Newsletter

Cape Cod Rowing

.…is a club that was formed to help promote the sport of rowing in our community. It is our belief that this

goal can best be achieved through full representation of members, while being sensitive to the needs of

our neighbors.

Many similar clubs will require members to participate on a committee. Although strongly

encouraged, we make no such requirements. It is instead hoped that rowers will have fun and take

pride in the unique way that they contribute to flow in a boat and will willingly look for ways to equally

contribute to the teamwork within our organization.

During those sublime moments when teamwork seems perfectible, the boat will run out and it

almost feels easier to pull harder, easier to move faster. Such pursuits are never fully attainable and

so we need your energy and your perspective as we constantly seek to improve as an organization.

There are many ways to make your voice heard. On the front page of our web site, we have an

anonymous evaluation form where your opinions will be respected and discussed at board meetings.

Board meetings occur usually on the second Thursday of each month. The ultimate purpose of the

Board is to pursue a long-range direction for our club. As such, your presence will certainly be welcome.

If you would care to participate on one of our committees, we are always actively seeking

members. Committees include:

Membership Committee – representing our club for new members or those with potential interest.
Social Committee – speaks for itself.
Rowing Committee – a meeting of masters rowers.
Youth Committee – acting as communication liaisons between our youth rowers and the board.
Communication Committee – helping to create a unified voice for our organization.
Fundraising Committee – in order to keep dues low, creative fundraising is a necessity.
Safety Committee – Creating and maintaining fair boundaries so as to ensure the safety of
rowers and equipment.

The more participation we can get, the richer our club will grow in diversity. When you contribute your strength to moving a boat, you can witness the wonder of synergy. This unique blend of energy is what we strive to obtain as an organization.

Quote of the Day

If you wait until you’re thirsty to drink, it’s probably too late.

Keep in mind that Gatorade no longer claims to be a ‘thirst quencher’. In fact it contains sodium in order to stimulate the thirst reflex so that the body will obtain needed levels of hydration which are beyond the minimum thirst thresholds.

Coaches Corner

I once had a coach that was discredited by teammates who said, “…he’s never been to the next level so how can he coach us there”. Certainly, it would be reassuring to have a ‘proven path’ to success, but what I most assuredly did get from this coach was his passion and enthusiasm for sport. This leads me to believe that just as important as the destination of a path is the manner in which we make these paths our own. This being said, I hope all consider themselves coaches and will want to share your tips with us.

I find it interesting that the actual rowing stroke has changed very little since the inception of the moving seat when the rowers of ancient Athens gained sea supremacy over the arms and backs only Persians. The ‘stroke’ exists as an example of perfection of efficiency. As told in the ancient Chinese proverb, ‘the future belongs to the efficient’. I would agree that; what is efficient endures. In the example of nature, water and nutrient cycles are sustainable due to their lack of waste in energy and resource.

Though no one has obtained consistent mastery of the stroke, those few moments of seemingly perfect flow create an appreciation of the many different routes towards the pursuit of efficiency. I hope to share with you a moment of understanding that I’ve had in hopes of inspiring others to share their stories.

There has been a physiological fact I’ve recently discovered which has revolutionized my approach towards the sport of rowing. As the body creates energy, carbon dioxide is created as a bi-product. Loss of breath and panting occurring during physical exertion is a result more of trying to rid the body of carbon dioxide than it is in the requirement of more oxygen. This simple alteration of emphasis has opened a new window of perspective for me. Instead of the common ‘need’ of resources is often the underemphasized recovery from expenditure.

The aspect of rowing that I find most fulfilling is that of active meditation. Physical endeavor makes the body stronger and in this strength is found another voice. The mind is ultimately a ‘survival organ’, and with the stressful imbalance created through exertion, the mind will often seek a return to comfort. To obtain balance, the mind will often create logic to stop, quit, often with deceptive reasoning.

The body instead seeks to push the limits of comfort, knowing that boundaries of comfort are often shrinking, often lying one step behind previous levels. Expand the limits of comfort and you will know the joy of feeling rain, the cleansing of a good dry sun, and the appreciation of the body’s tolerance of stress. In short, you will realize that you posses more strength than you probably will ever realize.

The body’s center is found at your gravitational center. A position that is made uniquely aware to rowers as it is found at the connection between your legs and upper body at the initiation of the drive. It should always be an unconscious thought of rowers that seek better connection with the water. During extreme exertion, this core is known as fatigue or pain. This is that moment that we all face, that moment when no one is looking and we could simply put on the ‘pained’ face outwardly while inwardly letting up, and no one but you will know the better. This is your moment though to empower the body and its unconscious thought by subjugating the mind to the role of simple data imputer. Use the mind to consciously go to that center of gravity, the center of fatigue and find that within the center of it lies the eye of a storm. A moment, or perhaps a position where comfort/run is found. Consciously go there and expand it. How have I attempted to do this myself? I have attempted to do this through breathing. At the start of a race, amazingly just about everyone actually forgets to breathe. The first few strokes are anaerobic, yet the mind tells you that you are starting out behind requirements and so will create erratic breathing, panting, and gasping. The body’s primary external input during such moments is through breathing. Not only is it nearly impossible to create rhythm amongst such erratic impulses, it triggers the all-consumptive reaction of panic.

At lower stroke rates, try inhaling with the drive. That is probably counterintuitive to anyone that has every lifted weights, but it feels natural to fill your lungs as your body extends toward the finish. Now, as you return to the catch, take twice the time as the inhale to fully exhale, allowing the action of the legs towards the chest to compress the last bit of carbon dioxide out of your lungs. Recognize that this is what your body most needs now and it needs the time and relaxation to properly execute this without anticipation of the next strokes panic. Find your comfort within your bodies center by knowing that you have maximized your recovery time at a level most efficient in the balance between run and check, and realize that your body is empty of the bi-product of exertion, and that you are now ready for more oxygen.

As the stroke rate increases, you will probably find that you need to breathe more than one breathe per stroke. What you will have hopefully learned though is the appreciation that whatever pattern of breathing you chose as best for you, do so consistently. Control rating with breathe, not visa-versa. Control your mind with your body and in the moments of peace and recognition of inner strength, perhaps you will find a third element to your nature, that of spirit.

Eric Caldwell

For The Record

As a team, we share in each other’s endeavors. As such, we want to share in your victories. Compete in a regatta? Hit a personal best on the erg? Run a road race? Let us know. Having a good row, go for the course record, measured by the Youth’s 1500 meter house on the point to the third flag pole. Be the first to ‘set the bar’.

Congratulations to friend of Cape Cod Rowing Mike Baker whom has achieved an erg score at 2000 meters of an amazing 6:23. Meanwhile, brother Dan is about to attempt an unbelievable half-ironman triathlon. We cheer on the ‘fabulous Baker Brothers’ as you keep raising the bar for all of us.

In the Loop

Good news? Bad news? Searching for boosters for a charity run or bike ride? Have a cross-training hobby you are looking for others to share in? Let us know.

Eric Caldwell, inspired by Dan Baker’s telling me it ‘will be fun’, will be participating in his first Sprint triathalon in Falmouth next week.

Postcards

Recently moved? On Vacation? Drop us a ‘hello’

Deb Brewster has sent this postcard for Hannah whom is rowing in a junior development camp this summer.

 Hannah is having a blast at Dev Camp.  She's living the rowing life

(back to reality later this summer!)

 I've attached a couple of photos from Independence

Day Regatta in Philadelphia.  One is of her quad during the heat and the

other of her teammates in the quad.  Dev Camp did well--it was really a

Dev Camp/CRI regatta.

Hannah's Quad took 3rd in the Jr 4x

Dev camp 4 finished 2nd in Jr 4+

Dev Camp 1st boat won the jr 8.

She is spending the week sculling with Jim Deitz coaching, she is racing NYAC

in NY this weekend and then off to the US Rowing nationals next week.

She'll be back at the beach on July 30!

A number of Cape Cod Rowing members took part in Riverside’s 1000 meter Cromwell Cup [conditions good]

Women’s Master Eight

J. Banks, L. Larson, L. Vecchione, P. Connor, D. Damore, S. Boudreau, C. Fowler, A. Child

Women’s Open Four

Men’s Master Single

Women’s Open Eight

L. Cartmill, B. Allen, J. Twomely, K. Mellay, R. Pocheco, S. Higgins, A. Lynch, C. Higgins

Festival Regatta 2000 meters raced in Lowell, MA [conditions; good- tail wind, slight chop].

Junior Women Four

Men Master Single

Junior Women Eight

L. Cartmill, B. Allen, J. Twomely, K. Mellay, R. Pocheco, S. Higgins, A. Lynch, C. Higgins

Men Double

Back Seminar

Recently, Cape Cod Rowing hosted Diedre McGlaughlin for a back clinic. It was a day open to rowers from all Cape rowing clubs, and it was a day enjoyed by all. We now have representatives amongst us which may know of better ways to lift boats, and more ‘back friendly’ ways to row. Unfortunately, the clinic could only be done on the day of the Festival Regatta. Those of those that couldn’t make it look forward to learning from those that did.

So, kind of unbelievably, I’m in this “Learn To Row” program. I look around me and see all of these great-looking competent people and I figure I’ve got about 20 years on most of them. Not to mention pounds. Everyplace I look, I see long strong limbs and bulgy muscles. Marsa, our coach, looks like some kind of windblown goddess from Olympia. Even on Vince, I think I detect a couple of buff abs. I suck my gut in but it’s too hard to maintain so I give it up.

I feel kind of queasy. My daughter, Kelly, is here. She has joined up, she says, to show support for her Mom. Secretly I think she just wants to make sure I don’t mix up my medications, or absently head off up the creek without a paddle. She does not know me, I think. I feel temporarily tough.

Then we get in the boat. Temporary tough settles down mighty quick into quivering jello. Right out of the gate I’m in trouble. The wooden seat is perched up there, its molded curves like a gentle hand, ready to lovingly accept someone else’s tiny butt. Boat designers, I think, must be the same goofballs that determine sizes for The Gap. In the end, though, that is not a problem because I accidentally sit in the hole where my feet are supposed to go and miss the seat altogether. Kelly snickers. This is going to be a struggle.

Eventually, I readjust my errant body parts, everyone takes a deep breath, and….we’re OFF!

Finally, joyously, we take a few mighty but profoundly dysfunctional strokes. The boat, wildly un-set, shudders and lurches but we are stoked. So this is what it’s all about. This is so cool. I notice we have somehow drifted off towards the center of the lake.

Vaguely, we hear bits and pieces of a conversation between Marsa in her launch, and Leslie, our cool, collected coxswain. Marsa, sounding relaxed, almost sleepy, suggests that next we learn how to turn around. That’s odd, I think. Our forward progress through our own efforts has added up to a total of about four feet. Seems kind of pointless to turn around so soon.

More conversation. Something about wind, waves, white-caps. We feel a few sprinkles. Then a few more. Suddenly, big fat raindrops are pummeling us and our boat is nosing through choppy waves that were not there five minutes ago.

Quickly, the wind picks up, intensifies exponentially, roiling and churning the water around us like a giant eggbeater. We are pounded from all sides. There is no rhyme or reason to the wave action. Our 60-foot cigar-thin vessel, laden with eight oarsmen and a coxswain, is flopping and floundering under our inexperienced hands.

Her voice, through the megaphone, still sounds calm and steady. I take my eyes off the terror beneath me to steal a glance at her. She seems unflappable. Leslie, too, seems to be taking all of this in stride. I feel better. Then, briefly, I close my eyes to gather my resources and stem the creeping fear. It’s not like this is The Perfect Storm, I think. Big mistake. Instantly, I am on the careening deck of the doomed Andrea Gayle, facing death in the North Atlantic. I see George Clooney’s tiny head, bobbing up and down in the trough between two waves as big as Hoover Dam.

Get a grip, I tell myself , and for a moment I do. Then, suddenly, my mind reels off in another direction. I realize I have not heard Kelly’s voice in quite some time. Where is she? If she fell off the boat, wouldn’t I know it? Why haven’t I heard her? George Clooney pops to mind again.

So, again, I feel better. By now, I have collected my thoughts enough to realize that we probably will not die. In the worst case scenario, we capsize. And even if that happens, we will be okay. We all know better than to leave the boat. The lake is small enough and the shore populated enough that we will be rescued quickly. It is June, not December, so the water temperature should be bearable. And there are no sharks. For a minute I start to go down the murky road of snapping turtles but I pull myself back. We’ll be okay. We just have to keep rowing.

“Where’s Marsa?”, somebody shouts. I snap to attention. Through the fog and the rain and the waves, visibility is poor and I peer into the soupy mix trying to find Marsa. Finally, I spot her. She is further away than she should be and while I am puzzling over this I gradually realize that what I am seeing is the classic pose of a human being bent over and yanking on the cord of a dead outboard motor. I treat myself to a moment of horror and, for lack of a better plan, I go back to my rowing.

Minutes go by. Then, miraculously, faintly at first, we hear the putt-putt of an engine. Here, out of the mist and the wind and the fog and the rain, comes Marsa. She is bearing down on us like an angel of mercy, like a mermaid risen from Neptune’s depths, like a Navy Seal. We take a collective deep breath. This is a piece of cake. We become cavalier, nonchalant even. Among the eight of us we have a combined total of about 40 minutes of experience. Still, we are invincible. Marsa bellows orders through her megaphone and we instantly obey. Adversity has taught us well. Wisely, Marsa and Leslie have decided to postpone our turning-around lesson and head straight for shore.

Without warning, Marsa’s voice suddenly becomes small and inaudible. I look up in time to see her toss her now inoperative megaphone aside in disgust. She cups her hands and calls to us but the wind and the putt-putt of the engine drown her out. That is not a problem for long, though. The putt-putt of the engine stops, malfunctioning one more time. We watch, aghast, as Marsa slowly drifts away. We see that she is trying to tell us something but we cannot make out the words. Perhaps it is “goodbye”.

We handle our loss well. Without panic, we settle down to the job at hand. My oars now feel like just another couple of appendages and I decide I can row forever if I have to. I search for the shoreline but it seems impossibly far away so I don’t do that again. We are surprisingly in tune with each other and our progress is steady. The boat is set up better and we are moving along faster. Marsa, off in the distance, has come up with a paddle and is still valiantly trying to reach us. Eventually she disappears altogether around a bend in the shoreline. We worry about her but think she is probably okay.

The next time I summon up the nerve to look behind me, I am shocked at the proximity of the shore. We are practically on top of it and, in fact, have to stop and backtrack for a minute to keep from grounding. The landing we have chanced upon is not a safe one for the boat though, so we all hop out in knee-deep water to guide it to a sandy beach.

We have, by a fluke of circumstance, beached ourselves on the rockiest stretch of shoreline south of Newfoundland. In our bare feet. A minefield of rocks, pebbles and boulders separates the sandy haven we are heading for from us. We trudge along, groaning and agonizing incessantly, wondering, in our despair, if we should get back in the boat and take our chances with the Nor’Easter.

But we do, after all, make it. We sink our feet into the soft sand, finding blessed relief from our pain. Then, from around the corner, comes Marsa, on foot, splashing through the inlet at a good clip (she has SHOES). We have made it. We have come through all of this intact and with only minor injuries. It is, we think, over.

Marsa heads for the huge house looming up above the beach but there is no one home so she decides to start running back towards the boathouse for help. This is fine with us. She is still young and has conserved her energy by just floating around in a dinghy all day. All in good time, she returns with a pick-up truck, having performed a quasi-legal carjacking of a local resident to get back to the boathouse.

We pile as many bodies as we can into the truck, leaving four of us, and Marsa, behind for the next load. We trudge up a long flight of wooden stairs, our bloodied feet screaming, walk around the house, and are pulled up short by a vast expanse of driveway, covered as far as the eye can see with, what else, rocks. Enough is enough. I, for one, am not moving another inch. We decide to stay put. We start gawking. This is some house. I have visions of the Newport Mansions. Where is the truck? I am very impressed with the greenhouse. The shelters for firewood are really neat. “Haven’t they been gone for a very long time?”.

Finally, as I somehow knew they would, Marsa and Linda suggest we walk out to the end of the driveway in case the rescuers have forgotten where we are. “No”, I say. “I will not go”. Linda does not have shoes either but she is braver than I am. I look longingly at Marsa’s shoes. I feel like some kind of a fetishist.

Kelly and Vince, both unshod, choose to stay behind as well. Marsa and Linda disappear. The three of us stand around and do some more gawking, pointing out special features on the property of our Benevolent Benefactors as I eventually come to think of them. We do some restricted exploring, trying to find a way out to the road but long stretches of sharp stones bar our way. Then Vince, God bless him, stumbles upon a treasure. It’s a putting green. Kelly and I hobble over to take a look. It really is a putting green. The grass is so green and cool and velvety. So soft….Taking a moment to beg forgiveness from our Benevolent Benefactors, I allow my feet to wallow. This is, I think, a profoundly delicious experience.

Renewed, we set off once again. For about three minutes my feet can handle the rocks and then I lose my momentum. I am ready to give up. Kelly and Vince are ahead of me, carefully picking their way out the long driveway. I do give up. I stop and simply stand there. Just then, finally and mercifully, comes the sound of a noisy truck engine. We are free. This time it really is over. I don’t think anyone noticed that I gave up.

Back at the boathouse, we greet each other like long lost friends. We whoop and holler. For some reason Vicki is wearing my shoes but I don’t mind at all. Marsa says we have bonded and she is right.

I have not rowed as well since that day, nor as far. I get frustrated and I struggle each and every time I go out. But I know someday I will do it. I know I can. Because I did.

At the Lowell regatta this month, I discovered quite by happenstance how to improve my regatta efficiency. Due to a one-hour traffic delay, I realized that I was going to arrive at the regatta just as my heat was supposed to put in the water. Our boat, however, was tied down to the top of my Explorer ~ unrigged. Through cellular communication and the fact that my doubles partner, Danny, had been at the regatta all day we were able to successfully complete our heat.

I phoned him of our dilemma. He eyed a spot to double-park and readied a pit crew for the rigging. He phoned me with an explicit traffic pattern and flagged me into the designated spot. The pit crew took over unloading and rigging the boat, allowing me to take a needed bathroom break and don my racing gear. When you are clearly in the heat of making it to your event it's amazing how no one bothers you.

My Total Regatta Time (TRT), entrance to exit, was 2 hours. I now see that this could have been pared down further. Danny and I arrived at the start line last, as is our custom ~ we are rarely within the good graces of the starter. So when the starter announced that he was going to delay the start a few minutes to allow a wake to pass through, I realized that we could have arrived 3 to 5 minutes later, taking additional time off my TRT after the race's finish. After the race, Danny had a desire to indulge in a celebratory Snickers, so we waited for the official times and snacked, as we felt our time had qualified us for a medal. Certainly with mobile snacks, further cellular communications with the regatta staff, and the good ol' US Postal Service, I could have cut my TRT by another 15 to 20 minutes.

Now I would like to extend this concept to the Whole Club Total Regatta Time (WCTRT) and relate it to the transportation problem facing our club. With the Lowell experience under my belt, I am looking at the problem from a more 21^st Century perspective. I suggest we abandon the traditional notion of a mainframe trailer with one tow vehicle; it puts too much pressure on one vehicle. Instead we have a sleek squadron of personally owned vehicles designed to strike regattas with surgical precision. A recognizance team arrives early and sizes up the regatta. Our first vehicle arrives with its rowers at the specific double parking locale phoned to them. The boat is unloaded, rigged, and sent to launch by an organized pit crew. A crewmember then relocates this vehicle to a safe parking spot. Rowers that finish the first heat become the pit crew for the second vehicle; they then get in that vehicle and go home (maximizing their personal total regatta time or PTRT). This process is repeated throughout the regatta with the first vehicle, safely parked, driving home the last rowers.

My Lowell experience gives me confidence that the strategy of relying on the kindness of strangers will work. However they are best kept strangers; in fact don't request kindness from a stranger at more than one regatta. I believe we can maintain these opportunistic regatta raids for two years. When other teams catch on to the fact that we're doing this purposefully and, in fact, that it is part of our financial plan; we can deflect the jeers and condemnation by explaining the WCTRT. We can present them with statistics showing our improvement in WCTRT and explain the time and money it has saved us. I believe that other clubs will then be anxious to adopt our practices and harvest the ever-elusive rowing club savings. Clubs may in fact compete to have the best WCTRT. If we copyright the WCTRT process we can easily boost the financial gains it affords by offering training programs, etc.

And that's when we go old style on them. We use our savings to buy a new truck and trailer. We pull into an empty parking lot before the first heat of every regatta with our whole crew, long before the time required to just squeak into a heat. We pull out some folding chairs, kick back and watch the exciting spectacle of unloading and rigging drills that we will have created.

As the great American Marcus Garvey said, “You never know yourself until your back’s against the wall. Some will rise, some will fall, but you never know yourself until your backs against the wall”.

As many new rowers complete the Learn to Row program and as many members welcome yet another new season, there seems to be a natural ‘pause’ that occurs allowing us to consider just how much time and energy we are willing and or able to dedicate to this sport. Many may be somewhat leery that with increased proficiency will come in equal measure an increase in intensity, which may in fact be counter to the desired ‘fun diversion’, that first brought many of us to the beach.

Speaking as someone that has competed in this sport for years, and has done so, I might add, lately with limited success, I wish to offer another perspective, which I hope will blur the threshold between recreational and competitive.

When I was in college, I had read about an elite rower that championed the ideal of the practice rower. He coined the ideal, ‘I practice for me, for the love of the sport, I race for everyone else and their desire to compare me relative to another’. That was me. I loved the teamwork, the day to day progress, the ability to prove myself over a time span of a year or more. Six minutes or so was simply not enough. Anything can happen in six minutes which will allow victory to slip irretrievably away. I could catch a crab, miss a stroke, go out too fast and die, and disappoint all my teammates that I so respected. It was a time when sitting on a starting line…waiting to here ‘GO’, was the hardest thing for me to do. But, after a year or so, I did in fact prove something to myself. The fact that each race is a cherished opportunity to do your best. And, the true beauty of this sport is that after you have known a moment of total defeat, you realize that you have in fact survived to face another day. That there are certainly many ways to become a true ‘champion’, one of which is the rower that gives his all, lays it all on the line, loses, yet comes back the next day just as willing to give it their all again. The true beauty of sport is the realization that results ultimately just aren’t important. Have a bad day on the water and the worst thing that happens is you have an unmemorable afternoon. Certainly, we endure many unmemorable moments. Yet, have a good day on the water and you tap into the feeling of “unforgettable’. Never lose sight of sport as diversion and you will see races, as hurdles. When I was young and into running, my favorite athelete was Edwin Moses who ran the hurdles. Few have ever dominated an event as he did. I loved the speed, power and timing with which he bound over his hurdles. I thought to myself, if only life’s hurdles can be covered so gracefully. But, this is only a sport and we must be careful in drawing analogies…or do we?

To return to the Garvey quote, wouldn’t it be nice to know a few low, unimportant hurdles before we reach the inevitable ‘walls’ of real life? Although these hurdles are unimportant they do offer the wonderful opportunity of challenge to learn about oneself and perhaps lower the perception of these walls.

As I grow older, I feel that simply getting to the starting line is a victory, and the opportunity to do my best, to reveal once again to myself, my heart, is the celebration. For I believe that to continue competing in a sport is evidence of someone that is living a balanced life. Time has in fact proved the ‘champion’ but it was not the six minutes of youth, it was the years spent training, and sacrificing time I could have spent training to spend for others. You simply cannot endure alone. I can tell you personally that the moment at the end of a race, in which you got ‘blown away’ is a very lonely time. You wonder if the ‘softball mercy rule’ will be invoked and your racing career has ended. But the moment is soon overshadowed by those whom have kept your life in balance and have celebrated the race for the victory it was. In fact, I have always raced for others, but I do so to show them the pride that I have gained in living a ‘good, balanced’ life.

Although I would argue that there is nothing like the butterflies of race day to evoke these feelings, I also allow that every time you drag yourself out of bed for a morning row is a victory that can only be appreciated after that ‘little bit extra’ had been given. Every time you take some time out of the day just for you, is a victory. There are any number of victories to be won. Expand the definition of competition by whatever satisfaction you gain. You define competition, it does not define nor judge you. Maybe you came to the beach simply to meet some new, positive people. Allow time to shape this recreation into someone that is perhaps a good teammate. Someone that is always positive, supportive, willing to cox. Maybe you came to get in shape, allow yourself the reward at looking at the improvement in conditioning which came from every time that you gave that little bit extra. Everyone has different motivations, success is measured by the synchronize motivation towards a common goal.

In college, there was a posting hanging in our boat house, “know that every day you take off, every day you let up…somewhere your competition didn’t”. I hated the concept of this ‘unrelenting’ competition. This hatred grew into respect though as I grew to appreciate this unseen foe which drove me to be my best even through those times when no one was watching and I could have just let up. This unseen foe has now turned into historical perspective, of a time I probably did row for others, because I cannot fathom such a machine, unbalanced Master aged rower. He may have won the six minute race but he is not found on Master’s starting lines.

By my wanting to be simply a recreational rower, I would have never risked anything, never lost. But, I would have never probably known what I truly have learned of myself by trying hard, and by yes, often losing. Or as Mark Twain told a boy that wanted to learn how to play poker....'you want to learn how to play cards, you gotta play with real money'.

Future Events

On hot days like this, Dan Baker would like rowers to think about a possible hike in cooler times. How about a fall or winter hike once the rowing season quiets down?

Remember the Canal Cruise, September 22nd. Open to all; Masters, Youth, and we would like to exchange a welcome to Youth parents, just in case your kids try to leave you at home. Keep checking for details as the time approaches.

First of all, thanks to the submissions to this issue. They’re great! Keep ‘em coming!

In the next issue, I’d like to pursue the idea of mental training. I’d like to do so through the visualization exercise of physically creating curves; learning curves, exertion during stroke curves, speed, conditioning, and interest curves…drawing curves, drawing analogies, finding ways to create a unified curve which continues an upward trend, even if such necessitates altering emphasis.

I’d also like a study in nutrition. Not for diet sake. I would personally love to hear any informed information regarding food for fuel. In particular, fuel that tastes good. I would like to also put forth the idea that our club brings in a sports nutritionist, much as the back clinic was so successful at doing. Does anyone know of someone