Jamie's Quest

August 31, 2007 - Go Time

2007-08-31T14:17:00.001-04:00

Well, it’s that time of year again: the time when I get less than 4:00 minutes to justify 365 days of training, preparing, and visualizing. I really hate these last several hours and just wish that I could spin the clock up until our 2:00 PM race time.

One thing I’ve learned between last year and this year is that emotional pumpedness—I coined that word myself so don’t use it without citing, please—doesn’t have much to do with success or failure. Mental focus is important, of course, as is psychological soundness. Most important, though, is preparation.

This year I am not as psyched about the finals as I was last year, but that actually makes me feel more prepared. In a way, this is the ultimate test of the transformation in thought that I have espoused for the past several months. I am confident that I really have matured because I know, regardless of the events of tomorrow, that I will be satisfied with my effort and glad for the growth I’ve achieved over the last year of training.

Still, I want to win. Bringing back a medal would be an incredible honor. There are between 120 and 140 strokes between the starting blocks and the finish line, though, and those are what should command my attention, not the few seconds I might spend on the medal stand.

The race is inevitable; winning is not. The race, then, is my goal. I want to row beautifully and powerfully. I want to spill out all my energy and cross the line with my last strength. I want to be confident that the effort I give was the best I could have mustered. If I do that, it will be enough. It would still hurt to come away empty handed, but I won’t feel truly empty, in the deeper and more important sense, if I row as I intend.

Pray for me to have lungs, legs, hands, and, most importantly, heart. I will need it.

August 30, 2007 - Adrian

2007-08-30T14:08:00.001-04:00

Finally my life is complete. As a near but post Cold War baby, I was indoctrinated from a young age to fear and despise Russians. Today, I finally got to face them on the field of battle. Just like Rocky Balboa avenging his fallen friend Apollo Creed, I was successful, vanquishing the Soviet spies to the B finals.

Okay, that was really just an excuse to reference Rocky. Today’s race did include Russia, but we were much more concerned with Italy and Germany than the Great Bear. Our goal was to beat Italy, who was in the lane directly beside us, and to ignore Germany. It was a good strategy.

The race itself was not our best, but it was good enough. We had to go all out the entire way, which was expected. What wasn’t expected was the strong headwind that made the race last forever. We led at the 500m mark, but finished second behind Germany. We were all fully spent when we crossed the line.

The best part about advancing to the A final is that it gives us an automatic birth in the Paralympics next year. In fact, all four of our adaptive boats qualified. We are the only team with a boat in each category to qualify in all the events.

Saturday’s final will be tight. I think that all six boats will finish within seconds of each other. If we row our best, we could win the whole thing. If we row poorly, we could easily finish in last position. I think we are all pretty focused; we’ll just have to see what happens.

Honestly, I was a little worried about this afternoon’s race after my morning. Somehow, Jesse and I missed each other in the hotel lobby and I got left behind at the hotel. Though I am 99% confident that I know where the bus stop is, I feared taking a wrong turn or getting on the wrong bus, which would have spelled disaster. Fortunately, I had my cell phone and I called Ryan to communicate the problematic situation.

After talking for a few minutes (at $1.29 each), my cell phone battery started to die. I retreated to my room and tried calling again. All circuits were busy. Eventually, through a series of text messages (0.50 each), Ryan was able to tell me that Karen’s husband Frank was on his way to pick me up. We had a fun ride over, hitting 200 kilometers per hour on the Autobahn. We weren’t really in a rush, but why pass up a chance to go really fast.

Tomorrow I think we’ll try to see some more sites before our afternoon practice. Then it will be all business until we finish up Saturday. I don’t know what to expect, but I’m excited to still be in the tournament.

August 28, 2007 - A Few Nice Days

2007-08-28T14:48:00.001-04:00

Well, this is frustrating. I wrote out a nice post and lost the document without saving. Here are some bullet points:

* We easily finished 2nd in our first heat and move on to face Brazil, Russia, Germany, Italy, and Japen in Thursday's semifinal round at 2:00 PM Germany time. It will be a tough race, but we should be able to claim one of the top 3 spots and advance to the finals.

* Today we went into the actual city for the morning. It was awesome. I had a chocolate mousse tort and a bratwurst. It was very authentic and very delicious.

* One of the LW's from the senior team got me a uni that actually fits. The XL that I had was way too big and looked pretty silly on me. Thanks a ton to Greg Ruckman!

* All of our boats advanced out of the first heats. Laura made it into the finals wtih a tremendous effort in today's reppechage round. She got 2nd place by 0.28 seconds. Also, Kendra won the erg race set up for the spare rowers from all the adaptive teams. It was her first ever 1k on the erg, so we were very proud.

* I'm glad to be here, but also very ready to come home.

August 27, 2007 - Tipping Point

2007-08-27T06:56:00.001-04:00

Well, I've just come from lunch and our daily team meeting. In another two hours, my boat will push off the docks to prepare for our first race. I'm excited and edgy and ready to get started.

I hate dealing with the energy before a race. I can't stop moving, my stomach can't stop tingling. It's not a fear sensation, but it's similar. We use positive words to describe our excitement about races, but others might say that they are a little nervous.

Once off the dock, I know I'll calm down and focus up. When we are rowing, there is a sense of purpose and direction that is absent while waiting. The edge of the dock is a sort of mental precipice. Once you've stepped off into the shell, there is no turning back and all the adrenaline in the body starts to flow in the right direction.

Until then, I'm going to try to have a normal few hours. I'm going to get Priscilla set up at the luggage check in station, eat a snack, cheer on the small boats, go to the bathroom about 5 times, and stay out of the sun. As John Hyman of my WFU crew always used to say, "Just another day at the office."

August 26, 2007 - Last Practice

2007-08-26T09:46:00.001-04:00

First things first, our opening race is set to launch tomorrow at 3:20 PM Germany time, which is 9:20 AM EST. As I said before, we have 3 other boats in our heat: Israel, Canada, and Korea. We’ve got to beat 1 of them to advance directly to the semifinal round.

Our last row through today went well. We did a dress rehearsal with a true start and sprint and a light row through the middle. I think we are feeling smooth and strong, so I’m excited to get it on tomorrow.

Everyone should be glad to know that, once again, I am still blind. I had to be reclassified by a FISA doctor today. He said that I have a textbook case of RP and that they could use a picture of my eyes for medical students. I was very proud.

Actually, classifications turned out to be a major pain for Aerial. She had to remove her opaque contact lenses so the doctor could look into her eyes. Light causes her to get terrible migraines. The afternoon row for her, then, was very uncomfortable. We are all crossing our fingers that she will feel better tomorrow.

There’s nothing else to report. T-23.5 hours to race number 1 of, ideally, 3. Keep us in your prayers and wish us luck.

August 25 - First Strokes

2007-08-25T05:17:00.001-04:00

Being at the world championships brings a strange blend of business and boredom. It seems like there is always something that could be done, but very few things that absolutely must be done. School work is a constant option, for example, but so is knapping.

After checking emails and updating my blog yesterday, I joined the rest of the team for our 12:00 meeting. After that, we grabbed a quick lunch, dropped off the dogs to be watched at the Concept2 tent (I forgot my crate in the hotel), and checked our bags at the secure area before heading out for our first practice.

Our first row in Germany went well. We were back in our own racing shell, which was a huge improvement over the boat we had during training. We rowed our old boat while in Philadelphia because the racing shell began its journey across the Atlantic with the other US boats in mid June.

Yesterday we also tried out some new oars from Concept2. Aerial prefers them because they are easier to feel in the oar lock than our old blades were. I don’t know what I really think about them. I rowed with C2’s in college, but I am used to the Crokers that we’ve been using. Hopefully I’ll relearn the feel of the new oars by the end of our row this afternoon.

Another interesting development yesterday was the draw of our first heat. There will be 4 heats, 2 semi-final rounds, and the grand finals. Three boats will progress from each heat to the semi-finals, and 3 from semi-finals to the finals. Our first heat is the smallest of the 4. We only have four boats: Korea, Canada, Israel, and us. I’m not sure what our strategy will be, yet, but we only need to beat one boat to advance directly to the semi’s without going through the repechage rounds (aka the losers’ bracket).

Really, that’s about it. The pattern for the next several days will be pretty consistent. Right now we’re just focusing on feeling the boat, getting used to the new blades and the venue, and adjusting to the time difference. I just want to accelerate everything and get to the racing, but that will come soon enough.

Watching Races

2007-08-24T04:53:00.001-04:00

For anyone wanting to watch the race action, there are a few options.

www.rowersworld.com is supposed to be carrying free live coverage. I have not investigated myself, but our team boat man, Jeff, says it works. Look for links to the FISA World Championships and the event called the "LTA 4+."

Ryan's dad, Carl, gave me the following link. It will take you to a site where you can pay a monthly subscription fee, about $5, to watch the races. The subscription can be canceled after the championships are over. One advantage of this site is that the races are archived so you don't have to watch them at awkward hours.

http://web.wcsn.com/sport/index.jsp?id=34017

There are 15 boats in our event this year, so we will have heats, semi-finals, and finals. Our first heat is Monday, competition yet to be determined. I don't know the exact progression, but our next race will not be until Wednesday or Thursday. I'll try to send out updates once I know the real schedule.

August 24, 2007 - Arrived

2007-08-24T04:46:00.001-04:00

Well, we're here and, thankfully, so far it is not raining. Actually, the weather is absolutely beautiful as is the course. The venue was built for the now infamous Munich Olympics, so it is really spectacular. The course is a perfect rectangle, with six docks for launching and returning lined up at one end. It's a pretty cool view to be able to look at the docks and see the entire length of the race course behind. Karen says it makes you realize just how long 2,000 meters really is.

Our last practices in Philadelphia went well, though it only stopped raining for the last evening and morning. Isabel arranged a send-off party which was very nice. I was especially pleased that Barb Engleking, Priscilla's and my trainer from The Seeing Eye, came with her husband Bill and oldest son Will. They are essentially my New Jersey family, so it was a welcome reprieve from the rowing world to have lunch with them and to have them at our going away shindig.

Our flight over was uneventful, although we all agree that the flight attendants displayed an attitude that can only be described as "severe." At one point I thought we were all going to die because a stewardess announced very firmly, "Passengers, return to your seats, buckle your seatbelts, and refrain from standing!" It sounded to me as if we were about to encounter serious turbulence. In reality, the flight attendants just wanted to be able to get through the aisles with donuts and juice. Welcome to Germany...

Our hotel, the Suite Hotel Munich, is wonderful. The rooms are distinctly European. There is one queen sized bed and one twin sized bed. There are dividers that you can pull across between the two beds like giant curtains. The bathrooms look like nicely-decorated prefabricated plastic rooms that were put in as afterthoughts. Actually, there are two bathrooms. One has only a toilet and a sink and is about the size of an airplane laboratory. The other has a sink and a huge tub that I think has jets in it. The latter is exposed to the main room through openings in the door that are intended as handles. It's a little funny. Really, though, the hotel is very nice and my description probably does not do it justice.

I especially like this year's food situation. We have a restaurant across from our hotel where we have lunch and dinner whenever we are not at the course. Last year we had a buffet with an assortment of ambiguous and bland foods, mostly consisting of pasta. This year, we have a set menu and it is truly delicious. Yesterday we had basil pesto and spaghetti as our meals, along with some incredible soups. We also had a traditional German dessert whose name I won't butcher here. It consisted of vanilla cream with a fruit jelly mixed in. It was pretty tasty. Jesse and I risked missing the bus to try it, actually. It was worth it.

We do not have internet access at the hotel (at least not for a reasonable price), so right now I'm writing from the course. I was surprised to find that my cell phone works here for a paltry $1.29 per minute and $0.50 per text message. Last night I used it to call Lauren just to ask her to call my hotel with our phone card. I plan to keep it turned off for the rest of the week just to avoid the temptation to use it. If anyone wants to call, the number is listed at the hotel's website, www.suite-hotel.com. My room number is 109. I suggest buying an international phone card for the best price and, of course, remember that I am six hours ahead of you so the best time to call is between 1:00 and 5:00 Eastern Standard Time.

On the good news front, during camp I told Aerial about my back problems and she said that my symptoms exactly matched some that she had experienced herself. The catch is that her back was not injured, it was a muscle in the leg and buttocks that is often strained by rowers. She showed me some stretches and did some rather uncomfortable massage work on my leg (Aerial is an RN and really knows her stuff) that seemed to help. Here in Munich, we have a team massage therapist. He worked on me yesterday for a long time and will repeat the process today and tomorrow. I actually have bruises from the massage, which the trainer predicted, but my leg feels much better.

I'm frustrated that my doctors in Winston misdiagnosed my problem as a disk issue and so allowed it to continue unnecessarily for the past five months, but I am mostly grateful to be on the road to recovery now and to have decreasing pain. Psychologically, I feel stronger just knowing what's wrong and knowing that I am not going to hurt my back by continuing to row. It makes me feel more confident in my body than I did even before leaving North Carolina.

I would say that I am not jet lagged, but I did put Neosporin on my toothbrush this morning instead of toothpaste, so maybe I'm more tired than I think. Fortunately, I realized my error before brushing. Priscilla, who slept well on the plane and who sleeps well everywhere else, too, does not seem affected by the time change.

Other Notes:
* The first thing I saw on German TV was a live performance of "Mombo Number 5" followed by a group of women with red Mohawks singing "Another One Bites the Dust." The music in the hotel restaurant is similarly strange. The world loves old American pop.

* I had Coke in a glass bottle last night. It was a little less fizzy than American Coke and a bit sweeter.
* It's fun to be back in a country with push button toilets. Often there are two buttons. One is a regular flush for number 1's. The other is a power flush for non-number 1's. Now that's what I call practicality.

August 19, 2007 - Small Victories

2007-08-20T21:52:00.001-04:00

By all accounts, the start to yesterday's evening practice was about as bad as they come. For one, it started raining during the morning and never let up. For two, the annual "Unity Fest" was taking place down town and what is usually a 20 minute drive from the apartment where Jesse, Ryan, and I picked up Aerial to the practice site took over an hour. Karen was not pleased that we were late. Tracy was feeling sick and had been waiting for us for almost an hour. The double was on the water hanging around in the rain to do race pieces against us. To say the least, it was a mess.

Fortunately, bad beginnings do not always have to translate into bad practices. Ironically, after the morning row Karen talked to us a bit about mental toughness. The afternoon row gave us an opportunity to put her words to use.

Our ill-begun practice consisted of two race pieces. We had almost no time to warm up for the first and had very little practice with a new starting sequence Karen taught us Saturday. I didn't expect much.

Once the row started, one thing was clear. We were all ready to unleash some power. Our first 1,000 piece was not the smoothest or the prettiest we've ever done, but it was the fastest, and the fastest by a long shot. It was so fast, in fact, that Karen seemed pleasantly surprised when Ryan told her that we had not done a mid-race move--a series of more powerful strokes used for strategy--or sprinted the last few hundred meters.

As if to test fait, we lined up for a second piece. I figured, given the first explosion, that we would be slightly slower. I thought wrong. Our second 1,000 meters was faster than our first. It was a very welcome victory for the crew.

Until yesterday, I think the crew was a bit pensive. We had not had a signature row that we could really hang our hats on. I think we all hoped that we were fast, but yesterday's confirmation really increased our confidence, reduced our stress, and lightened the mood of the boat.

Interestingly, the surrounding circumstances of the practice never improved. It continued to rain, it got colder, and Karen's launch broke down so that we had to tow her to the dock. No one cared, though. We finally accomplished something together as a crew. In a sense, we had a collective victory that overshadowed our individual personalities and differences. It was a small glimpse of what makes me love rowing: the effort of distinct people acting together as one unified body.

The next few days of practice will be critical to our success in Munich, but I think now we are all eager for them, we all wish we had more time to prepare and more chances to recapture the feeling we achieved tonight. It's a good feeling. It feels like confident anticipation; it feels like hope.

August 18, 2007 - Focus

2007-08-18T20:38:00.001-04:00

The final push towards Munich began this morning with an early wake up call in Winston-Salem, a short drive to Greensboro, and a flight to Philadelphia that turned out to be pleasantly uneventful. A relaxed lunch and afternoon of school reading gave the first three quarters of the day a laid back feel, but with the team's first evening row of our pre-race training camp came a renewed sense of focus.

The attitude in the boat tonight was relaxed, up-beat, and almost jovial. The presence of a photographer hired to take shots of my guide dog Priscilla and me for an ad campaign for The Seeing Eye was certainly fodder for some good-natured ribbing and laughs. Still, there just seemed to be something a little different about the crew's concentration level. It seemed like each rower was paying closer attention to body position, blade work, and balance, that each was sitting up and listening more intently when Coach Karen offered technical advice, and that each was straining to create and maintain perfection more fervently than we had in any of our previous practices. Perhaps it was a sense of urgency with the world championships just a few days away, perhaps something just clicked, or perhaps it was nothing more than the first cool and comfortable weather we've seen all year. Whatever it was, the mood in the boat and by the dock was decidedly different and different for the better.

Really, my experience rowing with the national team this second time has been different in many ways. For one, I've done all this before; it's no longer new. In some sense, that is a little sad. For example, getting our gear packages and international flight reservations didn't hold the same magic as a year ago. At the same time, with familiarity comes confidence, and I feel much calmer now than I did during our last week before Eton.

Other things have changed that don't necessarily have anything to do with experience in rowing, but with experience in life. For example, the addition of Lauren's constant and steady love in my life makes me feel far stronger, more confident, and less desperate for achievements than I've ever been. It's not that I've lost any drive or will to win, but I simply feel more complete as a person and less reliant on outcomes for self-esteem.

Pain has also shaped my outlook. As I have struggled with the relentless and so far incurable pain caused by an unidentified injury in my lower back, I've been forced to come to terms with the mortality of my rowing career and athletic prowess. This too, though, has had both positive and negative effects. Of course, the pain is unpleasant and it has robbed me of much of the joy I used to experience while training. At the same time, the injury has given me a deeper appreciation of the here and now, reminding me that the greatest beauty is found in the process of growing and improving, not in final results.

Finally, this year there is an end in sight. I now know that, if I am chosen to represent the country at the Paralympics in 2008, that will be my last race. I have goals and aspirations beyond rowing that will soon require my full attention. I know, then, that I have to soak all this up while I can. It's not about living into cheesy metaphors like "seize the day" and "live in the moment." It's about relishing a life that we only get to live one time, recognizing that some opportunities do only come one time despite our best intentions, and that endings, even to life-defining passions, are inevitable.

I'm tired of trying to write deep things about rowing. It is, after all, only a sport no matter how much I glorify it and no matter how deeply I love it. There is a world outside the narrow walls of the shell that is happy and full regardless of my erg score. Perhaps this realization represents the biggest difference the past year has brought. It does not diminish my insane love for the sport or my insatiable hunger to be a part of it, but it does give me perspective. I am more than a rower... I am going to go call Lauren.

February 1, 2007 - Put Your Money where Your Mouth Is

2007-02-01T22:13:00.001-05:00

Sometimes I think that everything boils down to discipline, but it is one of the traits that we notice least. Emotion, passion, drive, and the like are all white-hot characteristics that draw attention to their bearers, but discipline seems to exists in the background, quietly and inconspicuously helping to create strength and poise.

I often think too much about motivation. Recently, the team I help coach at Wake Forest participated in “Row for Humanity,” a nationwide event wherein teams erg throughout a day to raise money both for themselves and the non-profit organization Habitat for Humanity. In order to get my athletes pumped up for the event, I threw down a challenge. I promise that if any male beat me outright on his one hour piece or any woman came within a certain range of split time, I would take them to the nicest steak house in town.

The end result? I am going to have to dust off my suit and tie and get out my wallet. During the final grouping of the day, one of my rowers beat me by about 30 meters. Next year I will be sure to stipulate that I get to go last. Fortunately, the price of losing is only a delicious dinner.

In any case, I am proud of the student and the team. Of course I like to win, but as a coach, I am encouraged to see people get excited about a challenge and really work to meet it. Had I won, it only would have reinforced that I am fast. That a student won, I hope, demonstrates that speed is something anyone can have, if they choose to do the work it takes to get it.

Since the national adaptive team’s winter rowing camp in San Francisco, the concept of “choosing to be fast” has really been on my mind. We had a great week of training at Marin Rowing Club and I felt that we got a lot accomplished. Still, I left with more questions than answers, most of them revolving around myself, the reasons I row, and the things that drive me.

After some heart to heart discussions about commitment levels, sacrifices, and pending training decisions, I have come to realize that I think too much about the steak dinners and too little about the hours of rowing it takes to earn them. Put another way, I want so badly to win that I often lose sight of the beauty of the process of training, itself.

This brings me back to my initial thought: when all else fades away, it is discipline and little else that separates the average from the awe-inspiring. Anyone who has talked to me about rowing or who has read this blog for any amount of time knows that I tend to mystify the sport. Indeed, part of the reason that I have written less in recent weeks is that I feel almost irreverent when I reduce rowing to something as basic and blaze as discipline.

I am maturing, though, and I am no longer ashamed to admit that sometimes I just don’t feel excited when I sit down alone in the erg room or when my alarm clock goes off after a late night of work. Sometimes, not even the thought of victory, of national pride, or of gold medals can make the monotony of steady state erg pieces any more tolerable.

Right now I do not feel as angry or determined as I did at the end of last year’s World Championships. I do not feel as connected to my team mates as I do when I get to be with them in person. Really, though, it doesn’t matter, because I still feel the same level of discipline as always, and probably even more.

The emotion will come. Adrenaline, pride, frustration, love, and all the other fuels that boil over in the heat of battle are sure to reappear. Until then, though, I will keep plodding along as I always have. Anyone can push himself when there’s someone watching, but I am pushing myself now: alone in a dingy erg room in the middle of winter. I am not striving for a finish, I am living in the race.

December 27, 2006 - In Cold Blood

2006-12-27T12:35:00.000-05:00

My apologies to Truman Capote for stealing his title. I just thought it would attract more attention than “Columbus is freaking frigid in December.”

I am home for Christmas break right now, and I’m amazed at how wide the temperature spectrum is in this city. Lucky for me, it has been a relatively mild winter. Still, mild in Ohio is far more severe than anything we see in my usual home of North Carolina, so I am seriously cold.

The difference in temperature from the summer until now can be as much as 100 degrees in the garage where I do all my erging. This is thanks to the incredible ability of garages with steel doors to trap heat in the summer, warming up well into the triple digits, and, conversely, to retain absolutely no warmth in winter. I am not a scientist, but whether it’s conductivity, convection, thermal dynamics, or gravity, to me it all translates into coldness of a shocking magnitude.

Now, before the patriarchs and matriarchs of rowing start rolling over in their graves at my frailty, let me say that I am well aware that rowing began in the Northeast, so I have no right to complain of coldness. Lest anyone think me a total wimp, I should also defend myself by saying that I have rowed in the snow, I have broken ice off my riggers to be able to practice, and I’ve even beached when the air temperature was well below freezing. I can brave inclement weather, but that doesn’t mean I have to enjoy the undertaking.

On the bright side, I have determined that cold conditions breed efficient practices. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten on the erg and started my pieces so quickly. Once begun, there is no way I’m going to stop. Action provides the only warmth.

At the same time, the temperatures help me get my stroke rating up in a technically sound way. I freeze when I’m extended at the finish, so I find myself getting my hands away and my body over quickly, then moving up the slide very slowly so that my legs and torso benefit from one another’s heat. Maybe, then, I am beginning to learn why Northeasterners still dominate this sport despite more favorable conditions in the South. They are good because of cold weather, not in spite of it.

Still, I’ll take my sunny February and March mornings and my shorts and sandals weather in November, any day. I am not ashamed to admit that my lightweight frame is not hearty enough to be happy in the arctic tundra that covers everything North of the Mason-Dixon line. If it means that more of my motivation will have to come from within, then so be it.

Next week I will have the joy of reuniting with the national adaptive team members for a mini-camp in San Francisco. I am looking forward to seeing Jesse, Aerial, Ryan, and all the other familiar faces as well as a few new ones. I am also looking forward to seeing the Sun again, and rowing in a reasonable number of layers. I’ve had enough of getting tough. Now I just want to thaw.

December 14, 2006 - Seeing for the First Time

2006-12-27T12:33:00.000-05:00

It was during my first round of exams (each comprising 100% of my class grade) after a long and challenging first semester of law school that I remembered why I love rowing so much. After a two week hiatus from the erg thanks to a strained muscle in my lower back (who ever thought rowing at a resistance of nine was a good idea?), my body was hungry for the activity. Even more exciting, I had just downloaded some software developed by Concept2 that allowed me to connect my laptop to the erg monitor and receive audible feedback about my splits, distance, time, stroke rating, etc.

Just a few technical difficulties, and then I was off and running. It was magic. Everything from the preceding semester—school stress, coaching dilemmas, relationship break downs—it all fell away as the meters climbed. Body and brain settled into the familiar rhythm, all working together to catch, drive, finish, and recover with power and efficiency.

Now, plugged into my laptop with numbers being fed to me every 10 seconds, it was like discovering the sport a new. Without being able to see the screen, I had grown sadly accustomed to coming to the erg room, doing a piece using my cell phone, computer, or music to keep time, then leaving without any idea how my efforts were reflected by the numbers. If I wanted to know what was on my screen, I had to bring a coxswain with me: something that often seems to add more stress and frustration than it’s worth.

Now, though, I was in the erg room alone. I was getting the feedback I wanted when I wanted it, and it was Heaven.

For a sighted rower who is used to the luxury of following his/her progress on the erg screen, I don’t know that it will be possible to fully appreciate how much the advent of a talking performance monitor will and already has changed my training. Before, I pushed based on how my body felt or based upon the sound of the fan. I had to count strokes or find other inefficient and imprecise means of timing my pieces. Once done, I didn’t really feel like I had accomplished anything, because I had no final statistics to record. More than anything, lack of feedback made training mundane and often discouraging.

Suddenly, though, it’s all fun again. I can hear my splits changing. I can associate my exertion with moving through the meters. I can sense my capacity for speed.

Of course, full information isn’t always a good thing. I am gaining mercy for the athletes I coach who hate trying to do long pieces, counting down every second until the work out is done. I can also now begin to appreciate the frustration of knowing that your splits are climbing, despite your persistent and often increasing effort level. In fact, on the second day I used the software, about 30 minutes into my row I did the blind-person’s equivalent of flipping up the erg screen. I pulled off my headphones and rowed for about 10 minutes without any sound other than the fan spinning. Hearing numbers was revealing that I didn’t just feel tired, I was rowing tired, and I was too frustrated with my numbers to listen any longer.

Ultimately, though, I slid the headphones back on and I forced myself to listen, to control my body, and to work the numbers back down. Certainly, this is a new way to row. No longer is the race just against the fictional competitors in my mind, but against the unforgiving, cruelly objective, and relentless erg machine, as well.

For the first time, I feel like I can train the way I always wanted, combining science with spirit to see just how far I can push my body. In a few months, there will be others I have to race and beat if I want to represent the USA at another World Championship. For now, though, there is only me. I’m excited to take myself on.

September 4, 2006 - Beginning the Climb

2006-12-27T12:29:00.000-05:00

On the first 6,000 meter erg test that I took as a college Freshman, my average split was an abysmal 2:08.3. Of 14 or so novice men, I was the 14th fastest and not by a close margin.

For some people, performing poorly is a sign that you should pack up shop and find something else to do with your time. In this instance, though, my bad show became a great source of motivation. Results from that first test were posted online, and I started erging with the list of names ahead of me (it was a long list) in mind. I worked harder, longer, and more intensely than anyone else. I clawed and climbed my way up that list until I was faster than any of the other lightweight men and many of the heavyweights as well. I earned my seat in a boat.

Now, I have a much shorter list in mind: Australia, Canada, the Netherlands, and Great Britain. I’ve dug out my boots, polished my crampons, and sharpened my trekking poles and I’m ready to make another ascent.

I am the stroke of the fifth fastest adaptive boat in the world, not the gold medal deserving crew who just happened to have a weak performance. The results of our race in Eton simply are what they are, and I’m starting to come to terms with that. There’s no reason for excuses, for blame deflection, or for apologies. There’s only room for moving on.

And so I’m moving. After getting home late Monday night, I went to three law classes Tuesday morning and was on an erg again by 12:30 that afternoon. I just wanted to do something that felt familiar. I did not take a day of rest until Sunday, and I intend to start up 6 days a week again this week, including a serious lifting schedule.

What I need to do is clear. First, I have to get stronger. I have to lift furiously and transform myself from the 165 pound lightweight into a 180 pound elite. I’ve got to eat more and better food, and I’ve got to become an absolute piston. I’ve got to be desperate for speed.

Second, I’ve got to reconstruct my stroke, which requires a total demolition of almost everything I’ve learned in the past 5 years. My power curve looks like a bell. It starts low, peaks in the middle, and ends low. I need to learn to bring my power up from the first instant of the catch so that it climbs only slightly, plateaus through the majority of the stroke, and decreases slightly at the finish. This will be my greatest challenge, but it will make the greatest difference on the water. Last summer I became a starboard rower, now I’m going to become a good one.

Fortunately, I have help. My mentor here rowed at MIT and coached at Berkley. He was actually at MIT when they invented and beta tested the idea of the erg power curve. He is an excellent tutor, and he doesn’t have any time for dwelling on the past. By chance, he was in the erg room when I arrived to work out Tuesday, and he immediately began helping me. “You’ve got 11 and a half months to get better,” he said, “Let’s start today.”

So I’ve started, and I’ve left the Jamie of 2006 in the past. That rower didn’t know what to expect; now I do. That rower was motivated by a desire to win a gold medal, now I’m driven by a desire to pummel my competition. That rower was not strong or technically sound enough; I’ve got a year to fix those problems and I’ve already begun. In short, years from now when people look back on my rowing career, they will see that my loss in Eton did not crush me, it created me.

On with the climb.

August 28, 2006 - Notes about the World Championships

2006-12-27T12:25:00.000-05:00

I think the world championships are a loosely disguised excuse for athletes to come together and trade gear in a giant chaotic mass. There seems to be no formal protocol for this exchange. People just gesture, flash their items, point at things, and strip (if necessary).

Jesse and I wondered into the frey not quite sure what to do, but were quickly educated as a French rower approached me, pointed at the uni I was holding, and offered the pants he was wearing. I accepted the trade, he emptied his pockets, removed the pants, and so began my trading experience. That the items being swapped still smell of their owners’ sweat is part of the pride, I think. In any case, I’m washing everything I got before I wear it and I hope those who received my gifts do the same.

I’ve learned that British TV is incredible. At any given point during the day or night, one can find cricket, soccer, and an episode of The Simpson’s airing. Forget about finding real news if there is any sort of sport scandal going on. Right now I can’t tell you anything of world politics or business, but I could hold a fairly lengthy conversation about the Pakistani ball tampering allegations that were made in a recent cricket match. Apparently cricket is not something to be taken lightly and, like Americans, Brits have interestingly ordered their national priorities.

Even at the world championships, the porto-o-johns are one of the most popular destinations for rowers and they degenerate markedly throughout the regatta. I guess no matter where you come from or what you eat, nerves affect us all the same.

I am small. At 6’2”, I rarely feel short in the “real world.” Around rowers, though, I’m minuscule. Probably every male heavyweight was taller than me by at least two inches and most every female at least equaled my height. I won’t even talk about erg scores lest I embarrass myself more.

As I learned in Australia, steak and hamburgers in other countries are nothing like what American’s expect. I don’t like lamb and I don’t even know what a gammon is, so I’m anxious to step off the plane at home and grab some real, USDA choice red meat.

Finally, toilets flush on the opposite side (a fun tactile discovery) and one should never ask for a "napkin" at a restaurant.

August 28, 2006 - Shell Shocked

2006-12-27T12:20:00.000-05:00

Call it delusion, call it positivity. Either way, I really thought we would end our world championship run on the medal stand. That we did not—that we didn’t even row our best race of the weekend when it mattered most—is crushing.

For 600 meters, we had a strong race that could have ended us where we wanted to be. In the last 400, though, fatigue caught up, technique eroded, and we faded back to a fifth place finish. Still, we were less than 1.5 seconds from grabbing the silver. So frustrating.

Right now I feel a little lost. Rowing, the one thing that I have centered my life around for the past several months, is the last thing I want to talk about, but it’s the only thing on my mind. I seem to start a lot of conversations only to trail off or declare abruptly, “Oh well, it’s not worth talking about… Let’s change the subject.”

Things I looked forward to and enjoyed don’t seem as alluring right now as they did 48 hours ago. I don’t know how I will go back to Wake Forest and coach, I feel like I know less about the sport now than ever. I don’t know who I’ll call up to motivate me, because the second we crossed the finish line those who were my team mates became my competitors as we all strive to make the boat again next year with what seems like almost cold self-ambition. Really, I’m just floating, waiting to understand what just happened so that I can move on with life, even life outside of rowing.

The only feeling that I can relate to the one in my gut now is that which immediately follows the end of a long term relationship. I put my heart and soul into this sport and this event. I lived, ate, and breathed rowing. I prioritized my world around it. I thought my efforts would be consummated in victory, but I was deceived. Sport has no feelings. It doesn’t care if I give 100% or 10%; whether I win or lose. Now, alone and empty handed, I feel somewhat betrayed.

The worst feeling of all is the pity of friends and loved ones. I am not happy with fifth. I can never be happy with fifth, and the United States would not want a stroke who was. Every time I hear someone say, “Fifth in the world, that’s really awesome,” I feel like they’re really saying, “You weren’t actually strong enough to medal, so you should be happy with what you got.” Maybe that’s not what they mean, but it’s what I hear.

Make no mistake, we should have won a medal. We were well coached, well trained, and well prepared. No excuses, we failed ourselves and our country and we have to own up to that. This shouldn’t be a destroying admission. Rather, it should fuel us for the next two years so that we’ll never have to sit and drink this bitter cocktail of defeat again.

Ultimately, for me the past year has served to give me a refresher course in Rowing 101. Sometimes I start to believe that if I am strong enough, personally, that nothing else matters. All rowers know, though, that the sword on which we live and die is team work. Outside of the single scull, success is achieved only when an entire crew works harmoniously and efficiently to propel the boat down the course. Even if I could row a perfect race, it would be meaningless if those behind me did not do likewise.

Friday, my bobble in the last 50 meters caused us to lose to the Netherlands by 0.6 seconds. Sunday, technique issues around the boat caused us to fall out of medal contention with less than half our race remaining. That dreams can sink on oars that are not in our hands is one of the most difficult realities that rowers must confront. Yet, it is also one of the elements that makes this pursuit such a beautiful art.

And, after all, it is beautiful, too. The work, the pain, the celebration, the disappointment, the emotion, the camaraderie, the passion, and the chase: they all meld together into a symphony of fury that I know will draw me back in once I’ve had time to pause, to reflect, and to heal. In fact, I am already looking ahead to tomorrow’s work out, to next year’s selection camp, and to 2008 and the first appearance of rowing in the Paralympics.

Were I not resilient, I would not be a rower. Gold is still the goal, and that’s still where my eyes are focused.

August 26, 2006

2006-12-27T12:18:00.000-05:00

Less than four minutes of rowing left in my first FISA World Championships experience, and nothing has been decided. It’s a great feeling, too, because I know we have just as good a chance as anyone to walk away with the gold.

The LTA four repechage heats today could not have worked out better for the U.S.A. In our race, we had a four seat lead by about 400 meters in and, when it became clear that Italy was willing to expend any amount of energy necessary to win the heat, we dropped our rating, stretched out, and watched them row by at 36 strokes per minute while we rowed a calm, easy 28 all the way to the finish line. Since the next two boats were too far behind to challenge, we did not have to take a mid-piece move or sprint the finish.

In the other heat, things turned out to be a little tighter. Australia, Canada, and Portugal were all in contention in the last quarter of the race, so all went into full out sprints with Australia just nipping out Canada for the first position.

In summary, then, all the boats that advanced out of the repechage round, except the U.S.A., rowed a full-out, 100% race piece. I am sure they will feel the effects tomorrow, especially since they have less than 24 hours to recover. By remaining calm and racing strategically, we totally saved our legs and lungs for the finals.

So now there is only one race that remains, and it is the only one that counts. We have had two good races in a row, but it is this third effort that will be remembered. That’s the painful irony of rowing: a crew works tirelessly for weeks, months, and even years just to get one shot at a small piece of history. If they succeed, there is complete satisfaction, complete happiness. If they fail, there is complete anonymity. We do not want to be forgotten.

I am ready to stroke this race. My legs, my arms, and my lungs feel good. More importantly, the faith I have in my boat could not be higher. As we cross the 500 meter buoy and get into the most painful and important part of the race, I know that Jesse, Jen, Aerial, and Ryan will still be giving me 100%. None of them will fold, none will break, none will panicky. I will not try to carry the boat alone, I don’t have to. That feeling, alone, makes me very confident.

Each morning before leaving the hotel, I have dropped to my knees and prayed for God to give me strength, to keep me calm, to be with each of my team mates, and to help us to perform to the peak of our abilities. Faith that He has heard me gives me great strength. Faith in my crew gives me great confidence. Knowledge of what is at stake gives me courage. So it is, then, that it all comes back to those two little words that began my national team experience: “Faith” and “Courage.” They have carried us to the A finals of the world championships. They will carry us to the finish line, as well.

August 25 - Gut Check

2006-12-27T12:14:00.000-05:00

Now is the time that we really find out what we’re made of as a crew. In our first heat of the tournament, we finished second by 0.59 seconds to the Netherlands. We were walking through them in the last 250 meters, but just ran out of space before we hit the line. Five more meters and the results might have been reversed.

The small boats all advanced out of their heats with relative ease. They each had pretty favorable draws and won’t see their toughest competition head-to-head until Sunday’s finals. From what I’ve seen and heard, all of them have a good chance to medal if not win their events outright.

For my four, the road to the finals is a bit more circuitous. Since only one boat advanced directly to the finals from our heat, we must race in the repechage round tomorrow and finish in the top two in order to qualify for the A final.

This morning’s race was tough. Personally, I felt like I completely emptied my tanks. The pain of racing, though expected, is always a little surprising in magnitude. I spit blood and mucus for about 40 minutes after we were done. Fortunately, we are a very fit crew, and I do not think fatigue will be an issue tomorrow or Sunday.

Other than a little bobble in the last five meters, the race was a great piece for us. The rhythm of the boat was good. The balance and run were likewise nice. We just didn’t quite give it enough juice.

Though disappointed with the finish, I think we are far from disheartened. If anything, we are better focused now than before. That’s good, since we are now into the “do or die” phase of the regatta.

The fastest time of the day was pulled by GB, but it was less than three seconds better than ours. We think we can catch them. Correction: we know we can catch them if we really dig in deep and row the best 1,000 meters that we are capable of rowing.

In our repechage heat tomorrow, we’ve got to want it, bad. There are no givens and, though we go in as the first seed, that really doesn’t mean anything. It’s hard to know if the crews we’re facing—Croatia, Italy, and Hong Kong—really went out hard in their first races or if they backed off once it became clear that they would not be challenging for first place.

I don’t want to leave any doubt tomorrow. In fact, I want to pull an even faster time than we did today. It is in us; I can feel it. We are not the strongest crew or the biggest, but we are fit and we are clean. We don’t lose as much as others do in the last 500 meters. If we can get a few seconds in the first half of the race, victory is still attainable.

First things first, though. We have a rep heat that we must win. We have adopted a warrior’s spirit; we will not be denied.

August 24, 2006 - Getting Ready

2006-12-14T13:26:00.000-05:00

Twenty-four years of life, three days of racing, and less than 12 total minutes of rowing to validate my existence. That is the barrel I am staring down today as I look ahead to our first heat—participants yet undisclosed—tomorrow afternoon.

I have always been very good, but I have rarely, if ever, been the best at anything. It’s always winning the county championship but losing at states; graduating Sum Cum Laude but not as the valedictorian; making the finals but not medaling.

When I leave and go back to my life as a law student, I will not be the most brilliant or talented member of my class. In 10 years, I will not be the wealthiest or the most famous. No woman would ever pick me out of a crowd as the most handsome or the one she simply must meet.

Beginning tomorrow, though, I can change the course of history of my whole life. I can defeat the entire world at this one thing, the art of rowing that has become my passion, and there will be no one standing above me glaring down to dampen the joy of my accomplishment.

To win a world championship is to achieve something that is permanent. I can lose my medal or stop racing Monday morning, but that cannot take away the title of “champion” that would brand me for the rest of my life.

In 40 years, I don’t want to tell my grandchildren about how I came in second because I didn’t have the power to overcome Great Britain in the last 250 meters. In four days, I do not want to be writing e-mails telling people that we gave it our all and had a great race, but that our best just wasn’t enough. In one week, I do not want to face my new classmates for the first time still stinging of defeat and blathering on about how I’m not discouraged and we’ll get them next year.

At 12:34 PM Eton time Sunday afternoon, I want to be raising my fists in the air alongside Aerial, Jen, Jesse, and Ryan, gold medals draped around our necks, tears streaming down our faces as the Star Spangled Banner is played, while everyone looks up at us in our complete elation and wishes that they could have just a drop of the pleasure that we are feeling.

Right now all that is just a dream, but I’ve got three days to make it a reality.

August 25, 2006 – Gut Check

Now is the time that we really find out what we’re made of as a crew. In our first heat of the tournament, we finished second by 0.59 seconds to the Netherlands. We were walking through them in the last 250 meters, but just ran out of space before we hit the line. Five more meters and the results might have been reversed.

The small boats all advanced out of their heats with relative ease. They each had pretty favorable draws and won’t see their toughest competition head-to-head until Sunday’s finals. From what I’ve seen and heard, all of them have a good chance to medal if not win their events outright.

For my four, the road to the finals is a bit more circuitous. Since only one boat advanced directly to the finals from our heat, we must race in the repechage round tomorrow and finish in the top two in order to qualify for the A final.

This morning’s race was tough. Personally, I felt like I completely emptied my tanks. The pain of racing, though expected, is always a little surprising in magnitude. I spit blood and mucus for about 40 minutes after we were done. Fortunately, we are a very fit crew, and I do not think fatigue will be an issue tomorrow or Sunday.

Other than a little bobble in the last five meters, the race was a great piece for us. The rhythm of the boat was good. The balance and run were likewise nice. We just didn’t quite give it enough juice.

Though disappointed with the finish, I think we are far from disheartened. If anything, we are better focused now than before. That’s good, since we are now into the “do or die” phase of the regatta.

The fastest time of the day was pulled by GB, but it was less than three seconds better than ours. We think we can catch them. Correction: we know we can catch them if we really dig in deep and row the best 1,000 meters that we are capable of rowing.

In our repechage heat tomorrow, we’ve got to want it, bad. There are no givens and, though we go in as the first seed, that really doesn’t mean anything. It’s hard to know if the crews we’re facing—Croatia, Italy, and Hong Kong—really went out hard in their first races or if they backed off once it became clear that they would not be challenging for first place.

I don’t want to leave any doubt tomorrow. In fact, I want to pull an even faster time than we did today. It is in us; I can feel it. We are not the strongest crew or the biggest, but we are fit and we are clean. We don’t lose as much as others do in the last 500 meters. If we can get a few seconds in the first half of the race, victory is still attainable.

First things first, though. We have a rep heat that we must win. We have adopted a warrior’s spirit; we will not be denied.

August 22 - It Feels Like Home

2006-12-14T13:19:00.000-05:00

We have been in Eton for three days now, and it’s starting to feel normal. To be surrounded by competitors speaking different languages, to jump on a shuttle
bus with sweaty, wind-breaker and spandex clad athletes from many nations, and to hear people whispering the names of legendary rowers as they pass are
all part of daily life.

It’s really incredible and, were I watching this from the outside rather than experiencing it first hand, I might even be a little awe struck. This morning,
for example, Sir Steven Redgrave, perhaps the most famous rower in the world, had a casual chat with Ryan, Jesse, and Ron as they watched the races. Yesterday,
we got a lesson in handle cleaning from the founder and CEO of Croker oars. To think that I’m walking around as a participant at a venue like this surrounded
by the caliber of athletes that are here is unbelievable. That it feels, in many ways, just like any other regatta is equally unbelievable.

During two days of water practice on Lake Dorney, the team has encountered drastically different water conditions. Yesterday we were at what I consider
the upward bound of "rowable" water. There were very strong gusts and even occasional white caps. Still, the boat seemed to be pretty well set and to move
all right through the water. I had a bit of trouble with my rigging since it was our first time back in our boat (it was shipped over in July so we've
been training in a borrowed shell), but that has been fixed and today’s practice was even better.

The small boats are less excited about the possibility of chop than the four, except for Angela who is quite an accomplished open water rower. For the singles,
especially, strong head winds are a pain since the pontoons on their riggers that provide them with increased safety also bounce a lot on rough water.
Ron describes it as feeling like he is catching a crab on every stroke.

Today’s water was much better, and there were more boats around. China, Great Britain, and Brazil were all nearby during our practice session. I love listening
to the coxswains all speaking with the same sense of urgency, albeit in different languages. Being out there alongside the boats we'll be racing in a few
days is like getting a shot of adrenaline for me. Now, more than ever, I want to get to that starting line.

Another fun element of today’s work was classification. In essence, we all had to prove that the level of disability that we've been claiming is a truthful
depiction of our particular conditions. For Aerial and I, it means covering up one eye at a time and trying to see an eye chart, motion, and light. For
the amputees and small boaters, the testing is more complex. Jesse described it as a lot of strength and range of motion testing. I’m glad that my classification
was not such an involved process. Just in case anyone was worried, you can relax now: apparently I am still blind and eligible to row Friday.

What blind rowers escape in the classification procedure in terms of inconvenience, we make up for on the water. To keep things absolutely fair, visually-impaired
athletes have to wear blindfolds that block all light. Mine are made of jet ski goggles covered in black duct tape. Apparently they make me look like some
kind of space invader, and they've drawn comments from people all the way up to USRowing Executive Director, Glenn Merry. Maybe he’ll go back to Nike and
ask them to design something for me that is a little more elegant. I won't keep my fingers crossed.

Right now I am ending my evening as I have the first two nights here: catching up with emails and writing in the small room reserved for rowers to get cheap
internet access at the hotel. It's about 10:00 pm our time, 5:00 pm home time, which means it is high time for me to hit the sack. Until next time…

August 20, 2006 - Fatigue, Thy Name is Jet Lag

2006-08-20T16:18:00.000-04:00

What’s more fun than doing law school assignments on your lap top computer during the middle of the night while cruising 30,000 feet above the Atlantic Ocean? In short, just about anything.
The past 30 hours have been quite the exercise in sleep deprivation. None of us, it seems, are good airplane sleepers. Even if I had been, I had enough work to do to keep me occupied throughout our flight from Washington, D.C. to London. When we got here, then, we were all in pretty haggard shape. It was actually pretty funny.
Ryan, our coxswain, seems to have been the hardest hit. He’s only 17 and he’s never traveled abroad before and faced the torture that is resetting one’s biological clock. I think he was almost delirious when we arrived. We all felt a little bad for him, but our compassion was drowned out by our laughter at watching him trying to stay conscious throughout the day.
After dropping our bags off at the hotel, we caught a bus over to the race site. I had the fortunate experience of sitting behind some U.S. women’s team members. I took the opportunity to relate to them the story of my missing trou and to hypothesize about possible scenarios for its disappearance. They were convinced that I was making the whole thing up; I was convinced that they were covering for someone. We’ll be on the look out during their practices for my AWOL spandies, that’s for sure.
We didn’t row today, but we got our shell down off the racks and rigged it up. It’s now got the U.S.A. lettering on it, which is very cool. Our oars are being painted, as well, to match the typical U.S. red, white, and blue.
We’re finding out that the conditions here change frequently and without warning. Yesterday there was a cross head wind, today there was a stiff cross tail. I talked to some Australian rowers and an American coxswain who’ve been around for a little while and they said it’s very difficult to anticipate how the course will look on any given day. Thus, it’s not uncommon for the starters to shift lanes close to race time in order to keep the fastest boats in the best water. Some lanes here, unfortunately, can significantly disadvantage a boat depending on the conditions. I am not really worried about this for the four and the double, but Ron and I agree that it could pose serious problems for the singles, especially given the fixed seat which he said often works like a mini sail.
It wasn’t until the ride home from the course that the time change really hit me. It was about 2:00 PM Eton time, which is 9:00 AM my time back home. It’s not surprising then that I don’t remember much of the shuttle ride back to the hotel. I just recall Jesse grabbing my arm and holding on to me so that I wouldn’t slip off the edge of the seat on one turn and then me bracing myself and pushing against him so that he wouldn’t slide out on the next. It was kind of impromptu human seat belt duty.
The afternoon brought a much appreciated nap, some TV, and a calm dinner. Tomorrow we’ll get our first time out on the water. I’m looking forward to it. My nerves really go crazy on land, but they tend to dissipate once we push off the docks. I just want to get down to the business that we came here to do. I’ve had enough traveling and talking; it’s time to row.

We're on TV! (Sort of)

2006-08-18T21:39:00.000-04:00

If you want to watch every thrilling minute of the races in Eton, check out

www.worldrowing.com

I'm told that there are links on the site to live web feeds including commentary. They'll probably even archive the coverage so that you don't have to get up at an unholy hour to see us race--although that would be fun and I expect all true rowers to do it since we're used to getting up at unholy hours anyway.

August 18 - 2006 - On the Road Again

2006-08-18T21:38:00.000-04:00

Well, that pivotal moment I’ve been waiting for, the one where I realize that this is actually happening, has finally arrived. I could feel it coming on—my nerves have been acting up and my appetite has been decreasing—but now it’s full on. Wow.
After a great practice this morning, tonight we took our second to last row in the United States in front of a crowd of supporters and then attended a send-off party in St. Joe’s boat house where we’ve been training all week. It was really nice to see some of those who have made this program possible. It also drives home the point that the hopes and dreams of more than just the 9 of us on the team rest on the strength of our oars. “No pressure,” they say… Yeah right.
The plan for the morning is to take a light row and then to get to the airport to battle the new security requirements. With several wheelchairs and prosthetics to get onto the plane, it will be a huge ordeal and we don’t want to risk missing our departure and getting held up here in Philly.
Just to add a little adventure, I think I tweaked my shoulder a bit during this morning’s practice. I’ve been trying to blend better into the style of this particular boat by moving away from the three part legs-back-arms stroke and using one where I finish with my legs and hands at the same time. I think it’s just stressing out the small support muscles that aren’t used to handling the different load. As I write, I’m sitting with an ice pack tucked behind my back and a good dose of Advil flowing through my veins. I’m positive that will be enough to get me through.
It’s been a good week in Philadelphia and we’re heading out feeling good. One more smooth, swing-filled row tomorrow and I think we’ll cruise into England feeling strong and prepared. It’s probably impossible to feel absolutely ready for these kinds of events. It seems like there is always one more thing you’d like to work on cleaning up before the big day. We’ve done all we can, though, and, frankly, we’ve done a lot. Over the course of this summer, we’ve become a true crew. We care about each other, we’re committed and focused to our country and to our boat, and I couldn’t ask for anything more.

August 17, 2006 - Confidence, Tiff! Confidence!

2006-08-17T15:45:00.000-04:00

“The Amateurs” is undoubtedly one of the best and most widely-read rowing books of all time. As the author, David Halberstam, chronicles the quest of four scullers on their quest to represent the United States in the Olympic games, he goes into great detail about their personalities, their backgrounds, and the other traits and life experiences that carved them into elite level rowers.

One of the stories Halberstam tells is of Tiff Wood: the tough, outspoken favorite to win the men’s single. In college, though, rowing with Harvard’s “rude and smooth” crew, Tiff was not always sure of himself. In one race, in particular, his boat was given orders to take an early lead and hold it. The directions were followed, but, in his worry that they might be caught, Tiff started screaming for the stroke to take the rating up and pull away from the other boat. All the while, Tiff’s coach was riding alongside the race course on a bike yelling simply, “Confidence Tiff! Confidence!”

Out of the whole book, that’s the one quote I remember, and it’s the last thing that goes through my mind before every race. This morning we had a mock heat against a double of former international national team heavyweight men. They took us off the start—which I expected—but they managed to hold the lead and win by about a seat and a half, which I did not expect.

It was frustrating, because we rowed well. Personally, this was the first one kilometer piece on the water during which my legs felt the same level of pain that they do on the erg. I really thought we’d be faster.

So here is the realization: all the motivational talk, goal-setting, and eloquent writing are just an exercise in semantic gymnastics if you can’t anchor your blade in the water and pry your boat past it faster than your competition. A lesson hard-learned, I will not forget it during the next 9 days or probably during my life time.

I might sound a little morose; I’m not. A heavyweight men’s pair without coxswain, especially one composed of elite level rowers, should be able to beat a mixed four with coxswain over 1,000 meters. There was much to be happy about, too. Our start was very nice, our rating came up easily and our settle felt awesome. The rate didn’t creep down at all during the piece. We took water during our mid-race move, and we felt really long and relaxed, so much so that our coach was surprised to see how high the stroke rating actually was. Most importantly, we absolutely did not lose our cool and never, never broke. There was no let up whatsoever, and that is very satisfying to me.

I just hate losing, even in practices. I’m not shaken, not worried, not upset (anymore). I just got a little taste of the bitterness that I train so hard to avoid. I don’t think anyone would like me to be any different, though. A stroke should hate, maybe even fear, losing more than anything else in the world. For me, there is no thought of second place when I’m at the starting line or during a race. There is only driving the boat, looking for a way to win, holding out hope until the finish is past. As I told my dad before selection camp, I have no contingencies for failure.

My focus is higher than it has ever been. The trust I have in my team mates is unflappable. Though I know that I’m far from being a perfect rower, when I sit ready at the catch waiting for our first race, I will believe that I’m unstoppable, unshakeable, unbreakable, and invincible. That’s the only way I know to approach a race. Confidence, Jamie! Confidence!

August 16, 2006 - All in the Family

2006-08-16T11:23:00.000-04:00

One of the greatest parts about being at the full team training camp is having the opportunity to spend more time with the other adaptive team members who are not on my boat. Sometimes I can get a little myopic when it comes to focusing on just my training and just the work of my four, but it’s good to be here and to share with other athletes.
A little explaining is probably useful at this point. There will actually be four adaptive events at the Fisa World Championships. I am part of what is called the “LTA four+.” This is the boat for athletes who have full leg, trunk, and arm ability. In our case, we have two blind rowers and two amputee rowers. By rule, only two blind rowers are allowed on any crew and there must be at least two female rowers on the boat. I’m told the latter is a political move to force some less-progressive nations to include women in sport. It might change in future years, but not until after the 2008 Paralympics.
The other three events are all in sculls. There is the TA (trunk and arm) double and the arms-only men’s and women’s singles. All three events used fixed seat shells.
The fixed seat rowers on our team are all very capable athletes, and fun people, too. The double, Scott and Angela, have won gold at worlds three times. Both are fairly relaxed off the water, but also extremely focused athletes. Scott, in particular, has a great whit and a semi-sarcastic sense of humor that I find especially amusing. He’s the kind of person who can both dish out and take a heavy dose of good-natured kidding, so I find myself going back and forth with him quite often. He owns an ’89 Porsche, a hybrid Toyota Prius, and an old-school AMC jeep; all of which are red. He tells me that the Prius balances out the terrible gas mileage and environmental damage of the other two vehicles.
The best descriptor I can think of for Angela is “tough.” Not only does she race in the double, but she also competes as a world class surfer—her corn-rowed hair stands as testament to her boarder spirit—and she’s currently training to do a trans-Atlantic row with a few other adaptive rowers. She told me all about the adventure when we chatted during selection camp. Sixty days of rowing, two hours on, two hours off. I can’t even imagine. It is not surprising that she is a former U.S. Marine.
Our singles rowers remain the most mysterious to me, mostly because I don’t get to row with them and because they aren’t around me too much. Ron, the male rep, is finishing his training out West because of a job switch and Patty, the female representative, is staying in a hotel outside the city with Angela.
I have not met anyone who doesn’t absolutely love and respect Ron. He is Mr. Cool in the world of adaptive rowing. An elite level rower before he was injured and lost the use of his legs and back, he hasn’t lost anything on the water. It’s really impressive to see him cranking out 2:00 splits with just his arms on the erg. It’s also insane to talk to him about his race strategy, which includes a start whose rating can jump into the 60 and 70 stroke-per-minute range. He deserves to win; I really hope that this is his year.
Patty is relatively new to the sport of rowing, but not new to adaptive athletics. She started out as a wheelchair basketball and tennis player. Fortunately, she saw the light and came over to the far superior pursuit of rowing. Like I said, I haven’t gotten to spend too much time with her, yet, but I know that will change in the coming days as we travel abroad.
As a blind person, I really don’t like it when people tell me that they are “amazed” or “inspired” by me when I’m just doing things that are normal to me and to other regular people. I’m learning to be a little more compassionate towards the awe-struck, though, as I watch our fixed seat rowers. It’s proof that, even for one who is himself adaptive, we all find it difficult to comprehend how others can thrive without abilities that we take for granted. Because I respect them, though, I do not see the scullers or any of my other team mates as “special” for any reason other than their elite rowing ability. We all expect world championship quality rowing from each other, none of us is here for fun, and no one will be satisfied with just “participating” in Eton. Legs, eyes, arms, and backs can’t affect heart, and heart is what every champion lives on.

August 16, 2006 - Moving On Up

2006-08-16T11:17:00.000-04:00

August 16, 2006- Moving on Up

Well friends, family, and other such rowing-news starved people who are bored enough to read my blog, I want to let you know that I’m starting a second web log about my rowing and the upcoming world championships. Actually, it’s already started. RowingNews.com asked me to write about my experiences, so you can now find me at

http://www.rowingnews.com

I believe that the blog section is pretty clearly marked. There are links to recent posts, including mine, at the bottom of the front page. Check it out; it will even have pictures.

Also, Aerial is keeping a blog, as is her tradition, that is very good and up-to-date. The link to hers is

http://home.earthlink.net/~gdbdeanne/worlds2003

Enjoy the reading. I'll post more soon…

August 13, 2006 - Final Camp has Begun

2006-08-14T22:37:00.000-04:00

Jesse and I arrived in Philadelphia Friday night courtesy of the Ryan Pawling shuttle service. We spent the evening with the rest of our boat at the apartment where Aerial is staying. She and Jen prepared some awesome pasta, and we used the evening to rest up for the week ahead. I think the mood was casual, but focused. The sense of anticipation around the table was almost palpable.
The first day of rowing could not have gone better. We did a long steady state piece in the morning and technical work at night. Everyone felt that the boat was coming together well, and our excitement has grown after every work out we’ve had so far.
After our morning session Saturday, we had the long-awaited delivery of our US National Team gear packages. It was really exciting, especially for Ryan and I who are on the national team for the first time. As I pulled on my team USA uni, it kind of hit home that in just over a week I’d be representing my country. It’s so easy to let things seem imaginary and, in some ways, it is good to live in the moment and not look ahead too much. It was truly a special moment for me, though, when I first looked at my gear and took a moment to appreciate that it is all real and I’m really a part of this incredible program.
Sunday we had what, I think, was our best row yet. We did a pyramid of 5 pieces—2k, 1k, 500 meters, 1k, 2k—and, for maybe the first time, we really started to feel that allusive sensation rowers know simply as “swing.” The catches were all going in at the same time, the application of power was very even across the boat, and the stroke rating seemed to shoot up effortlessly. After practice, the mood on the dock was one of total elation. For those who have gone to previous worlds and finished out of medal contention, vindication is so near they can almost taste it. For the rest of us, the possibility of exploding onto the scene and grabbing a medal is becoming more real than ever.
Our time here has not been without adventure. Sunday, Jen’s car broke down and we left the boat house after our evening practice to find that her muffler was practically lying on the ground. Thus began a very, very long evening that included a pizza run, a group crossword adventure, and many hours of storytelling and bonding. As we lie there on the asphalt to stay warm, laughing at almost everything because we were so tired, it struck me that we’re really a team now: really the deep kind of friends who sincerely love one another and who will dig deeper for each other than we would for ourselves. More than anything we’ve done on the water, that realization makes me feel ready for Eton.

August 10, 2006 - A Sad Loss

2006-08-10T23:39:00.000-04:00

Sometimes athletes develop what can only be described as an irrational and unnatural affinity for their equipment. I know that there are definitely some pieces of my own gear that hold a special place in my heart: my water bottle, my black and gold CoolMax shirt, and my Wake Forest Boathouse jacket, for example. To my great surprise and horror, another item from my highly prized collection, my favorite pair of rowing shorts, mysteriously disappeared from my locker today.
Please understand, these are not just any shorts. They are the first pair of spandex I ever purchased. They are “Hind” (don’t laugh) brand, which is nearly impossible to find. I wore them during my first season of racing and, throughout my entire collegiate career, they were the only trou that I ever owned.
Why anyone would want to “borrow” my shorts which have been worked out in three times since their last washing is beyond me. I could understand taking my nice-looking Under Armor shirt or Jesse’s towel, both of which were also hanging in the locker, but to steal my gross shorts is puzzling more than it is unconscionable. In any case, I didn’t appreciate having to row in my boxer briefs, even though they probably are no more revealing than the spandex were.
Perhaps the trou will reappear in my locker tomorrow, washed, folded, and smelling fresh. More likely, though, is that the vanishing will remain a mystery. Jesse has sworn that he will immediately attack anyone he sees wearing my beloved bottoms and reclaim them. His support is invaluable. I feel sorry for the guilty party if ever I find him/her. There are a few things in life I simply cannot stand for, and taking a man’s luckiest pair of spandex shorts is near the top of the list.

August 10, 2006 - In the News

2006-08-10T23:12:00.000-04:00

“WSJ News Alert: UK Officials Disrupt Terror Plot”

It was the title of an e-mail alert that I received in my Inbox that caught my attention in a way that no such previous message ever had. By now, I’m sure that everyone has heard the news. Apparently 24 men of Pakistani origin were arrested in Britain and an unspecified number were captured in Pakistan in relation to a plot to simultaneously take down as many as 10 planes flying between the United States and the United Kingdom. One of the routes and airlines targeted—United from London’s Heathrow to Washington, D.C.—is the one that my team mates and I are scheduled to take on August 28. Though our plans remain unchanged, I know that the experience promises to be dramatically different than it would have been had the World Championships been held last month. Pray for us… “Faith… Courage.
Once again, I’m reminded that the world continues to turn, oblivious to the labor of its inhabitants, even including rowers. Still, fears and unanswered questions in tow, Jesse and I took to the water this afternoon because there remains a task to be accomplished, a goal to be pursued.
This, I think, is why I love the water. As a blind person, I am accustomed to dealing with a large amount of uncertainty every day. My surroundings, the appearance of friends and family, pictures on Television… these are all things that have a somewhat hazy depiction in my mind. In a boat, though, there is complete self-awareness, complete understanding of space and position. On the water, I exist in only about 6 feet of horizontal space. The pin, the oar lock, the stretchers, and the seat are always the same. They are familiar and, in that familiarity, I find a sense of peace.
Our work out today mirrored my mood. We started out by burning off nervous energy by doing a few race pace 2k’s, even though the race we’ll be running is only 1,000 meters long. Both felt pretty good and I’m starting to hope that someday they add a pairs event to the Paralympics.
After the hard pieces, we rowed a very relaxed steady state back to the boat house. We didn’t talk very much, contenting ourselves to listen to the click of the oar handles and the sound of the blades holding against the water as we leveraged the boat across the lake. Really, it was a calming moment: a piece of serenity after a long day of uneasiness.
In other news, tomorrow we report to Philadelphia to row with the whole team. I’m very ready for it, and so is everyone else from what I can tell. We like each other, and we’re excited to get faster and to grow as a crew.
Also, the entries for our race were published this week, adding to my nerves but also giving me a moment of realization. I cannot describe how proud I felt when I saw my named posted under “USA.” I remember being taken back when I lined up for my first races in college against big name schools like Texas, North Carolina, Georgia Tech, etc. I can’t imagine what it will feel like to hear them poll “Great Britain, lane 1, China, lane 2, USA, lane 3,” etc. Wow… I just wish we could get it on tomorrow instead of waiting two more weeks.

August 9 - Princeton

2006-08-09T15:17:00.000-04:00

Ryan, my coxswain, drove me down to Princeton yesterday. We had a good lunch with Jesse and then I spent the afternoon reading “Law School Without Fear.” It’s a useful book for kids like me who haven’t watched enough Law and Order to know all the ins and outs of the legal system, yet.
Jesse and I got on the water in the evening and had a so-so row. It was weird being back in a boat, especially a small one. Neither of us was very concerned, though. It just takes one row for the muscles to remember everything.
After practice we went out to Red Lobster and I ate about 3 pounds of pasta. It was incredible. Hunger is a state of being, at this point, because I can’t seem to throw enough food at my body to satisfy my perpetually accelerating metabolism. So much for gaining weight; I’m just trying not to loose what I’ve got. I should buy stock in Detour protein bars and Endurox energy drink for the amounts I’m consuming on a daily basis.
It’s about 1:30 PM right now and Jesse and I had an incredible practice this morning. We worked on starts—there is a special sequence of strokes you use to get the boat from a dead stop to top speed really quickly—and sprints. We felt very strong and very balanced. The problems I was fighting at our last practice camp seem to be getting much better. We were both pretty pumped when we got back to the docks. If we put together a few more practices like this, we’re going to go into our final full-team practice camp flying high.
It seems like all we talk about is winning, now. It’s a good thing to know that Jesse is as hungry for victory as I am. We’re so laid back off the water that sometimes people might think we have an almost casual approach to our rowing, but there couldn’t be anything further from the truth. We want to win and, really, we’re planning on it. I’m not arrogant about thinking it will be easy or anything foolish like that, but I’m also not going to go into this competition believing that a gold medal is beyond my grasp. Gold is the goal, let there be no doubt about it.

August 7, 2006 - On the Road Again (for the last time)

2006-08-09T13:38:00.000-04:00

It has been a long weekend. Friday my mom and I spent the day packing all my worldly possessions into the back of our mini van. Saturday, she and my Dad and I drove down to Wake and set up my room. We finished off the process Sunday morning, they took off early that afternoon, and then I re-packed a suitcase for the upcoming 3 weeks. Monday morning I met with a few people at the business school, the law school, and the Learning Assistance Center where I get my print textbooks translated into electronic formats, and then my Resident Advisor Laura drove me to Raleigh to catch a plane to Philadelphia, where I am now. It was a pretty long and miserable flight that was delayed in both departing and landing by weather, but at least I had some funny people in the seats with me who shared advice on everything from black jack to relationships. I think the key to both is being patient and not forcing things.
Right now I am at the Tarbox home, once again. I’m a little worried that I might wear out my welcome here. Fortunately this is the last night that I’ll need to stay with them. Last time I was here I sent flowers. I’ll have to think of something else to do after Worlds just to say “thank you” one more time.
The next 3 weeks are going to be incredible and incredibly busy. I will travel to Princeton tomorrow to row with Jesse for the week. Friday we’ll return to Philadelphia and train there for about 8 days, and on the 19th we’ll fly out to Eton where we’ll be racing. I will return home on August 28 and attend classes on August 29th. I’ve got tons of work to do already to make up for the days that I’ll be missing. Thankfully there will be some down time between practices.
I think this would be my dream life, if I could choose one. I love rowing that much. It’s fun to be on the road again, because I feel like I can really focus just on the race and my crew. Though I’ll be reading a lot of law texts and doing some writing assignments, they shouldn’t be too distracting. Hopefully I’ll get everything done before flying out to England, anyway, so that I’ll be able to really soak up that experience.
I’ve had many well-wishes and lots of encouragement from friends and family. Thanks to all of you for that. We’ll do our dead-level best to bring home some coin, preferably of the gold variety.
One last thing. I’ve put the “Faith” and “Courage” bracelets back on my right wrist. If you’ll recall, Jocelyn gave them to me on my first day of selection camp. I took them off when I returned home after that, but it seems appropriate to be wearing them again. Faith… Courage… There couldn’t be any better two words to describe what I need right now.

August 2, 2006 - Getting Closer

2006-08-02T00:21:00.000-04:00

I cannot believe that it is already August! I’m not ready for it to be August. I have barely more than 3 weeks until I compete in the biggest race of my life, and all I want right now is more time to get ready.
Sunday night I did my first time trial on the rowing machine since hurting my ankle. I tied my PR, exactly. I’d hoped to be much faster at this point, but a few weeks of pool work outs rather than erg work outs made gaining speed nearly impossible. I’m proud of the test, though, because it was very painful and I did not relent. The heat index outside was about 100 degrees, so it was a very trying task. I don’t recall my legs hurting as badly as they did after that piece in recent memory. It’s a good pain, if there can be such a thing.
Rehab goes very well. My trainers, Erin and Liz, have me doing some very challenging exercises. Erin said the improvement in my balance is remarkable. I can feel the change. My ankle is still sore a lot of the time, but there’s no more swelling and I feel like I’m 100% on the erg and on the water. Only two more days of physical therapy left to go. In some strange way, I think I’ll miss it. Luckily I’ll have a few other things coming up in the next few weeks to occupy my time and mind.
Apparently I’m too small. I’ve actually lost a little weight. Though it is really too late for me to put on any good pounds before England at this point, I’m still trying to keep calories flowing into my body at a ridiculous rate in order to keep myself from dropping any further. Even if I pick up a little fat, it can’t do anything but help me in such a short, explosive race where having power and momentum is key.
Saturday I’ll return to Wake to set up my room for the year and Monday I’ll fly back up to Philadelphia for another week with Jesse over at Princeton before reporting to our final camp on August 11. I am starting to get a bit nervous, but I’m also increasing the level of my focus. Perhaps reality is just now finally setting in or perhaps the acceleration in the action and training is just hyping me up. Regardless, Jesse, Jen, Aerial, Ryan, and Karen now occupy more of my thoughts than ever, and there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t visualize at least part of our races.
I really want to win. That might seem like a silly thing to say, everyone desires to be victorious, of course, but I think there’s a difference between wanting it on an intellectual level and deciding you want it so bad that you’re willing to make the sacrifices when the time comes to get it. There is no reason that we shouldn’t be in contention for gold, and so gold is what I want. If it takes digging deeper than I’ve ever dug, fighting harder than I’ve ever fought, and pushing myself closer to the precipice of destruction than I’ve ever dared in previous races, so be it. This is our chance to be champions, and not just any champions: we’re pushing for a world title. That’s awesome! My heart is beating faster just thinking about it. Yes, I’d like more time to train and get stronger, but I’m very ready. U-S-A!

July 29 - Making Up for Lost Time

2006-08-02T00:03:00.000-04:00

I have been a bad, bad blogger, and I’m sorry. Generally one would think that a journal would only go silent when there is nothing going on, but for me it is the opposite. The past 2 weeks have been extraordinarily busy, so let me get you up to date.

Quite simply, Princeton was awe inspiring. I just felt faster being there surrounded by more than 100 years of rowing history as well as the current national team. All of them, including the women, are bigger than me. It’s a bit intimidating.
Princeton’s boat house is gorgeous. There really is no comparison between their resources and those I am used to at Wake Forest. It makes me a little jealous, but also hopeful that someday I will be able to contribute to the Demon Deacons having similar facilities.
Jesse and I definitely got some good work done in the pair. It was much easier than I thought, to be honest. I expected that, as a smaller boat, the 2-person shell would be more tippy and harder to set than the boats I’m used to rowing, but I think we handled it nicely. Being in such a small craft really emphasizes the finer aspects of technique, and I felt like we grew through the experience immensely. It was also fun just to get to bond with Jesse and to get a glimpse into his world. We’re already planning for me to go up again on the 7th to do a few more pair rows before reporting to our final team camp on the 11th.
Our team practices in Philadelphia were also good, though I did get a little frustrated at points. Basically, I thought I knew how to row before I went to camp. I thought wrong. After switching to the starboard side of the boat from a life-long career as a port, I feel like I’ve become proficient. Unfortunately, there is a huge difference between proficiency and perfection, and perfection is the goal.
I hate it when I feel like my mental state affects my rowing, but I was certainly in that predicament for our last two rows because I was personally so unhappy with my rowing. I did not ever really get upset with the rest of the boat, but I just couldn’t force my hands and legs to do exactly what I wanted and needed them to do. Whenever I do not have complete control over my body and my technique, I get annoyed with myself.
Fortunately, I think the worst is behind me and the rest of the boat. We’re coming together beautifully as people off the water, which will bond us into a very mentally stable unit on the water. Crews that live and die as one usually win. If we can continue to lose our individual selves in the overall personality of the boat, we will be a force in England.

July 17, 2006 - Notes on the Go

2006-07-17T09:52:00.000-04:00

Free wireless access at the airport? Brilliant! Upon arriving at Port Columbus International airport this morning, I realized that my flight out to Philadelphia is scheduled to leave at 11:00 AM, not 10:00 AM, so, seeing as I arrived at 9:00 AM, I have a few minutes to kill.
It’s time to get down to the good stuff: the business of actually rowing out on the water. This morning I’ll fly up to Philadelphia where our team director Isabel will pick me up and drive me down to Princeton for a week rowing with Jesse. After that, Jesse and I will go up to Philadelphia for another week with the full team. I’m really looking forward to it. It will be nice to row together without any question marks about who will actually be in the boat and with Karen’s undivided attention. I just hope that my body feels good and strong and that the ankle doesn’t cause me any trouble.
At this moment, I feel like a symbol of modern technology. I have my cell phone, my iPOD, my wirelessly connected laptop, and airplanes all within my immediate surroundings. If only I’d stopped at Starbucks on the way in I could be a real modern traveling man.
Other than the excitement of free wireless at the airport, there really isn’t much to report. I’m sure I’ll have tons to write once I’ve gotten to drool over Princeton’s immense and immaculate facilities. It should be a blast.

July 11, 2006 - Turning the Corner

2006-07-11T15:26:00.000-04:00

What an interesting week it has been. I bought furniture for school, saved my 2-year-old nephew Tyler from choking to death on a dime, spent about $700 on textbooks for my upcoming fall semester, and watched the SpongeBob SquarePants movie. It’s all kind of random, but it reminds me that life, school, and family go on as usual even in the midst of training distractions.
I feel 100% better than I did at this time last week, which is good since I fly out in 6 days to spend 10 days training, first at Princeton with Jesse and later with the whole boat in Philadelphia. The extreme pain I was feeling in my ankle, it seems, was not caused by the actual sprain, but by an irritated nerve. Dr. Diorio says that it is not permanently damaged and that I can go ahead and work out on it, it will just hurt a lot. We could do a round of steroids to possibly relieve the pain, but that would be a huge hassle given the drug testing situation.
Fortunately , the nerve pain has decreased dramatically in the past few days, thanks largely to me staying off the erg and working out in a pool. This brings me to an interesting story:
While at rehab last week, Erin and I were talking about how it would be great if I could find a pool to work out in for several days to stay off the ankle. Fortunately for me, one of Erin’s other patients, Bonnie Kroll, was within ear shot. It turns out that Bonnie and her husband Bob just recently moved to Pickerington and their new house has a beautiful in ground pool that she offered up for my use whenever I wanted. Bonnie made sure to give me her phone number and, throughout the week, I used her awesome pool (even bringing the family along for a swim at the Kroll’s insistence). Once again, I’m amazed at God’s providence and people’s kind generosity throughout this whole training and rehabilitation process. The list of those to whom I have promised signed photos of me in my team garb grows longer.
Tonight, finally, I will jump on an ergometer again. It seems like forever since my last row, so I’m actually looking forward to it. I’m sure that will change about 5 minutes in when I remember how exciting erging isn’t.
Anyway, my spirits are up and I’m really excited about getting on the water with my team next week. The championships are rapidly approaching, and it’s good to feel like I’m finally back on track to perform at my best.

Getting Artsy

2006-07-05T20:43:00.000-04:00

Some of those who are closest to me know that one of my more inconspicuous hobbies is writing. At the encouragement of a quantitative methods professor I had during my first year of MBA school, I began jotting down poems as a means of accessing the more creative side of my brain. Since it’s always on my mind, rowing dominates much of this expression. Below is a poem I wrote on June 17 after a long night erging in the garage.

June 17, 2006

Tonight I feel a long way from Eton,
Far from the anxious crowds,
Who watch, wait, and crescendo as one,
As their pensive pontifications play out in performances of passion.

I cannot yet see those buoyed lines,
But I am familiar with the chaos they bound,
The coxswains issuing urgent orders,
Athletes groaning, straining, and locking again at the catch,
Blades holding, oars bowing,
And finishes thundering out like 9 pound hammers on steel.

I am a long way from Eton,
Where bodies will be stretched to the tune of the will,
Where some will be broken by the fevered pitch,
And where Heart, not hearts, will win the day.

But here, in Columbus, it’s quiet.
There’s just the rhythmic whirring of one fan in a stuffy garage,
The occasional outburst of neighbors enjoying the summer night,
And the relentless chirping of crickets oblivious to my labor.

Here, now, there is only me:
One set of legs pushing back against the stretchers,
One pair of lungs drinking deeply of hot heavy air,
One heart beating strong to feed my fury.

I am a long way from Eton,
But I’m drawing nearer with every stroke.

July 5, 2006 - Ranting about Rehab

2006-07-05T20:32:00.000-04:00

Whoever it was who first said “Pain is weakness leaving the body,”—I think the quote is often attributed to Nietzsche though I hope he had more sense than that—obviously never tried to rehab a severely sprained ankle. I hope I never say anything that stupid to one of the rowers I coach. Pain is disheartening, pain is distracting, pain is disrupting, pain is debilitating. It has nothing to do with weakness leaving the body and everything to do with making me very, very frustrated. The only morsel of satisfaction that I can look forward to savoring from this whole ordeal is the fact that any triumph will have been much more difficult to achieve and, therefore, perhaps more greatly deserved.
As is probably evident from the above, my ankle is not healing as quickly as I would like. The fact that my hard work, iron will, and motivation level cannot in any way expedite the recuperation process is pretty angering.
Monday and Tuesday my pain really intensified. My physical therapist, Erin, suggested that I take things easy to avoid getting tendonitis in the joint which, she says, would result in her banning me from rowing. I wonder if she seriously thinks she has that much control over me. Anyway, I’m taking her advice and working out in a pool for the next several days to protect myself from aggravating the injury.
One of the most difficult things to cope with is the strain my sprain puts on sleep. I like to sleep on my side, but that puts pressure on the ankle and causes tremendous pain. For some reason, the whole joint just aches at night anyway, so I’m not getting enough rest. I’m half tempted to fill the Vicodin prescription I was given at the ER, but I’m pretty wary of “potentially habit forming” narcotics.
This is really starting to sound like a whining post. My apologies. Rest assured that any annoyances are not discouraging me; rather, they’re just hardening my resolve to work even more diligently when I get the opportunity. Don’t forget, it takes a little fire to make pure gold.

July 1, 2006 - Rehab

2006-07-01T21:55:00.000-04:00

One of my housemates last year, Courtney, spent her undergrad days playing soccer with the NCAA powerhouse UNC Tar Heels under the brilliant coach Anson Dorance. She had the misfortune of seriously injuring her ankle during one of those years and, thus, she spent a lot of time in ice baths. I don’t know how she did it. No matter what mental gimmick you try to use or how you try to distract yourself, 15 minutes of ice on the skin always hurts, at least it does for me!
I’d like to say that my ankle rehabilitation is going very well, and I think it probably is, but my ankle is more sore today than it was Friday, and it was more sore Friday than it was Thursday. My physical therapist told me that every day is a new day when it comes to injuries like this and, so far, her words have proven to be correct.
In any case, I’m working hard. I got back on the erg with an ankle brace on Wednesday and did about 40 minutes. Thursday I got permission to row without the brace, and I did another long, slow piece that actually felt pretty good. I feel like I’ve got about 90-95% of my flexibility and about 85-90% of my power back already; I just have to work harder than normal to get to that power level. I’m going to stick with these light pieces this week, but I’m going to try to get back on the regular work out schedule next week.
I told my coach and my team mates about my injury on Thursday and Friday once I was pretty sure that I’d have a full and complete recovery. My coach took the news well and trusts me to be smart about getting healed up. I’m sure the credentials of my doctor helped ease her mind. Jesse and Aerial were not overly concerned, either, though they both forbade me from walking up and down steps until after our race.
In other positive news, we got scores from a recent race between the Netherlands and the UK. Neither seemed especially blazing, and I think we can catch them if we row well. Karen got to see both crews up close and personal in Switzerland. It’s her opinion that they tried to race at too high of a stroke rating and her plan, for now, is to keep us at a lower rating where we can better engage our full power. Jesse and I talked about it, and we’re really motivated. To know that the medal is out there and that we’ve got just as good of a chance at getting it as every other crew is very encouraging. In just about 8 weeks, we’ll get our shot.

June 28 - Flirting with Disaster and Witnessing Miracles

2006-06-28T10:14:00.000-04:00

“Snap!”
It was the sound, I thought, of my championship hopes being torn from my grasp and thrown away as my ankle buckled and I fell to the ground in excruciating pain. Leaving my sister’s front porch, I had placed my foot down without paying attention and I had stepped onto the edge of the stair so that the right side of my foot extended over empty space. Before I could recover, my weight shifted, I lost my balance, and the ligaments on my right ankle gave way, sending me sprawling forward into the grass. It hurt… badly.
Earlier in the year, I had experienced similar injuries by stepping awkwardly on the edge of a sidewalk and rolling my ankle. Then, simple ice and bracing had done the trick to get me back to normal. This time was different, though. The pain was much worse and the swelling much more severe. Accordingly, my dad didn’t have to work too hard to convince me to go to the hospital.
After about 3 hours of waiting, filling out forms, waiting, filling out more forms, waiting, getting x-rays, and, of course, waiting, the doctor finally came and gave me a grim initial diagnosis: “I think you have a fracture in your right fibula.”
The fibula is the smaller of the two bones that comprise the lower leg. Since my trip to the ER, I’ve since learned that fracturing this bone usually takes between 6 and 8 weeks to heal properly. When I heard that mine was fractured, I was simultaneously angry, disappointed, and frustrated. I was afraid that all my training had been for not, that my coach would not let me row injured, and that I would not be able to heal in time to compete in England. Personally, it hurt. I didn’t even want to think about the ramifications for the team.
I immediately began to think of every scenario under which I would still be able to row. If I could find the right doctor, I thought, he might be sympathetic to my cause and be willing to give me some aggressive treatment. If I can keep them from putting me in a cast, that I knew I would at least be able to train in a pool and stay fit. Given the date of the World Championships, that would give me just enough time to heal if everything went well.
Still, I knew it was going to be tough. Staying in shape is only a small part of the rowing equation. There is balance, flexibility, and technique to worry about. With a broken ankle, rowing in July with Jesse and the others would be impossible. I didn’t know what to tell them or if I even should tell them, for that matter. I definitely did not want to talk to Karen until meeting with an orthopedic specialist.
With a clunky plaster splint protecting my right lower leg and crutches supporting my weight, Dad helped me hobble out to the car around 1:30 AM for the long ride home. We prayed and tried to stay positive, but the feeling of anxiety in the air was palpable.
The next morning I woke up and crawled to the bathroom to lean over the edge of the tub and wash my face, hair, and as much of the rest of me as I could without getting my splint wet. I then called a few people and asked them to pray for me that day as I looked for a doctor. I was outwardly optimistic, but inwardly very concerned by the still present pain and inflammation in my ankle. Then the miracles started to happen.
Mom took the day off work and, by the time I made it downstairs, she had already called the specialist recommended by the ER physician, but he was not available until July 5. I contacted a sports medicine physician that I found online, but the story was the same: no openings until next week. Disheartened and worried, I pulled up Google on my laptop and searched for “Columbus Ohio sports medicine,” praying that God would lead me to a doctor who understood athletics, who was willing to take some chances, who would accept my insurance, and, most importantly, who would see me that day.
After a few more calls, we found the office of Dr. Diorio whose very compassionate assistant put me on his schedule for early in the afternoon. It was only after my appointment had concluded and I was trying to schedule a follow up visit that I learned that he was actually booked solid through July 11.
When Dr. Diorio came into the examination room, I gave him the speech I had been rehearsing in my mind since the previous night, telling him that I was a US National Team rower, that I had the World Championships in 8 weeks, and begging him not to put me in plaster so that I could keep working out. To my surprise, he listened intently and did not give any immediate protestations.
As he knelt to examine my ankle, Dr. D asked what boat I was in. This is a rather unusual question that betrays a good bit of rowing knowledge. People unfamiliar with the sport never ask what boat an athlete is in. Sometimes they ask what kind of boat we row or, usually, they make some inaccurate statement about how we must have strong arms. Anyway, I knew that I’d found a doctor with rowing knowledge, and I was pretty pleased.
As it turns out, Dr. Diorio actually worked at an Olympic training camp last summer as one of the staff physicians. There, he got to know both Olympic rowers and Paralympic athletes. Not only was he sympathetic to my plight, but he knew my sport intimately. I was blown away. Of all the doctors in Columbus, I had “randomly” found the one with Olympic and Paralympic experience in my own sport. I knew that God was watching out for me.
There were many good signs during the examination. For one, I could bear as much weight as I wanted on the ankle. Second, Dr. Diorio could twist it in almost every direction, even applying significant force, without causing me any pain. Still, I didn’t know what to expect as he surveyed the x-ray.
Then came the sweetest words ever: “I really don’t think there’s any evidence that you have a fracture.”
I felt like a kid at Christmas; I couldn’t stop smiling as the doctor went on to tell me that he thought we were only dealing with a serious sprain, that I could continue training as much as my tolerance for pain would allow, and that he was going to get me started on physical therapy to rehabilitate the ankle as soon as possible.
In a word, I was exuberant. I don’t think that I have ever felt so relieved in my life. I spent the entire drive home talking with mom about the incredible providence that God had shown by leading us to the right doctor. I also called all those whom I’d ask to pray earlier in the day to relate the news.
As I write this, I am getting ready to do another round of ice to cut down on the swelling that still covers the right side of my ankle. Today I have my first rehab session and tonight I’m going to try to get on the erg for a light piece, though I do not expect to be able to row full strokes because of my limited flexibility. The doctor’s office gave me an air cast that I have to wear when I’m walking around, but I can retire the crutches unless I am in significant pain. I also have a prescription for Vicoden from my night at the ER, but I don’t plan on filling it since I’m sure it would not look good on my drug test in August and since I’m not in that much pain, anyway.
It has been an eventful 36 hours, and I’m thankful that God has taken care of me. As I see it, this just adds another layer of complexity to my challenge, and I’m not concerned about it. I know that, of all the boats in the world, I am on the one that will be the least likely to over react to a sprained ankle. Something tells me that my two amputee team mates really won’t have too much pity for me.
All right, I’ve written too much already. I’ll keep it shorter next post.

June 19, 2006 - Done with Week 1

2006-06-19T23:26:00.000-04:00

Looking ahead, it’s amazing how little time we really have before performing on rowing’s biggest stage. If I was feeling a bit unmotivated at the beginning of the week, those sentiments have been washed away by a flood of reality that tells me that I’ve got a lot of work to do and not a lot of time to do it in. Accordingly, I have had a very focused week of training.
At the completion of Week 1 of the National Team training program that Karen prescribed for us, I must say that the work outs have lived up to the Olympic hype. They have been, to say the least, challenging, but I have absolutely loved them. Pushing myself until my body is really exhausted and spent is one of the things that first attracted me to rowing. It’s very much a “mind over matter” kind of sport. To be doing tough training sessions with the added levels of accountability that I’ve picked up by making the National Team is really refreshing, even if tiring.
This week I had the added bonus of two nieces (ages 4 and 2) watching me work out. It was pretty funny to try to explain to them exactly what I was doing and, even more difficult, why I was doing it. My mother might have inadvertently given the most profound description of erging I’ve heard in a while in her discussion with the younger niece: “Look, he’s working pretty hard but he isn’t moving anywhere, is he?”
Now there’s something to ponder next time I am doing a long, steady-state row.
Overall, it has been a good week. Sunday I had to do a time trial and report my score to our coach and my team mates, and I felt really good about it (10 minutes, 22 SPM’s, 2,800 meters, 1:47.1 split for you rowers). In other good news, today my dad reported a lead on some prospective sponsors and, as icing on the cake, I spoke to Aerial on the phone tonight and she got me all pumped about the fun National Team gear we’ll get to sport for the games. Those of you who know me well know that I’m pretty much an equipment junkie, so I probably got more excited about the prospect of a National Team splash jacket than I should have.
Thanks again to all of you, the two Lindsay’s in particular, who have encouraged me this week with your letters and messages. They really mean a lot and keep me pumped. When I’m really tired and I want to cut work outs short or slack off, I put my friends in my mind and start dedicating strokes to each of you. It sounds pretty psychotic, I know, but it works for me. Thanks again.

June 13, 2006 - Late Night in Columbus

2006-06-15T12:06:00.000-04:00

Today is the first day of the training program that was distributed last week by our coach, Karen Lewis. It is 10:28 PM, game 3 of the NBA finals is on TV, and I have yet to hit the erg. I have found that I prefer rowing late at night. This is a habit I’ll have to change, soon, for my body’s sake, but at least tonight, it will be a nocturnal row.
It’s strange, but motivation is hard to come by right now. I feel somewhat embarrassed to admit it. As someone who prides himself on his ability to motivate others, to assert that I struggle to find drive in myself is not easy. Truthfully, though, I feel a long way away from Eton. It’s so easy to rationalize laziness when surrounded by the comforts of home. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll do the work out tonight and I’ll give it my all, it’s just getting to the garage and my borrowed erg machine that will be tough.
Yesterday I watched the US men’s soccer team get trounced by the Czech Republic, and I couldn’t help but feel like they had let their country down… disappointed us and justified the criticisms of a skeptical international sport community. How could athletes with USA on their chests show so little passion? Frankly, I was ashamed.
I realize, though, that in a strange way the World Cup representatives on the television and I are brothers. We bear the same weight of carrying our nation’s standard in a field of competition that, traditionally, we have not dominated. In rowing, as in soccer, much of the rest of the world just seems to care more. They train harder, recruit earlier, and expend more resources than we do. Back home, though, no one cares about those details. They expect to see the USA atop the medal stand, as they should, and I certainly do not intend to fall short of expectations.
Gold is well within our reach. A piece of history is up for grabs. The only question now is who is willing to fight the hardest, to endure the longest, and dig the deepest to claim that moment for themselves and their nation? I am willing: it’s time to go work out.

PS (1:21 AM) Finally done.. I’m beat. U-S-A!

June 5 - June 11, 2006

2006-06-15T12:01:00.000-04:00

After one of the worst days of flying ever thanks to Northwest, I made it home safely late Monday night. I spent the next few hours pounding out e-mails to friends and colleagues announcing the selection camp’s results. There were already several messages waiting for me in my inbox regarding the team, our practice schedule, flights to England, etc. I gave up sometime after 1:30 AM and dedicated most of Tuesday to writing everyone that needed to be written and responding to all the letters of congratulation. It’s awesome to have so much support, especially from Wake Forest and the Law School which, I just learned, will allow me to miss my first week of classes in order to attend the World Championships.
The rest of the week was pretty quiet as far as rowing goes. Really my major accomplishment was helping to demolish and rebuild my parents’ deck, a good 3 day work out, in itself. I also started rowing with the Greater Columbus Rowing Association, again, and look forward to getting some good reps on the water with them. As masters rowers, they are all solid technicians, and rowing with them is going to be really helpful to completing my transition to starboard side.
While we have one official training camp later this summer, my boat decided that we’ll have an unofficial camp on our own dime just so that we can get more time in together and build some chemistry. I’ll probably also spend a few days in Princeton rowing a pair with Jesse, which should be immensely helpful.
Aside from rowing, I’ve spent a good many hours this week thinking about funding, sponsorships, scheduling, and the like. It amazes me how many little details there are that must be dealt with in addition to training. It gives me a greater respect for the Olympians who do all this in addition to holding down full time jobs and raising families. It’s easy to see why the UK just hires its rowers and provides them with food and housing so that they can dedicate their whole lives to the sport. Elite training has a way of consuming all one’s time and all one’s mind, as well. It’s a good thing that I have the luxury of being a single, unemployed graduate student on summer vacation, right now, that’s all I can say.

June 4, 2006 - Selection Camp Day 4

2006-06-15T11:51:00.000-04:00

Veni, Vedi, Vici! Final selections became apparent this morning when Karen put Jesse, Aerial, Jen, and me out together for a long row and then asked us to do an on-water time trial later in the afternoon. The team was formalized after our final rowing session. No one seemed surprised, but we were all still very excited.
In only our second row together, the final crew posted a time of 3:23 for 1,000 meters, traveling with the current of the river. This is probably about a 3:35-3:40 on still water. Regardless of the specific time, though, we know that we’re pretty fast relative to previous US adaptive boats (there have been adaptive crews in the past, but none sponsored by US Rowing). By Aerial’s recollection, the fastest US time for 1,000 meters was only 4:06. We’re not where we need to be to catch the Brits, yet, but at least the USA should make a better showing than it has in the past.
The ending to my weekend was pretty awesome, as the Tarbox’s threw a birthday party/congratulations party for me! Lindsay Perea, another Wake rower and Philadelphia native came over and we had an incredible meal and the best carrot cake ever made. After several weeks without soda, I enjoyed several icy Cokes.
It’s funny, though, because I really don’t feel like I’ve accomplished much, yet. I was in shape when I came to camp, maybe the best shape of my life, and I performed well. To feel like I’ve succeeded, though, I need to prove myself on the world stage. I want a medal, and I won’t be satisfied with my performance without it. Perhaps it will not come this year, but when the Paralympics come, I want the USA to stand atop the podium when the first medals are awarded in the sport of adaptive rowing.
The celebration was wonderful, but it must be short-lived. Now it’s time to get home and get back to work for the red, white, and blue.

June 3 - Selection Camp Day 3

2006-06-14T13:47:00.000-04:00

It rained all night last night, and the river was a chocolaty brown, fast moving mess when we got to the boat house. We’re pretty sure that we saw a palm tree float by among all the debris. It was pretty nasty.
Our first attempt to push off the docks this morning was thwarted by thunder. When we finally got out on the water, the row was pretty good, until it started to rain. By “rain,” I mean “absolute downpour.” I can’t remember ever rowing in a deluge of that magnitude, before. It was an adventure.
Fortunately the sun came out for our afternoon races, and we really got some good work done. I rowed with both Jesse and Aerial in my boat today, and we proved to be a pretty fast combination, regardless of who filled the fourth seat.
As I predicted, today I got my turn to face a little direct competition. For the final seat race of the day, I switched over to the 3 seat of the other boat and Andrew took my place. In the day’s earlier races, my crew had been winning by between 2.5 and 3 boat lengths over only a 500 meter course. When I was switched out of the boat, the two crews finished in almost a dead heat, though the crew made up of Jesse, Aerial, Jen, and Andrew was probably a second or so ahead of my new boat. In any case, the difference in performance was noticeable. Jesse says that it was a decisive victory in my favor, but I’m not as confident. The only way to really be sure of anything is to win and to win big. I’d feel more comfortable if my second crew had finished out front, even if by only a few inches.
Oh well, what’s done is done.. Tomorrow the team selections will be officially announced. Some here seem to think that my inclusion on that list is a foregone conclusion, but I am not ready to declare victory just yet. Perhaps I have lower confidence in myself than others do, or perhaps I’m just trying to stay motivated and focused. In either case, I won’t breathe easily until I hear my name tomorrow afternoon.
As I told my dad before I left, this year I have a great chance to make the team. Selection will only get more difficult as we approach the Paralympic year. I have no contingency plan for failure, so I hope the basket in which I’ve placed all my eggs survives the weekend. Faith… Courage…

June 2 - Selection Camp Day 2

2006-06-14T13:39:00.000-04:00

As they say in rowing, I am now officially “bisweptual” since my great accomplishment today was mastering rowing on the starboard side of the boat. Initially, I was concerned that making the transition from life-long port would prove difficult, but good coaching and a bit of luck made it easier than I’d hoped to at least develop a functional ability on the new side.
Still, I can’t say that I returned from practice this afternoon in the highest of spirits. I sometimes forget what it is like to row with younger athletes and the effects that one person can have on a crew. It’s interesting, a single rower cannot improve a boat drastically, but one rower can totally destroy a boat. If you combine the youth of some of those on my boat today with my inability as a starboard, it made for some rocky rowing.
During our morning session we simply did drills which helped me and others acclimate to rowing on different sides of the boat from those we were used to. At lunch, the Executive Director of US Rowing spoke to us about his expectations for our team. It was very motivating and encouraging to hear from him. I feel like US Rowing takes this program very seriously and expects great things from us. In any case, to be included along side the senior team and the other Olympic athletes is quite an honor. I’m not sure that any other sport has such a close relationship between its Olympic and Paralympic program.
With the afternoon heat also came the joy of seat racing. For those of you who aren’t rowing inclined, basically this means that we took out two boats and did a lot of sprints, trading personnel between each to see what combination of rowers made the boat move the fastest. My boat did not do as well as I had hoped. We led halfway through each 500 meter peace, but we couldn’t seem to sustain our power and the other boat always took us in the last few strokes. Inconsistent effort is one of my soap box issues as a coach, so I really had to fight to keep my poker face going and not get after the other people on my boat. Once a coach, always a coach.
Personally, my rowing was not pretty. Rowing starboard for drills is one thing, rowing starboard and trying to drill it is another. I felt like I was only able to use between 70%-80% of my potential power. I do not think that I was directly in the coach’s line of fire as far as today’s round of seat racing went, but I expect to have to defend my seat tomorrow. Hopefully another light morning session will improve my starboard technique to the point where I can really power it up for the afternoon races.
In the evening we all met and ate as a team at a local place right beside the river. It was a pretty good time and I had the opportunity to talk more at length to Aerial, Jen, and Jesse. I was glad to hear that they were as frustrated as I was after the earlier rows, not because I relished in their unhappiness, but because it shows me that they have higher standards for the quality of rowing of this team than the rowing we did today.
Karen assures me that Jesse and I will be in the same boat tomorrow. This is very exciting, since it will allow for a more balanced crew. Our power is very similar, so having him row behind me should really get the boat moving.

June 1, 2006 - Selection Camp Day 1

2006-06-14T02:07:00.000-04:00

The first day of camp was a success on many fronts. For one, I posted the fastest time on our 1 kilometer ergometer test. My time was a 3:11, less than a second off my personal best. I’d hoped to be around 3:08, but I’ll live with this score for now (since I have to).
The day was also encouraging in that many strong athletes showed up for camp. Honestly, the rowers who are here are much like what I would have expected. There is a huge spectrum in both age and talent. There are serious collegiate rowers like Jesse (Princeton University), experienced master’s rowers like Aerial (Marin Rowing Club), beginning rowers and high-school students like Andrew (Greenwich High School), and some athletes who are recreational, at best. Of the 9 who are here competing along with me hoping to fill one of the seats in the 4+, I’d say there are definitely enough good rowers to field a strong crew. I fully expect this camp to grow every year, especially as we move towards the Paralympics, and I am going to dedicate myself to making sure that we really start serious recruiting and development programs to cultivate younger rowers, even if it means that the task of making the team becomes progressively harder for me.
The spectrum of disabilities among the competitors is also fairly wide, though perhaps not as wide as some might expect. Athletes competing to row the single have only arm ability. Those hoping to fill the double can use both their trunks and arms, and the four will be filled with those of us with leg, trunk, and arm use. In the latter category, there are mainly blind and amputee rowers. By rule, the four must have at least 2 women and can have no more than 2 visually-impaired athletes. I am told that the gender requirement might not stick in the long run but, for now, it is a good political tool for encouraging less open countries to involve women in athletics. The VI requirement is probably just to make sure that as many athletes as possible are given an equal chance to compete fairly.
I can already tell that Jesse is a strong rower. This should be obvious to anyone who knows anything about collegiate rowing, since I don’t know of any weak athletes coming out of Princeton these days. He seems like a nice guy, though he’s very quiet. Jesse was seated directly to my right during the erg test, which was helpful since hearing the power he was generating really motivated me to push hard. His time was very close to mine. I wonder if he is as intimidated by me as I am by him.
Our coach, Karen, seems like a straight shooter. It strikes me that she isn’t the type to take crap from anyone and that she isn’t afraid to speak her mind. Both of these are good coaching traits.
Today’s water work was pretty simple. We got in the boats in the morning to adjust the foot stretchers, slides, and riggers to our specifications. In the afternoon, we took a light row up the river and back. I was seated in the stroke seat which, for now, is rigged on the port side. I am told that tomorrow I’ll be switching to starboard which is a little nerve wracking since, of the thousands of hours of rowing that I have done, only about 3 have been on starboard. Let’s hope that I catch on quickly, because head-to-head seat racing begins tomorrow afternoon.
The little bit of rowing we did really wasn’t pretty. I felt pretty good and strong, but as a boat we struggled a bit. Everyone was just a little nervous and I could tell that some people were in seats that were foreign to them. I did not get to row with Jesse or Aerial, but I hope Karen will put us together tomorrow.
Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Jocelyn gave me a couple new good luck charms to go along with the awesome t-shirt that Tank, another Wake rower, made for me. Apparently the local grocery store has a machine that dispenses random rubber band bracelets with motivational words imprinted on them, much like the “Live Strong” band I already wear. Incredibly, Jocelyn put in $0.50 this morning and first got a gold bracelet that says “Courage.” Encouraged by her first find, she dropped another couple of quarters into the machine and out came a black bracelet that says “Faith.” She was amazed, as was I when she told me the story on the way to the camp site. Now I’ve got Wake colors and Faith and Courage on my left wrist. We laughed that anyone else probably would have been annoyed at getting a black bracelet with the word “Faith” on it, but, for me, it’s just perfect. In any case, I can see the contrast of the darker band against my skin, and I looked it a lot while rowing to get pumped up today. Go Deacs and go Jocelyn.

May 31, 2006 (Happy Birthday to Me)

2006-06-14T02:00:00.000-04:00

It is my birthday; today I am 24 years old. It’s strange because this seems like a rather unimportant year in terms of social significance, but for some reason 2-4 makes me feel a lot older, like more is expected of me now. I guess that fits perfectly with the task at hand, as tomorrow I will be beginning one of the greatest rowing tests of my life.
US Rowing is hosting its first ever selection camp for the National Adaptive Team. I am here in Philadelphia to test myself against other athletes who have overcome not only the sport of rowing, but also the difficulty of a disability as well. The goal: to represent the USA at the FISA World Championships in Eton, England this August and to set the tone for the rapidly approaching Beijing Paralympics of 2008.
Like me, I know that many of the athletes here rose through the mainstream ranks of our sport and so “adaptive rowing,” promises to be a new experience for all of us. Unfortunately, the title “adaptive” makes many instantly lower their opinion of the team because they assume that we couldn’t cut it in the non-adaptive world. Already I can tell that some people question the legitimacy of our athletic prowess. More than once while talking about this camp with people at home or at school others have mistakenly referred to the “Special Olympics” when intending to talk about the “Paralympics.” It’s frustrating to have my efforts marginalized like that, but then I’m used to having that done to me my entire life. I have always maintained that I have to win in order to even be credited with the ability to participate. I suspect that the same is true of many of those whom I’ll be meeting tomorrow, and so I expect these to be some of the toughest-minded athletes I’ve ever encountered.
To be honest, I have many questions running around in my mind. I question my own strength, though I’ve been preparing for this for almost a year. I question whether I belong here. I question whether we will gain the respect of our colleagues of our sport or if we’ll be seen as some charity operation.
Fortunately, all those questions will be answered soon enough. Jocelyn Tarbox is a close friend and fellow rower from Wake Forest. Her family has graciously allowed me to live with them this week while the camp is going on. Tomorrow, Joce will drive me down to boat house row to the St. Joseph’s boat house where we’ll find out how tough I am, how strong our national team will be, and how seriously US Rowing takes its adaptive program.

The Quest

2006-06-14T01:53:00.000-04:00

During the week of August 20-27, 2006, many of the world’s best rowers will come together in Eton, England to compete on behalf of their countries. Unbelievably, I will be among those wearing the red, white, and blue and representing the United States as part of US Rowings first ever National Adaptive Team. However, this is just the first step on what is to be, I hope, a very long journey ending on the medal stand in Beijing, China, the site of the 2008 Paralympics.
For the sake of you, my friends, and all those who have served as motivators, encouragers, supporters, and counselors, I have decided to keep an account of my quest to win the first Paralympic gold awarded in the sport of rowing. I hope that you will enjoy reading along and feel free to contact me often.

Make it count,
Jamie