This is the paper I was talking about, It was my final paper for my creative writing class.
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Plane rides are activities that Iâve always hated, which is ironic because being from Hawaiâi, if you want to go anywhere you have to buy a ticket that costs the same amount as a small down payment. Then you have to sit for hours on end only to be tired, cranky, and lost. Plane rides with your friends, on the other hand, are full of excitement and adventure; you bolt off the plane with adrenaline and plans for excitement.Â
Going on a plane ride for a sports team was never something that I thought Iâd do, and yet, 3/4th of the way through my freshman year of college I would be on a plane ride to Sacramento, California, with the Seattle University Rowing Team. We were on our way to the 2017 Western Intercollegiate Rowing Association Championships, where three years prior, our program got their first and only medal.
On Friday we were nervous. The weather report stated that the wind was at a high 25-30 mph. The rule for rowing is if the wind is anywhere above 10 miles an hour, you do not go out. But as we drove into the parking lot of Lake Natoma, there were white caps. The water was rough and there were no other boats on the water, but we had a race to practice for and launched into the rocky water.
I always hated the practices right before a race; theyâre full of warm-ups and walk-throughs. Itâs the same every time:
starting 5
high 20
lengthen 10
paddleâŚÂ
500 meters in:
take a power 10
paddleâŚÂ
1000 meters:
take your move
power 20
paddleâŚÂ
1500:
another move
power 10
youâve entered the sprint, with three hundred meters left build up your pace, pick it up again, once you have 100 meters left, take your black out 10, pull the hardest you've ever pulled before, and done.
Paddle back and repeat.
The night before a race, after dinner, there is always a boat meeting. You pile into your stroke and sevenâs room and talk about what you want for the next day. Itâs been the same since day one, give it your all and, âbe excited! If youâre not having fun youâre not doing it right.â This is where youâre supposed to talk about which calls you want your coxswain to call and where you want them to call it. Our race plan really hasn't changed in months so usually what happens during these is not productive, youâre hanging out with your friends until the coaches come in and then itâs down to business.
âAre you changing anything in the raceplan?â our coach says
âNot really, weâre only adding power 10s in the moment if we need them.â
âThe ultimate goal for you guys is to win grands, but you have to win your heat first. The top three boats from each heat continue onto grands, the rest goes to the petites. I want you to focus on doing your best in your heat. We can focus on grands when they come tomorrow. I know you guys can do it.â Betsy, our assistant coach says.
That night we go to bed anxious and excited, waiting for the day to come.
On Saturday we had our heat to determine whether or not weâd be in the grand finals or the petite finals. Since rowing has started, Iâve gotten used to waking up at 4:45, before the sun, before birds even wake up; Iâve gotten used to waking up when my sister at home in Hawaiâi, is just going to bed.
Waking up at 7:15 am was a luxury weâd never been offered in rowing before. The rules of racing are you must be awake three hours before your race, eat a balanced breakfast, and be on the water, warming up, an hour before your race. With lidded eyes we piled into the lobby of a Best Western, half asleep, munching on slightly burnt toast and scrambled eggs. Slowly, minute by minute, the mood of the room began to liven, the excitement and nerves churning in everyoneâs stomach starting to come to life.
At 8:00 on the dot all 9 girls piled into the van and drove to the course; it felt like mere minutes until we were there, arriving just in time to see the Varsity 8 pass the 1000-meter mark out of the van window. You could vaguely hear the beat of everyoneâs pump up songs blasting from their earphones as they yanked them out of their ears and ran to the shore.
As the boats shot down the course the crowd roared; every person was screaming, a school chant, a single name, anything that would get the boats to pick up any speed they could. As each of the boats got closer to the finish line the cheering got louder, only subsiding when the final boat crossed and the announcer begun to introduce the next race.
During regattas everything always seems to be going, there is never really a time for someone to sit and think. But because we had come so early, this was the first time anyone in the novice 8 could take in their surroundings. The day prior was so hectic with the wind and all the traveling made it easy to forget we were no longer in Washington.
At 8:45 it was time to start the warm-up, it was routine by now: squats, cat-cow, leg swings, lunges, wide-leg toe touches, ski lunges, high knees, butt kicks, hip openers, arm swings. Regattas are planned down to the minute and in order for boats to have enough time to warm up they need to be on the water an hour before their race. At 9:20 we walked the boat from under the trees and towards the launching area where the middle 4 got in, the stroke seat picked up our coxswain and put her in the boat, stern pair climbed in, and finally the our bow pair had the responsibility of shoving off and jumping into the boat.
Now it was time to focus. Going through the race warm-up was second nature by now; we had done it the day before and mastered it months prior.
As our race time approached we sat waiting near the start line, listening to the referee tell each boat to get their point. As the sun blazed down on Lake Natoma, we sat for what felt like hours as the boats in the heat before ours were having trouble keeping their point since the current was so strong. Our bodies were not used to sitting in 80-degree weather, it was the hottest anyone had felt in months, as we were used to practicing in nearly half that temperature. It instantly got quiet as each boat finally lined up and got their point. When the boats finished their start sequence it was time for the second heat to line up.
We took our place in Lane 2, next to Sacramento State, the only boat we were unsure about; last year their sprint in the last 500 meters was something last years novices werenât ready for. But this Sac state boat was a different line up and we couldn't think about that, we could only do our best and hope that it was enough.
The thing about regattas is you don't remember your race. You don't remember your coxswain screaming your name, or the person behind you grunting in pain, or even the sound cheering as you run parallel along the beach. All you remember is the starting sequence and crossing the finish line, and we crossed that line first. As we checked the heat times our stomachs dropped; we had gotten first with a 7:06, but the boat in first place of the race before us had finished in 6:33. Something was wrong, novice boats never sub 7 by that much, it had to be a mistake. That night was full of celebration and more nerves, and even if the boat was 30 seconds faster than us, we had won our heat, and we were proud of that.
Our routine for Sunday was almost exactly the same as the day before. Wake up, breakfast, pack your bag, pile into the van, and head off to the course. As we checked the lineup for our grand final we were confused, we were in Lane 1. That meant we were the fastest boat in both heats, the times of the first heat were wrong. Though it settled our stomachs a bit, we still didn't know how much weâd won by, how much weâd have to push even harder to get that gold medal.
The grand finals were 30 minutes earlier on Sunday morning, and we wouldn't have time to see our Varsity cross the finish line. Not many things before the race were different from the previous day; we got on the water an hour before the race and did our warm-up as usual. It was when we were sitting at the Start, 30 seconds before the referee called, âAttention,â our coxswain pulled our boat together by starting the handshake that went from the stern to the bow where everything clicked.
This was it.
Immediately everyoneâs eyes were locked on the flag, and as referee shouted GO, a single click of the oar hitting the lock could be heard as everyone pushed off the foot boards in time and we were off.
To quote our captain, âSometimes, in sports, itâs âgo until you hurt,â and then youâve found your point. In rowing, itâs âgo until you hurt,â and then keep going.â
This is the first race I can vaguely remember the last 500 meters. As we approached the last stretch, the boat next to us, UCSB, who had been a few seats behind us the entire time was getting faster. They were gaining on us, soon, with 200 meters left they were even, and 50 meters later they had a bow deck on our boat. We were going to lose. With 150 meters left, it was time to take an early black out 10, or in this case 15. Our assistant coach always told us our black out 10 was something to be feared, she didnât know how, and neither did we, but each time we took it we surged forwards.
I remember my lungs feeling like they had been ripped out and my legs had been cut off, everyone was coughing, gagging, panting, trying hard to breathe.
Not one girl in the boat knew whether we had won or not but no one cared; it was the closest race weâd ever had and weâd be happy with whatever we got. The referees at the finish line told three boats to stay, UC Davis, UCSB, and Seattle U. UCD was to go first, followed by UCDB, and finally us. We still didn't know what was going on. Had we won? Why were we going last? This was the first time anyone in our boat had experienced anything like this.
But as we rowed to the medaling station, we saw the varsity screaming from the beach, our assistant coach holding a trophy, and our head coach with tears in her eyes.
We had won, and nothing could top the feeling I had after we set the boat down and ran to each other, arms open, and tears running down our faces.Â
blakekathryn
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