Why do I Row? (Or How I Became Addicted to Pain)
Stephen Hawking was once a coxswain for Oxford College. He was smart; he didn’t row.
I’m not so smart. I signed up for crew two years ago with no idea what I was getting into. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Enjoying mornings rowing on tranquil water? Check. Getting into the best shape of my life? Check. Joining a white man’s sport? Check.
And so there I was, on the rowing ergometer, having never played a sport since dodgeball in elementary school. Coach Bryce Carlson gave me the quick lessons to get me started. “Hang from the catch”, “drive with the legs”, “feel the connection.” The essence of the whole sport in three quotes? I was starting to like this already! I changed my mind twenty minutes later when I couldn’t feel my legs and wobbled home. I must’ve looked like a chicken.
The thing about smart people is that they get obsessive about their hobbies. Crew became one of mine. I was terrible when I first started; on the first fitness test I was slower than… well I can’t think of anything quite as slow. Through hard work I ended up being almost as fast as my 6’2 “french explosion” buddy Jim, and our squad proceeded to do well at all our competitions.
So why do I row? I like to think that it’s “to be the best that I can be”, or to prove that asians can make good athletes, or that rowing makes a great allegory to life, or really anything with a purpose. The sad truth is that I’m just an addict, getting his fix on the erg. The pain of rowing gives the mind a certain tranquility as all your worries, fears, doubts and insecurities are drowned by the burning of all your muscles. The lingering high afterwards is also pretty cool. As all addicts know, your body acclimates to stimulation and you need more just to feel the same way, so I pull harder and harder. Getting faster is just a byproduct.