is always "But I'll be fine. I'm prepared and I'm strong and I'm tough and I'll be fine." The reason I know I'll be fine is that as soon as the race starts, it all disappears. Everything disappears. I know because I've done this a lot, and it is always the same. The women's 400m hurdles is the same too, or at least it looks that way. BANG, they're gone, they're on autopilot, and they're doing what they do best. They are not nervous, because they are finally in it. Habit takes over. They know where their feet need to be and where their heads need to be. They are finally being weighed against each other and against a higher standard, which is what they have wanted all along.

And so it will be next week. The one thing that is comforting as I eat little, sleep less, and fart a lot is that this will all culminate in a race. A race is a chance to win, and winning is fun. So following "Oh shit" and "I'll be fine" is...

"I want it now."

I am sick of training, sick of wondering, and sick of waiting. I don't want to be doing steady state in Princeton, and I don't want to be on the starting blocks. I want the light to be green, I want the roar of six boats across, I want to be purging my demons in a fire of lactic acid, and I don't want to wait another six days for it. I am ready to show my cards.

Clearly this taper has given me too much time to think, which can be dangerous, though writing this down will help me keep things in balance. One way or another, the hourglass is slowly running out. Monday will come when it comes. All that remains for me to do is understand my situation, acknowledge that this is where I want to be, and play Unblock Me on my iPhone until the day of reckoning is upon us. It cannot come soon enough.

An Afternoon Off

2009-08-17T14:50:00.000-07:00

We rowed this morning, but Tim gave us the afternoon off. There isn't much to do at the hotel other than watch EuroSport, nap, and surf the internet in the lobby (where there is free wireless), so things can get a bit slow. I spent some time getting physical therapy and looking at row2k, before deciding to take a pleasant stroll.

I went in the direction opposite Saturday's adventure, and things looked much different. Instead of the patchy new building/abandoned lot look, there was actually a neighborhood with many houses and almost no vacancies. I think my conception of the city was skewed by our initial experience with a few blocks of sparse development; other than that area, the city seems pretty normal (if post-Soviet). There were a lot of people walking around today as well, so it appears all is well in Poland, and I made a premature evaluation of the city, country, and geopolitical region. I do find it strange when people say things like "oooh, I just LOVE Costa Rica" after returning from a trip on which they might have seen two square miles of the place. But that's just how people think, so I will continue to make generalized judgments on things based on very limited experience. Sorry. I am only human.

As I said, people in Poland do indeed walk around on the street, just not in rundown areas. I saw so many people on my walk that TWO of them stopped me to ask for things in Polish. The first was a young gentleman asking for directions. The second was a middle-aged woman who wanted to know the time. On both occasions I disappointed my inquisitors by awkwardly mumbling something in English, which made both understand that I was either foreign or "slow." The young man gave me a thumbs-up before moving on, and the woman grabbed my wrist to look at my watch.

From this, I have ascertained that all Polish people are: (1) Friendly (2) Inquisitive (3) Tolerant. I am also a bit flattered because it means to the average Pole I appear (1) Polish (2) Approachable (3) Knowledgeable. I have taken these encounters to mean that my gym shorts/T-shirt/boat shoes fad has spread overseas, and the people here view me as the very model of a contemporary young Pole: attuned to Western culture, but true to my Proto-Slavic roots. (Also, I have been told I sort of look like that guy on The Office who I think has a Polish last name, so that may contribute to my Polish appearance.) Clearly the Poles hold facial hair in high regard, and are very perceptive when it comes to body language. My confident stride and wristwatch clearly broadcast "I know where I am going and I know what time it is," perhaps a bit too well considering I don't know the language.

To give you a sense of the landscape, here are some photos of my adventure:A Polish street corner. In Poland, they have buildings and cars.

In Poland, Frog=Food so this little guy is all over the place.
He marks a popular grocery store.

Here is a sweet building. You can see the trolley lines in the foreground.

Anyway, on my 30 minute walk I learned that there is NOTHING TO DO anywhere in Poland. As evidence to the contrary, Mark, our physical therapist, claims to have seen a guy in a Captain America suit walking down the street at 6am on Sunday. He had large shoulder pads, tight spandex pants, and looked to be coming home from a good night of partying. The girl accompanying him seemed embarrassed, probably because he wasn't wearing boat shoes. Mark seemed to think this indicated crazy parties, but I suggested it might just indicate crazy people. In any event, both are fun, and I hope this is an sign of good times to come. There are a few points of business to address first, however: dispensing justice, destroying the will of many foreigners, etc. But that is next week.

On returning from my walk, I joined the rest of the gang is some vigorous group stretching and got ready for dinner. The restaurant was empty since most of the other crews had not yet returned from practice, but Osborne and I did share some conversation over the fate of Stanford Crew, how Silas is doing, and how we can make money on renewable energy. Few conclusions were reached.

Afternoons off, though restful, generally make us wary that Tim may be planning something for tomorrow morning. These things are usually traps of some sort, because he wouldn't give us recovery unless we were going to need it. I am going to sleep early tonight.

To Oars!

2009-08-16T15:02:00.000-07:00

I may not have mentioned this, but I was pretty sleepy after our travels yesterday. In a period of 30 hours, I got all my sleep in two 45-minute naps. It was like being in back in college. I realize this isn't much of a feat for some people (particularly Navy SEALs and those who play World of Warcraft), but it was a lot for my sad little body by 8pm, GMT+1. Due to this lack of sleep I started to get a bit loopy around bedtime, and I miscalculated in setting my alarm. When I get super sleepy, I cannot do hard math like subtracting six hours. Thus, this morning, instead of waking at 6:30 as I had hoped, I was rousted by Tyler's alarm at 7:15. Disappointing, considering our bus departed at 7:30, and my hopes for breakfast were high based on dinner last night. After rushing to the dining hall, I found my expectations (and disappointment) justified.

With only small bowl of honey-nut Cheerios in my stomach, I boarded the bus and went to the course. At first glance, you can already tell it's not in the US because there is a large permanent grandstand installation. (Spectators? For rowing?! How queer.) The course, which is just over 2000m, has cement markers at each 500m and an aggressive color scheme: yellow, blue, and red. There are strange Jetson-inspired sculptures on the starting blocks. Upon arriving, someone commented that it looks like it was designed by McDonald's, and they are right. There's a lot of activity around the course itself. Along the banks are bike paths, a hotel or something, a beer garden, and a man-made hill that might be used for skiing or sledding in the winter. There is a small blue, yellow and red train that takes excited Poles in a loop through the park around the lake. This morning the venue hosted a swimming race. And this afternoon, there were actually PEOPLE walking, cycling, and inline skating along the banks! There isn'e a zombie problem here after all! People here just spend time in the park. A serious relief.

This morning, we arrived at the course at 7:45 and started rigging. Tim is very thorough with is rigging, which means that after we have adjusted the oars and warmed up, there is little to do except watch Tim change things about our boat that we didn't know were adjustable. Inspired by the track and field we have been watching, Holbrook showed us his speed walking. He was apparently very competitve on the US Under-18 Walking Circuit, and I now know why. He is a FAST WALKER. Hella.

A quick paddle to adjust the rig and we were back on the sweaty sweaty bus, back at the hotel, and watching summer ski-jumping on EuroSport. I didn't even know they have that in the summer. They land on some sort of green stuff until they slide onto grass and tip over. Lunch (delicious), some stretching and physical therapy, and then back on the bus for Practice #2. Another few rigging changes and we started feeling pretty comfortable. We ran through our usual drills, did a bit of steady state, and returned to the hotel. Dinner (delicious), Men's 100m final (insane), blog, bed. Where do the hours go? Days like today make me feel that we are all going to be dead before we know it. On that note, goodnight.

Poland!

2009-08-15T15:34:00.000-07:00

Well, after a two hour bus ride, three hours wading through airport security, one hour waiting on the tarmac, an eight hour flight, and a six hour bus ride, we arrived at last. Hooray! Poland, the place where dreams come true! We are staying at the Sheraton in Poznan, which is one of the nicer hotels I've stayed in (ever). The showers have a wall of plexiglass instead of a curtain. You walk around the wall and step directly under the shower head, which obviates the burden of stepping ALL THE WAY into a tub and pulling the curtain ALL THE WAY across. The head is very large and thus provides a wide stream. "It is like stepping into a rainforest waterfall," says Holbrook. Indeed.

This fine hotel, a mark of American hospitality/capitalist imperialsim, provides an effective contrast to the shell of communism that surrounds it. To quote the guidebook provided at the hotel: "Poland has moved quicker than a greased goose to embrace capitalism, and few cities have done more than Poznan to ditch those clunky chackles of socialism." (As foreigner in a strange place, I was quite relieved to hear familiar phrases like "quicker than a greased goose." It puts me at ease!)

We took a jog/walk to start recovering from the flight, which gave us a chance to tour of the city in our new USA spandex. The word to describe it would be "practical." By and large, the buildings are cement boxes that need some paint, and it's difficult to tell the occupied boxes from the abandoned ones. There are several parks and all are well-kempt, but greenery elsewhere is let to run wild. Grass pokes out from the underside of buildings, climbs up fences, mingles with construction waste in vacant lots, and pushes up through sidewalk cracks. Spaces that are meant to be seen, the parks, museums, and monuments, are beautiful, but little asthetic consideration has been given to the adjacent utilitarian spaces: office buildings, ground-floor retailers, other-floor apartments, forgotten playgrounds. It looks like the industrial neighborhoods of any declining US city, but with small pockets of finery scattered throughout.

To be honest, this was all expected. The strange part is that the streets are practically deserted. It feels like the city is too big for the number of inhabitants. I am a little afraid there are zombies here. The few people we did see on our walk were friendly and seemed unconcerned, but this could be a zombie trap so we remain cautious.

After such a long journey we're using today to settle in, which means we're watching the track and field world championships. Tomorrow we'll head to the course to rig and row, and start getting sharp for racing next week.

Gear Day

2009-08-07T01:16:00.000-07:00

Yesterday afternoon, we gathered at the Princeton boathouse to sign papers for USRowing and FISA that said we will do nothing exciting while overseas. As always when signing rowing papers, reading the text was dispensable. I can't imagine anything I might be asked to sign in this scenario that I wouldn't accept, which makes the process seem both pointless and unfair. You say I need to sign away Mr. Box to row on the national team, eh? The joke's on you; he is very active at 4am and gets trapped in kitchen cabinets frustratingly often. I'm sorry Mr. Box. Thank you for ridding our house of mice, but you DID bring fleas in and give them to Shane. You will have to go. The point is nobody would ever refuse a spot on the national team because they need to say they won't vandalize anything while representing the US. It all seems a bit like a security officer at the airport asking me if I packed my own bags. And because I will sign anything to get on the team, I don't bother remember any of it. Scratch that: I do remember a small clause in something that said I was bound by Swiss law somehow, which I found interesting. I suspect it is their way of getting back at the US for the UBS thing.

After signing away our right to due process, protection against unreasonable search and seizure, etc. we got down to the real purpose of the meeting, which was to distribute gear (!!!!). After all this time rowing, I feel like I probably shouldn't still get so excited about getting yet another set of windpants.
BUT
This set is actually long enough so it covers my ankles and has a sweet red stripe down the side and comes with a matching jacket and has good pockets and rad zippers at the bottom that must help me somehow!! AND we got
Unisuits with "USA" on the side!! AND
Yet another polo shirt!! AND
A girly-looking gray t-shirt!! AND
Some kind of sweet red jacket that smells like carcinogens!! AND
A hat!! AND
A long-sleeve technical-fiber shirt with sleeves that are too short!!

Awesome.

The best of the gear package:
A new pair of gym shorts with pockets. Boathouse, who makes our clothes, definitely added pockets because of my complaint in June re:Your pocketless shorts necessitate that I tuck my keys into my underpants. I get the sense that they think we only wear our shorts to work out. In fact, we wear them pretty much all the time except when we're working out. When we work out, we wear Boathouse unis which are the best because they have no seam on the butt (and therefore, cause fewer sores). It is very hot here, and few of us are employed, so most of the time we just hang around the house wearing only our gym shorts, stowing our essentials in the elastic of our underpants. I personally have started the fashion trend that, in case you haven't noticed, is sweeping America. It's like the next Twitter or Crocs:

gym shorts
dirty t-shirt
boat shoes
huge beard with bald spot on chin
George Washingtons tucked into Fruit of the Looms

Yes, strutting down Nassau street in the very heighth of style, the women want me and the men want to be me. Just the other night, the Lovely Lisa and I went out to Halo Pub for some delicious and refreshing ice cream. When I parked a block or two away, I could tell she was concerned some other lady might try to make me hers whilst we strolled by:
-You're parking way down here, huh?
-Yes, and what of it?
-Well, my friends are down there.
-Oh, good, I was looking forward to meeting them.
-Well, you're not really dressed to be out and about in the street though, huh? *concerned look*
Her jealously was so transparent it was laughable. Such is the desire my style arouses in the female heart. And now, it is so much more convenient to be chic; with pockets on my shorts, there is hardly a need for underpants at all! Thanks, Boathouse!

The worst of the gear package:
Neutrogena anti-residue Shampoo. At first, I was thrilled. Shampoo, and a fancy kind. This was just what I needed. However, further inspection showed that I had been tricked. The tiny "anti-residue" actually means "a shampoo to clean your hair from your other shampoo." I'm not sure quite how to phrase this without sounding unhygienic: I rarely find shampoo to be the contaminant of primary concern on my scalp.

Please don't misunderstand. I love free personal care products, and I thank the good folks at Neutrogena for providing them. Still, on discovering the true nature of this product, I was reminded of an emotion I had as a 4-year-old when Santa brought me a bike helmet. A lovely gift to be sure, but my bike had been stolen in September. Oh, Santa/Neutrogena, if only you knew! But how could you? You live at The North Pole/Los Angeles, and have no knowledge of the conditions of my everyday life. You know I have been a good boy/rower this year, but you are too busy to acknowledge my real needs.

The difference between these two stories, of course, is that Santa did know about my bike and had left one for me elsewhere in the house as a pleasant surprise. With this in mind, I spent about twenty minutes looking through the gear bag before I realized two things:

There was no regular shampoo to compliment this anti-residue product
Santa gives children unrealistic expectations about life

Best and worst of the gear package:
The ice-vest. Ice-vests are distributed to those who request them to aid in our recovery. I was clearly quite excited to add it to my summertime attire (envision the fashionable ensemble described above with the inclusion of such finery) and also curious as to its effects on recovery. Still, I must say I am a little disappointed. The pros are: It makes you look like a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles villain, and it is free. The con is: You just fill it up with water and freeze it. I was hoping for something more technical, like a compressor or at least some exotic coolant. The jury is still out on this one.

Notwithstanding my hair care concerns, a very pleasant gear package. Hopefully I will make enough teams to have this excitement wear off, but for now I am still hella stoked and plan to enjoy it. Many thanks to all those who made it possible.

The Menu and the Police

2009-07-31T07:19:00.000-07:00

Well, it's Friday, and this week that means that it's my turn to cook dinner. It was Charlie's turn on Wednesday, but we had a pizza party/video session on Wednesday so he shirked his duties and the lightweights went hungry. As usual. Charles and I will therefore be tag-teaming this dinner, and it will be a masterpiece. On the menu is a mango-glazed turkey breast from this month's Food & Wine. Callaghan get F&W although his favorite meal is turkey on white bread. Period. He likes to savor the purity of the turkey and exthoxlated diglycerides, offset only with the tang of calcium propionate (to retain freshness). Vegetables or condiments would only mess that up. But I digress.

The Menu

BEER

MANGO-GLAZED TURKEY BREAST

COCONUT-SCENTED RICE
Charlie's specialty for cheap and delicious calories. Probably the best thing he makes, but don't tell him or he'll get cocky.

TOMATO AND ZUCCHINI BREAD GRATIN
Using a huge zucchini left on our fair-game table on Wednesday and tomatoes from the rooftop garden; also cheap and also delicious. AND a way to trick Anthony into eating vegetables.

CUCUMBER BLACKBERRY FRAPPES

We have extra cucumbers from last week. This may turn into a cucumber-only frappe, thanks to the day's latest adventure:

I can't find my wallet. I have been retracing my steps from last night, when I'm certain I had it. I needed to see if I had my ID, thanks to last night's adventure:

Running from the cops.

It all started when I was giving the James Twins a ride home from the boathouse. Then it got more exciting when Osborne asked for a ride too. For those of you who don't know, the Grumbler only fits three comfortably/legally. It isn't an extended cab or anything excessive like that. So Ross had to hop into the bed for the mile drive home. We grumbled our way up Alexander, but the Man was waiting for us. Ross hopped out, but it was too late; we had been found out.

The 5-0 followed us in hot pursuit (strictly 25mph), and presumably started running my plates to see if the Grumbs is registered properly, etc. It is, of course. (This is when I checked for my ID, incase the Penelopes got cranky.) I stopped at the next intersection and prepared to make a very cautious left, but traffic was heavy and I wasn't about to take a risk with Johnny Law on my bumper. Out of the blue, a lady in an SUV signaled for me to proceed in front of her. As you can imagine, this presented me with a pretty tough decision. Make an illegal turn with The Fuzz right behind me? You bet I will.

Lucky for us, Ms. SUV (now at the head of a long line of traffic) pulled in front of the cop, blocking his pursuit! We immediately saw opportunity and blazed (25mph) over potholes, around the corner, through a traffic light and back into the AQ. Running from the Po and taking refuge in a church? God, we are badasses. It's not easy, but it's all part of the Life We've Chosen.

PS-I found my wallet, on the table in the common room where I left it at Thursday Night Dinner. Let the feast begin.

Selection adventures

2009-07-27T13:02:00.000-07:00

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

The four for Poland will be the four that raced in Lucerne. I'll be in the eight, provided I don't catch the deathflu again. (Though I strategically built up my resistance in Switzerland, so I am not worried about that.) It was initially a very disappointing result. Results like this always make me feel like I should quit the sport, and I might, if the one thing worse than continuing to row weren't failing to do so. I still don't "get it," I don't know how to make boats go fast, and I'm sick of trying to learn and failing. A failure like this one is the single bad apple that destroys a year-long of pretty good apples. A week ago I thought I could row, and that I was actually making progress. Now I am pretty certain that I don't know how to row, and probably never will.

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.

Back in Paradise

2009-07-17T13:51:00.000-07:00

All is well again. Or, rather, all is as it was before Lucerne. I have recovered from what I now believe to be swine flu. (A few of the girls found out that they had swineflu, so perhaps we had the same thing and I just got better faster thanks to my indestructible immune system.) The Grumbler is running poorly. Mr. Box, lonely as he was while I was away, has befriended a family of fleas. The kitchen sink is still broken and needs my attention. Slowcooker beans again for dinner. Livin the dream? Indeed. Tonight we have a special recipe, which is the following:

1c navy beans, rinsed and looked over
1c chicken broth
1 can Coors (vented)
2 carrots, chopped
2 celery stalks, chopped
10 oz white button mushrooms
1/2 tsp of poultry seasoning mix
HONEY
salt and pepper

Delicious. Even Meat Duck, with a palate so discerning that he now weighs 110 lbs, approves.

I am skinny too now though: a recent-memory record of 197 on the scale post-workout this morning. It is now hot, and I sweat out most the fluid from my eyeballs. We were spoiled by rain earlier in the summer, and now we are paying for it. We finish our workouts with our fingers pruned from sweat, and the skin rips off a little bit and stick to your oar. Sweet! We couldn't be wetter if we were swimming in the piss-warm water beneath our hull. The idea of swimming would be appealing if the water weren't cloudy from all the overgrowth caused by too much fecal coliform. It feels better to row than to sit, because the convection of moving air is the only thing that cools us off. During our workout this morning, Brett turned very very pink and couldn't speak that well. I think he almost died.

Meanwhile, Haley the dog is back at the AQ. She is "skittish," which means that she is a "wimpdog" (FT's words) except if you have food, in which case she will try to befriend you. She has discovered Mr. Box's food dish. They don't get along very well.

The common room is full of U23 guys who are preparing to ship out for their races tomorrow. They are a good bunch, but six dudes in a room has a tendency to get smelly. Did I mention that we sweat a bit these days? They do too. The common room is air-conditioned, but poorly ventilated (the better keep the cold in). I spend most of my time praying some little old churchlady doesn't stumble in there by mistake.

Inman's truck (almost a Grumbler) had a faulty tire last night, so one of the tires in the back of the Grumbs finally came in handy. Good thing I have them all there. The lugnuts on his wheel were metric (?!) or perhaps very corroded standard, which made getting them off an adventure. The best part of The Dream is that it is full of adventures like this. Four broken tools and 14 hours later, he was back on the road.

Enough stories for now. There will be more tomorrow, exciting as things here are. WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT?! Another training session? Some piece of yardwork? A trip to the grocery store fraught with misfortune? The possibilities are endless. You'll have to stay tuned...

Lucerne racing

2009-07-13T17:06:00.000-07:00

Let me tell you what is more fun than watching rowing live at the racecourse:

Eating a popsicle,
Inventing German names for nearby plants,
Throwing pebbles into a lake,
…

Now let me tell you what is (I assume) more fun than watching your friends race live at Lucerne on television:

Racing at Lucerne.

Disappointed as I was that our internet was down again, it prompted me to turn on the TV to find out what was on Eurosport (think ESPN, but with more motorcycle racing and field hockey). Imagine how startled I was to discover ROWING on TV. Imagine my greater amazement that my teammates David Baker Banks and Charles “Meat Duck” Cole were about to be on! What luck.

Charles and Banks of course looked the best, and rowed their way to a bronze medal. Not bad, but Charlie looked a bit skinny on the medal stand. I would say that perhaps television makes people appear skinny, but Banks did NOT look skinny. He looked jacked, as expected. Clearly I should cook Charles some heartier food.

All of this excitement convinced me that perhaps I was feeling well enough to wander down to the course for the rest of the racing. This was good, because the only view of Switzerland I’d had for the last many days is the one accompanying this entry. Inspiring? Yes, but not as much as many mountains as I had expected. In fact, it mostly inspired me to get off my feverish ass and head to the racecourse.

Upon arriving at the course, I immediately bumped into two friends from my Cambridge days: The Germans! They are both retired, but had flown in to watch the racing. We chatted and I got the hot gossip from the Cambridge crowd. We watched several races, and before I knew it, the men’s four was coming down the course, with Brett, Guise, Steve, and Cam representing the USA. Hooray! It was a fun race. After being in 5th at one point, Our Courageous Team clawed their way back into contention and passed the Germans for 3rd with only a few meters to go. Not a gold, but not bad considering the line-up change they’d made. I was as excited as my enfeebled body allowed, and my German friends were very, very, sad, though to all appearances they took the bitter sting of defeat quite admirably.

The quad ended up on the wrong side of a barnburner. They were 5th through the first 1000m, and then dominated the 3rd 500m, moving into 3rd position. I was sure they were going to move into 2nd, but Slovenia had a late surge and moved through them on the last stroke. They were 0.03s out of bronze and 0.34s out of silver. Such is the nature of our sport. But it still sucks.

Other notable (USA) races:

The Men’s Eight ended up on the wrong side of their own barnburner, and just missed making the A final. They won the B final. A rather disappointing result for a country so accustomed to performing well in that event. Those guys are tough though, and they’ll regroup and be ready for Poland.

The Men’s 2x placed 4th in the B final. Those guys (Steve Whelpley and Mike Svigny) haven’t raced together internationally yet, so they probably learned a lot in preparation for doubles trials coming up.

The women had a good race in the 2-. We had two boats in that race, Shoop and Caroline coming in 4th just ahead of Mara and Erin. It looked sort of like any other day on Carnegie, but with a bunch of foreigners around getting in the way. Susan Francia was supposed to race with Caroline, but she also got Deathflu, so Shoop must have done a pretty good job filling in.

Ellen and Kalmoe dominated the 2x from start to finish. They are badass and nationwide. AND then they jumped into the quad (due to another illness!) and got a silver there. When I grow up I want to be Ellen.

The women’s eight got silver. Hooray! Overall, two bronzes, two silvers, and a gold for the US. Not too bad.

Anyway, we loaded the boats, returned to the hotel, and went out for an evening of restrained yet amicable socializing with the other teams. I have no exciting stories, of course, since I was still recovering. I did manage to meet up with a favorite (favourite?) Canadian of mine Andrew Byrnes, Ithaca native and general tough guy. I rowed with him in high school, and he is much the same. He’s livin the Maple Leaf Dream, which is very similar to the Standard version but with more Tim Hortons. What fun. Who can fault him?

I can. What a Canapunk.

The View

2009-07-12T18:40:00.000-07:00

Ahh, Switzerland from a reclined perspective. I am bored. This is what I spend a lot of time looking at, and I've become fond of it. What a lovely country!

The Illness Diaries

2009-07-10T07:17:00.000-07:00

It’s over. The dream I’ve cherished for weeks has been shattered by a bug to small to even be visible. I will not be racing tomorrow as planned, but rather Guiseppe will be taking my spot. I was feeling better, so I attempted a short (8k) paddle this morning, with somewhat disastrous results. Not disastrous, I suppose, but clear: I won’t be able to row tomorrow. The row was bad (I couldn’t even really sit up straight) and I felt terrible afterwards. A race would probably kill me, and I would die losing. Disappointing as my withdrawal is, there is no decision to be made, so in that respect, it’s easy.

In fact, FISA has assisted in making it easy: I’ve been quarantined to my hotel room. So now I have nothing to do but lie here and talk to myself. Will Guise take my seat for good? He might. He’s fast. What if they win without me in the boat? What if they set a course record?! I decide I want them to do well, but would be a bit ambivalent about a course record. This is yet another instance in which personal and collective motives are slightly divergent. It is still MY team though; whether I’m actually rowing the boat is a mere triviality. Yes, I will be cheering for them, if I have the strength to lift my hands up.

I haven’t been sick in ages… This thing must be nasty…What if I don’t get better soon? What if it takes weeks and puts me in the hospital?! I won’t make the team this year, AGAIN. Man, I am going to feel like a loser, and I will be justified. I pray that nothing keeps me from racing in Poland. As it is, every one of my teammates has raced overseas for the US, and I have not. I’m feeling a little old to be so new at this. If I were any good, I would have made a boat by now. In my better moments, it’s an inadequacy I can brush away. In my worst, it’s a source of resentment and anger. It was all going to end this weekend. Finally! No more brushing or resenting, regardless of mood. Nope, not yet. Hence the disappointment. There must be something I haven’t learned here yet, or life would not be so stubborn.

At least this isn’t Poland. Damn right. Or London. Am I wasting my life working for four years for something that might be destroyed by a germ? Probably, if it weren’t so fun. Someone gets sick every Olympics. But then, in the end germs are going destroy everything I am anyway. Let’s not fool ourselves into thinking that the Olympic adventure is any more fragile than life itself. An injury could prevent any of us from racing in 2012, just as a miscalculated turn on the highway could send us headfirst into a dump truck. Even a dump truck can’t change the past though. (I don’t think they can even go 88 miles an hour.) No matter what happens, I will still have trained for the Olympics, and it is pretty sweet. Hence: “Living the dream,” not “living to achieve the dream.” This is it. Even while sick.

A flu isn’t so bad. I will be OK. There is nothing good on TV, so I spend my time reading everything English in the room: two guidebooks, Thomas Paine’s Common Sense, and thankfully, The Ruins, which Brett left here before the Iron Curtain fell around my hotel room. (It took me a bit of searching to find the latter.) Then I try to take exciting photos of the things around me, which are mostly wrappers from foreign medicines. My room looks like a hospital. I open the blinds and windows today, which makes things seem more cheery. Korzo brings me my meals on a tray, which is very nice. Time to sleep.

Disaster!

2009-07-08T07:10:00.000-07:00

Fortunes, I gather, change as quickly as the weather here in the mountains. I awoke yesterday morning feeling slightly below par; my resting heart rate was higher than normal, and my back and was a bit sore. I attributed it to the long flight and the time change, and assumed I would feel better after practice.

This being our taper period, practices are easy. Our morning row went very well, though my heart rate was still high. I was ready to race, confident in our inevitable success. When we came back to the hotel though, I was exhausted and starting to feel a bit feverish.

It’s hard to ask yourself a question if you’re afraid to learn the answer. However, the tide still rises though you turn to face inland, and I was already waist-deep before I acknowledged the terrifying truth: the internet in our airy four-star hotel was down.

What would 15 young Americans abroad do without internet? Panic. It was as though somebody stepped on an anthill. Quiet whispers of “Hey, is your internet working?” arose from the hallways and ascended into shrieks. Ned started sobbing. Brett clicked “Try Again” every 30 seconds until he broke down and BOUGHT internet. (Desperate times…) I went to inquire at the front desk and convinced the hotel receptionist to give me access to their secret internet supply. No easy task, especially across a language barrier. Finally though, I got in.

I immediately checked WebMD. As suspected, I was getting sick. I had hopes it would go away with a bit of rest, but this morning I felt worse. OK, no big deal, I just need to get better by race day. I took today off rowing completely, and did nothing but sleep and visit the pharmacy.

This week being one for new experiences, another was added to the list: at the pharmacy, I really wished I knew German. Unlike at American drug stores, where you can browse through aisles of medicines and compare them, in Switzerland (or at least at this place) everything useful was behind the counter. This required my interaction with a real human being, which was a bit like reinventing language, a difficult task even when you’re feeling well. She did speak some English, but I suspect gave me things based on my apparent condition, which was rapidly deteriorating.

“What could this sweaty, red, snotty, congested American want?” I imagine her thinking. “Ah! I have just the thing.”

Some flu medicine. Perfect. “And a thermometer, please.” (She knows what this is.) “Danke schön.” *cough*

I think Wayne Newton, by way of Ferris Bueller, has taught me 100% of my German.

Back at the hotel, I check my temperature… 38.5? What does that even mean? I may be dea—no, wait. I’m not dead; I’ve just been foiled by my old nemesis the metric system again. Well, I’ll just Google this and find out what it me—Page Load Error?! Oh right. Who would have such obscure knowledge without access to Google?...Kris Korzeniowski, rowing coach. He was hardened in the forests of Poland before the internet made us all into marshmallows, and probably before Farenheit was even alive. I find him.

“Kris, my temperature is 38.5. What does that mean?”
“Oh, that is quite serious. Go and get rest.” Sweet.

Greetings from Lucerne!

2009-07-06T09:16:00.000-07:00

We’re here to race the World Cup next weekend. We flew out on the 4th of July, which was simultaneously inspiring and disappointing. Excited as I am to defend America’s honor on the racecourse, I would rather have some hamburgers and fireworks first as fuel.

Our hotel is the Hotel Continental-Park, a “bright and airy four-star hotel that offers an outstanding location in the center of Lucerne. It is a modern hotel specialised (sic) in individual and business guests and is characterised (sic) by its warm and personal atmosphere.” We are big timers. Brett and I are sharing a room with several exciting lighting fixtures, including yellow and blue mood lighting on the walls and a spotlight with a huge hemispherical lens. The beds are right next to each other and are difficult to move apart, so we have become very good friends.

After getting settled in yesterday, we took the bus to the course to rig our boats. They were supposed to arrive at 2:30 with Andreas, who cares for our equipment in Europe. One problem though: yesterday, Lucerne hosted the Swiss national championships, making it impossible to rig our boats until the rest of the crowd cleared out. They didn’t leave until 5:30 or so, which gave us some time. Despite the jetlag, it was one of the more pleasant episodes of wasting time at the racecourse I can remember. How often in my life will I be soothed to sleep in the grass by the sound of rowing and Alpine cowbells from across the lake? I’m trying to find out how to say “livin the dream” in German.

The crowds left, our boats arrived, and we rigged them just in time to get caught in a thunderstorm. Apparently, weather changes very quickly in the mountains.

The city is beautiful. Today I wandered around and got lost, but happened to bump into my hotel again fairly quickly. It is not a large city. As an American, a few things stand out:

There are tons of people walking everywhere
There are farms right next to the city (ie NO SUBURBS)
Switzerland has old buildings and big mountains!

It is no New Jersey, but it is pretty enough. Some of my photos from my city wanderings:

USRowing Nationals Fallout

2009-06-27T17:06:00.000-07:00

It’s official: the shower heads in California and Wisconsin flow better than those in Princeton. A disappointing result from the 8+ race, but overall a reasonably successful day.

The pair race went as expected. It was early and not yet, making for a very pleasant paddle down the course. At least it looked like it for Charlie and Banks. The rest of us got a little bit tired. Of course the Gruesome Duo won, followed by Brett and myself, and Steve and Cameron. One race down; another in an hour.

By the fours race, it was hot and sunny. We won without undue effort, but as expected the U23 boat wasn’t bad. They’re strong and aggressive, and have the sprit of whippersnapping college kids to keep fogeys like us on our toes. As far as I know, the lineup isn’t set yet for their boat, but hopefully we’ll get to train with the official U23 crew after Lucerne.

And then came the 8+. The sun had taken its toll while we were on the water for the 4-. FACT: It is demoralizing to come off the water after your second race of the day to see your competitors lounging around under a nice shady tree, having only recently arrived at the racecourse.

Guise-“Dude, I think I was still asleep when you did your first race.”
Brett-“…We are very well warmed up.”

I sort of felt like I had a fever, but clever planning would save the day! Anticipating this very moment, I had packed some ice! All was well. I could now do some shade-relaxin of my own, just kicking back and letting --What? Already?! Time to launch. Aw, hamburgers. Recuperated or not, it was Go Time.

The Main Event did not go as we had hoped. The other crew blasted off the line quicker than we did, and we spent the first 500m rocking around and slapping oars as they got up even further on us. They got up about eight seats on us before we stopped the movement. Ned made some vicious calls to claw us back into it, but even after a sprint we were a second slower than our rivals.

The racing was over, and we were hot, tired, and bummed. At this regatta, crews collect their medals directly after finishing. The winning boat took their time getting their golds. One would think that for such fast rowers, they could move a little bit quicker to get off the medals dock so we could glumly get our silvers and go home.

We don’t race eights very often, or at least we haven’t this year. I hadn’t raced an eight since The Boat Race, over two years ago, and it was louder than I remembered. In a pair, things are relatively quiet; there are no coxswains, fewer oars, fewer mouths, and fewer seats moving. Less of everything that might make noise. Eights are different.

Coaches always say that picking up the water is like pushing a stopped car. It requires steady acceleration; you can’t just kick it and expect it to move. After staying in small boats for so long, racing an 8+ felt like pushing that car down a long, bumpy hill. It was all I could do to hang on, a violent mix of pushing, chasing and self-preservation, all the while afraid to find out what was at the bottom. A tree? A lake? A cliff? No, just the figurative oncoming truck of my friends in the Other Boat kicking my ass. Damn it!

USRowing National Championship Heat wrap-up

2009-06-26T20:25:00.000-07:00

We raced the heat in the 8+ today. We won it easily, which was good. Tomorrow will be tougher. For some reason, the other heat was a lot harder than ours. Ours was cut from four boats to three when one crew scratched, while the other heat had five boats. Our winning time would have placed us 4th in the other heat. We have to find ten seconds (at least) by tomorrow. Let’s hope it’s there.

As I mentioned, our boat is comprised of all Princeton Training Center athletes. We’ve all been training here all year. The other 8+, which is close to the one that will represent the US this summer, has guys from all over: kids coming out of college, people training on their own, and guys from CRC. (They also have Guise, who is acting as our spy.) This division gives us a healthy “Us vs. Them” mentality. It’s not just about winning and losing as individuals; we can actually feel like a team. (Nice!) Now we have a reason to race beyond the sheer joy of it. We need to defend our turf, and show the other boat that our training here works. We’ve trained separately all year, and we need to prove that
• our training was more physiologically sound
• our technical preparation was rigorous
• our morale is higher
• our warm-up routine is better
• our lake is more conducive to effective training
• the shower heads in our locker room have more flow
• our weight room has better ventilation
• our weekends are more fun
• our community is more pedestrian-friendly
• …

This is a bit rare for a race on US soil, and it’s awesome. Normally, it is either (a)every-man-for-himself, like in the NSRs, or (b) another day at practice, mixed boats with no real difference between the “good guys” and the “bad.” In the end, we’re all on the same team, and having divisions between the boats makes things more fun and it makes us all faster. One of the reasons we’re heading toward more a dispersed system of training is so that we have this type of competition within the US. And thus, as it always has been, the differences between us make us all stronger. Which is great, as long as we win tomorrow.

Preparation for the USRowing National Championships

2009-06-25T10:12:00.000-07:00

There will be a lot of racing going on this weekend. Mercer Lake is hosting the USRowing National Championships, and we are taking part. AND HOW! I’ll be racing in the 2-, 4-, and 8+, which means three finals on Saturday. (For those who don’t know, this is a lot.) If rowing weren’t so much fun, I might complain.

The hardest part about racing three times is that we can’t go as hard as we would like in the first two races, since we need to save all the energy we can for the third one. At the same time, we are under pressure (from coaches and from ourselves) to win with a healthy margin; after all, we’re the national team. But how much is enough to be comfortable? And will we be able to save enough energy for the final race? The success or failure of the first two races won’t be apparent until after the third, which is a bit frustrating. The competition doesn’t stop after 2000m, it stops when we load the trailer to go home.

With luck, the first two races won’t be very exciting. Charlie and Banks will almost certainly win the pair. They are studs, remain undefeated this season, and have been rowing well. I’ll be racing a pair with Brett, and though we’d like to push them, our chances are slim. Even if we do have a chance to win, we have a more important race an hour later so we will likely be satisfied with a silver medal. If we win the pair, but are so exhausted that we can’t race the 4- and 8+ well, the day will count as a loss.

We’re fairly confident for the fours race, since we’ve been seeing good times in practice. Our main competition will be the Under-23 four, starring my friend from Stanford, Mark Murphy. They’ll be quick, but we have more experience rowing in a straight four than they do. We’re more concerned with putting together a good piece and less concerned with the other crews in the event.

After these races are done, we’ll race the 8+. For us, this is The Main Event. Unlike the previous two races, this one will be a surprise. Our eight will be formed from the 4-, the 2-, and two other guys from our training center here in Princeton (Tyler and Troy). Another boat is made of guys who have come in from all over the country for the 8+ camp. We expect them to be our main competition, but there are two U23 boats in the race as well, filled with guys who row eights more than we do. They could be fast too. This race has the big question mark hanging over it. It will be fun. ?=Good Times.