This Ain’t My First Row-deo: How jumping into a completely new sport changed my life

Bella
Bella
Aug 8, 2017 · 8 min read

Like any high school senior, I was completely elated when I graduated and felt a wave of relief wash over me once I realized that I could put four awkward years behind me and instead transition to four years of focusing on self-development in a completely new environment. As someone who hadn’t peaked (by any means) in high school, I welcomed the idea of new surroundings, new people, and maybe a new me. I’d kept my distance from high school sports, particularly as a student at one of the South Bay’s premier private schools known for athletes who went on to compete in the Olympics or the NBA (anyone heard of Kerri Walsh? Aaron Gordon? Yeah. That’s the kind of high school I’m talking about). It wasn’t that I was unathletic or challenged when it came to coordination — I’d been a fairly skilled athlete in middle school and had participated in volleyball, basketball, and softball growing up — but I didn’t think I could keep up with the level of competition my school presumptively demanded. I stayed in my lane, put my head down, and focused all my energy on college prep instead.

So when I finally got into college, I decided it was time to make a change. My university, UCSB, was located in beautiful and sunny Santa Barbara, situated right on the beach. Blessed with a slice of paradise in such a temperate climate, how could I not be active when there were so many reasons to go outside? I wanted to join an intramural or club team, something that would give me incentive to show up and put in work, rather than hoping I would actually drag my ass to the gym every week. I’d seen an email for lacrosse, which piqued my interest initially, but what really caught my attention was rowing. My dad and I had taken a tour of the school in the spring and our tour guide had been a rower, who talked about driving up to the lake in the nearby mountains to row at the crack of dawn. My dad, someone who once upon a time (when he could still fit into a sculling shell) rowed in the Bay Area, had nudged me and whispered, “Hey, you should try rowing!” It didn’t really occur to me to actually give it a try until I noticed signs in my dorm reading “Tall athletes wanted — or those tough enough to make up the difference!” Well, I already had the tall part covered. Now I just needed to check out an interest meeting.

Fast forward one interest meeting and a few lagoon practices later, and I was committed. And I really don’t know what kept me coming back, if I’m being quite honest. I was terrible. And I mean that — I almost fell into the lagoon while putting the boat in the water for the first time. I couldn’t figure out how to apply my power on the erg for the life of me. At our first race, I was in the bottom boat (5 out of 5 eights…pretty incredible). Maybe it was the realistic side of me that took comfort in knowing I hadn’t been an outstanding athlete before, that kept a level head despite the fact that I clearly wasn’t any good. Maybe it was the relief that I was making friends with a ton of people right as I started college, with a group of novice and varsity athletes who granted me access to parties and alcohol and a shared community of understanding within the ever-expansive arena of a 20,000 undergrad public school population. Whatever it was, I stayed.

And then it clicked. Not in a dramatic, it-happened-overnight sort of way by any means, but at some point between fall and winter quarter I felt a change in the way that I understood rowing, and I actually began to feel as though I deserved to be on the team. Unfortunately my anxiety was off the charts my freshman year, and I didn’t even know I HAD anxiety at that point, so despite feeling as though things were coming together, I still completely blew it whenever I was presented with grand opportunities to rise up the ranks and seat race into a better boat. Nevertheless, I finished off the year determined to come back and be better — no, not better, GOOD.

I spent that next summer training my ass off, following everything my soon-to-be coach, Mike, spelled out for us in high methodically-planned summer training schedule. I wanted my future varsity teammates and coach to see that I meant business, to value me as a contributing and hard-working member of the squad, and so I poured my heart and soul into making sure I not only did the workouts but absolutely nailed them. I went to the weight rooms with the varsity women, trying to keep my cool as I squatted probably half of whatever they were squatting. I challenged myself to complete the harder erg workouts on the list Mike had given us, erging as often as possible so that my rowing shape wouldn’t drop off over the summer. I pushed myself to improve my cardio, telling myself on stadium runs that it was okay if I was a slow runner as long as I never stopped to walk. And doing those things made me a better athlete; I showed up that fall in much better shape than I had been the previous year, this time a seasoned athlete who acknowledged just how much work I had to put in if I really wanted to be taken seriously.

That season was an absolute dream. It was almost too good to be true. The seniors were my best friends and my role models, girls who were dedicated to rowing and to the team and most importantly, to imparting a concrete idea of what it means to be a Gaucho rower. I learned so much from them and from my coach within that first year on varsity, improving my stroke and my fitness tremendously and learning to push myself beyond boundaries I didn’t even know I had. I think it was then that I decided I needed to stick with rowing for good. There was no more hesitation — I was hooked. It wasn’t hard to be when my boat won a gold medal at nationals and I felt that blue ribbon being placed around my neck, people on the awards dock cheering as I smiled so hard that my cheeks felt bigger than my actual face, turning around to clench my friend Ashley’s hand as we looked each other in the eye and whispered, “We did this!”

The next year was even more learning, unfortunately the hard way. I had been abroad for summer and fall and without that base-level fitness, it took months for me to come back and be on the same page as my teammates, back to where I felt as though I was really contributing my best. Those months of playing catch-up took a toll on my anxiety, which convinced me that rowing was turning into more of a chore than a passion. Instead of reminding myself that I loved rowing and that every day that I showed up and chipped away at my fitness I was taking a step in the direction of getting back where I used to be, I let myself get all worked up and flustered that I wasn’t immediately attaining the results I wanted to see. I held myself to an impossible standard and consequently failed. To top it off, team relations were difficult that year, and only added to the stress I was already piling on myself. I almost wanted to give up and just leave it all behind me. But for some inexplicable reason, I didn’t. I didn’t want to walk away from something that I knew was much bigger than myself.

I came back the next year. And this time I didn’t just show up — I made an entrance. I went maximum effort in all my summer training, spending hours every day in the gym to the point of knowing my fellow 8am lifting regulars. I trained with friends and teammates who held me accountable and challenged me to go a little bit harder. I researched better training techniques on the erg and put more effort into understanding how to maximize my power and speed on and off the water. I was motivated by my goal to pass my fitness test with flying colors and make the boat that we would race at the Head of the Charles in Boston. And when that fitness test came around, all my hard work came to fruition in my 3000-meter test score. With the fastest port time on the team, I secured an automatic bid to Boston and put myself in check mentally: I was no longer going to try to keep up with the team, I was now going to set the pace.

Fall and winter training was a blur of technical improvements, many mornings in small boats (pairs, pairs, and more pairs), and countless hours spent on sliders every Wednesday morning. I kept working hard and was consistently challenged by my teammates, and though I eventually lost my spot in the top boat, I told myself to have fun and appreciate whatever boat I was in. So I did. And it was really that simple! I stopped worrying about defending my “spot” in any boat and started asking myself what I could do in order to improve the speed of whatever boat I was in that day. I stopped obsessively checking the Google spreadsheet my coach updated with our erg times and rankings, telling myself that watching my ranking like a hawk wasn’t going to make me any faster. And it was really that simple! Once I stopped worrying about my ranking and started focusing instead on how I just needed to beat my own erg times and previous workout PRs, I started going faster. Much faster. I even started to enjoy erging, which is something I think very few (if any at all) rowers have actually done. By taking the defensiveness, fear, and anxiety out of rowing, I allowed myself to show up every day and seize the opportunity to appreciate what I was doing. With so little time left in my collegiate career, how could I squander it by worrying?

That mentality — and rowing itself — saved me. When the opportunity came to race in the top boat again, my coach trusted me to fill that spot and make that boat go fast. It wasn’t just because I had proven myself to be fast on the erg and on the water: I had proven myself to be someone who was going to go above and beyond what was necessary to win, and I had something to add to the talents and capabilities of the 8 other girls in my boat. I was a cog in a finely-tuned and well-oiled machine, and I wanted to win just as badly as any other girl in that Resolute. I WAS resolute: admirably purposeful, determined, and unwavering. And the gold medal I earned at the end of that hard-fought season is a constant reminder of that.

Rowing gave me an outlet to confront my anxiety and my fears head-on. It’s given me purpose, a sense of responsibility and accountability, (literally) a reason to wake up in the morning. It’s given me a community of like-minded people who work hard and support one another because that sense of working together is inherently woven into the very mechanics of our sport. It’s exposed me to so many badass athletes who are truly gifted and driven and yet who are entirely humble when it comes to acknowledging their capabilities. It’s convinced me that I can endure and outlast whatever challenges me at present and use that as something to propel me toward the finish line, whatever that line may be. It’s implanted within me the burning desire to be bigger than I ever dreamed possible, bigger than the girl I’ve ever considered myself to be.

It’s made me a better version of myself. And now, as I embark on a new path of coaching, I only hope that I can impart on these young women the same sense of courage in the determination to become better versions of themselves as well.

Bella

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Bella

rhetorical ramblings of a bemused post-grad