You're a What...?

Rowing is an old English sport, so there are very…odd words and phrases that we use on a regular basis. For example, the command for “stop” is “way ‘nuff” as in “you’ve gone way enough, so stop.” And the person that gives these commands is called a “coxswain,” more commonly known as a “cox’in” or simply just “cox.” So I kid you not when I tell you that my injury has led me down the path to being a cox.

As I mentioned in the previous post, I had been taking the off time I had at practice (being that I can not row for the rest of the season) to really focus on my physical conditioning. Though this past weekend we were short a cox at practice and my coach asked me to sub in. I did not think my coxing career would extend beyond that day, but that is my new permanent seat. I may even be coxing at nationals.

The job of the cox’in consists of: directing the rowers on and off the water, steering the boat and motivating the rowers. The cox faces forward and basically just yells during the race. While I have always had respect for the cox’in—who has the power to make or break a race for the rowers in the boat—I never fully understood the complexity of the job. I know what I would like to hear when I’m rowing in the moment, but when it’s on your to motivate those girls and they’re staring back at you as they pull so hard they can’t feel their legs or arms, well, the task becomes quite heavy.

Just at one practice, I had to count out the strokes, while reminding them of their posture, to keep the pressure building, etc. “…and here is the first stroke: let’s get the boat moving; two: build it up a little; three: get on the legs, ladies; four: watching our handle heights; five: build the pressure even more—we’re at a 25 stroke rating; six: keep the control; seven: on the legs; eight: we’re getting up to race pace; nine: getting up to our race pace of a 28 stroke rating; and ten: and we’re in the race ladies, let’s walk on some boats.” And that’s just the start. They need to move another 2,000 meters and I need to make sure they do that as best they can.

 I was certainly thrown into this position—I first sat in a cox’in seat this past Saturday and I’m coxing a race this Saturday. Yes, I was kind of annoyed at first. And yes, it should be an interesting race (steering has yet to be mastered), but I can only improve. It’s odd—as much as I love rowing, I’m very excited to learn more as a coxswain each day we go out on the water.

Seeing the Silver Lining

Making the adjustment from active teammate to active benchwarmer, of sorts, has definitely been difficult. I went out for the first water practice of the season, only to sit in a launch and watch everyone else row. They looked so nice. Their technique is definitely improving and the progress—even from the beginning of spring training—can be seen. It’s a wonderful thing to be able to witness.

But I’d like to further explain my idea of the “active benchwarmer.” Clearly, there is no bench to warm in crew, as there is in other sports, but I will use this term to refer to myself as an injured member of the team who cannot participate in regular activities of the sport who is still active.

The day after I was prescribed the wrist brace was a land practice, so my only option for the day was the cardio machines. Now, I really do not like running. In the past, I have forced myself to do it, but I certainly do not like it. Hence, I do not use the treadmill, seeing as that’s as close as you can get to running indoors at the gym. But my little ailment gave me some sort of mental strength that involuntarily put me on this machine. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I didn’t want to do it, I just found myself there after walking into the cardio room—I didn’t have to push myself to run on it. I did the treadmill for about 20 minutes and then moved on to a few other machines. But apparently, this was just the beginning for me.

On Saturday—just two days later—the car that I was in for practice had technical difficulties, which ended up making us late to practice. When I finally got there, some of the women who could not form a boat (because some of their boatmates were in my car) quickly asked me to join them for a run. I thought twice about this. I was kind of, sort of, maybe planning to run on my own, but I hadn’t actually convinced myself at that point. And running with others is always difficult for me because I jog more than I run so I get left behind pretty quickly. Regardless, my newfound determination to continue to keep up with the team made my decision for me. I ran yet again—this time, with others and I kept up.

The most pivotal point, though, was the next day. A friend of mine had been asking me to go on a run with him since he found out that running was my new focus. I was declining him left and right because he ran cross-country in high school and I thought it would just be impossible to run with him; it’d probably be embarrassing, more than anything else. But finally, for some reason unbeknownst to God, I agreed to let him take me for a run.

Here I was, getting my sneakers on, thinking it would be like every other “run” I have ever gone on in my entire life. We stepped outside and after walking for a few yards, he ran, and thus, he made me run. I was forced to actually run. It was different than my version of running, which is essentially jogging. He took me on a loop that was approximately three miles, affording me breaks when they were absolutely necessary and pushing me at the appropriate times. Despite feeling awful for most of the run, I felt great afterwards.

I was pretty happy with myself, but I did not think it was that big of a deal. People run everyday. Big deal. But the morning after that, my team was scheduled to erg and lift at practice. So I grabbed my iPod and went on the same route my friend took me on the previous day. Not only was I able to run at a solid pace, by the new standards I learned, but I made less stops. Upon completion of my run, I felt like I had improved even more, all in a span of twenty-four hours. This is something that I have never experienced with running because I always jogged at the same, slightly pathetic pace.

So when it was too foggy to row this morning and it was announced that we would be doing the alternative workout, I was happy. This meant that I would get a chance to work on my running in a setting with many other runners, who I usually cannot keep up with. It would give me the chance to gauge my progress and see where I am in relation to the rest of the girls. To my surprise, I kept up with them, over every hill and around every turn for the entire hour that we ran. I also got to do that entire workout with the team.

I guess you could say that I am starting to see the silver lining to my setback.

To Be A Teammate

Georgia is a nice state. It is certainly warmer than our lovely State College, Pennsylvania. But best of all, the southern hospitality is more than enough to make you feel like you’re home with your own mother doting on you.

Combine those features with a vast, beautiful lake that was utilized for the 1996 Summer Olympics and you have all of the reasons why Penn State Crew chose Lake Lanier in Gainesville, Georgia for spring training. We departed last Friday and after 14 hours (about 12 for driving and another 2 for stops/eating) we arrived at the lake. We jumped immediately off the bus and into our spandex for the first practice—no time was wasted.

We trained long and hard, but despite the three practice a day schedule, I was happy. Water underneath my oar, oar in my hand and my butt in that seat along that slide, I remembered why I was still apart of the team. There’s a genuine rush I get rowing in a boat. It’s inexplicable and it means so much to me.

So I was eager. While I complained in the moment that the plan for the third (and sometimes fourth) practice was addressed, I loved every second of my time on the water. Break began rough, but over the course of the week I worked harder than I have ever worked in my life. The goal of the week: make the lineup of the better boat. You see, the novice women will be racing two boats this semester. One boat will seat eight girls and for all intents and purposes, we’ll call this the “A” boat because it will be the better athletes. The other boat will seat four girls, which we will call the “B” boat of girls who are not as adequate in the sport at this point.

As the underdog, getting into the “A” boat was a bigger challenge for me than for some of the other girls. But I did it. I remember the very second our coach said, “Alright, I think we have our lineup.” I was seated in the eight. I couldn’t stop smiling and my coach said to the entire team, “Damnit, Ash. By the skin of your teeth, you did it. You did it. You’ve made me proud, underdog.”

I had a million thoughts at that moment: I need to call my mom, I need to tell my dad, I can’t believe I did it, I’m in this boat, we’re going to win medals, I can show my medal to anyone who laughed or doubted me. And in the back of my mind, I thought: I’m going to need some Advil for my arm—it still hurts.

I ignored the pain in my lower right forearm and took Advil for the next few practices, since we didn’t have much time left in the week. Everything worked out fine. Spring break came to a close, we packed our bags and were back in State College on Sunday morning. But when I woke up later that morning, my arm was heavy. I couldn’t pick things up without serious pain. It looked pretty swollen. As all of these symptoms continued, I got past the thought that I could just be making this up in my head—I knew something was obviously wrong.

After having my arm checked yesterday, I was told that I was not allowed to experience that inexplicable feeling of pride, athleticism, appreciation for my sport, and love for my team for at least the next six weeks. My season is gone, before it could really even start.

I worked my right forearm too hard, which created tearing in the tendon. Treatment administered: a lot of Advil, a beautiful black arm brace, and physical therapy for the next two months. Absolutely no rowing. When I heard those words, I started crying on the spot and didn’t stop for the rest of the day. I had worked so hard for so long. I made the “A” boat; I did it. And now I had someone telling me I could not follow through.

I am still getting over the initial shock of my season ending prematurely. But as I informed my teammates of my injury, I also told them that I would still attend every practice, every race, and every other event to support them all. I’m not missing a thing.

Will it be hard when I’m watching my boat race (and hopefully win a medal or two)? Of course. But this experience had made me realize that I am not just an athlete, I am a teammate. And so I got up for practice this morning to meet at the normal 6:15 time. I did cardio while they worked on the ergs. I will get up tomorrow to meet them at 4:45 a.m., too. And I will be present each day thereafter to do all I can to make sure that they do the best they can as rowers. I may not be in the boat, physically speaking, but I will be there in spirit…and to greet them when they get off the water.