Rowing has taken over my life.
Practices at 6 in the morning six days a week leave little time for procrastinating. I try to get homework done in the mornings after practice as much as possible over my second breakfast of the day, and then by the time I get home from school in the late afternoon and wind down, it’s almost bedtime.
I learned a few months ago that rowing is all about bruises and open wounds. Aches and pains would be on the list too, but there’s a lot of satisfaction that comes from it. Today on the water, despite the dull pain in my hand as another blister formed and the exhaustion that began to set in somewhere around the eighth kilometre, I began to appreciate the boat gliding over the water. Then I remembered that I was supposed to be stroking and got my ass back in gear, but you get the point. Those occasional strokes where we get it together enough that all the oars clunk together, splash in unison as they drop into the water, and then glide silently over the water, are magic.
Life outside of that goes on. People to see, things to do. Every once in a while I touch a text file with a name reminding me of something to write about here, but rarely get around to actually writing anything in it. Whether I will even remember what those sometimes cryptic filenames mean when I try to write is a complete mystery. Something about existentialism perhaps?
Still, tomorrow brings my first real regatta. A race of several kilometres known for the spectacular crashes novice boats make in its narrow passageways and sharp turns. Should be fun. If I’m still in one piece when I get back there might be another post out of it, but no guarantees.