kisses are a better fate than wisdom
"My love's a noble madness" (John Donne)
Requiring humility, disclipline, and deep sacrifice. Offering only the occasional peacefulness silently in return, rowing is the closest thing to religion in my life.
This sport is esoteric & so elusive that you spend many quiet morning hours alone with your thoughts; the relentless wind and dawning day your only companions. Who else would routinely risk hypothermia at that black hour? There is no one on shore but the geese. The life of responsibility and ticking clocks awaits you--as soon as lactic acid begins to win & you head for home. Silently you glide towards the awakening sun. Once in a while (once a year that is) the shores of the same quiet Charles river overflow with throngs of people who share your strange but daily toil. They speak the same language, of limbs on fire.
And it swells your heart!! On dark quiet lakes in Quebec and Switzerland where the mist rises hours before you do; on warm brown rivers in Thailand and Brazil, these fellow rowers begin their days with the same painful poetry as you--in that narrow little boat.
So in the end it is not your absentee father's haunting voice that brings a tear as you round the last bend of the long long race. But the loud cheers of these beautiful strangers from the river's edge that push you on, far past the searing pain pleading with you to stop. From the familiar depths of their own experience, your fellow oarsmen encourage your success. They have become your lungs & precious breath when needed most. You move with them in one seamless powerful motion, far transcending this moment & its aching self.
Rowed in my 10th Head of the Charles this weekend. I'm officially a "masters" athlete now. That's me in the red boat, 4th person from the front. Terrific weather on Saturday, we had a long but smooth row; great rhythm & swing. And of course, speed. That taste of blood in your lungs & the relentless demand for more speed! I had an oustanding day, on & off the water.
As always, the head of the chuck was a great opportunity to re-connect with old friends from Philly, Boston & Barcelona--2 of whom I raced aginst! Kind of a reunion weekend.
p.s. Photography credit for this shot goes to my friend Dirk, who shot this from the Anderson bridge.
"My love's a noble madness" (John Donne)
Requiring humility, disclipline, and deep sacrifice. Offering only the occasional peacefulness silently in return, rowing is the closest thing to religion in my life.
This sport is esoteric & so elusive that you spend many quiet morning hours alone with your thoughts; the relentless wind and dawning day your only companions. Who else would routinely risk hypothermia at that black hour? There is no one on shore but the geese. The life of responsibility and ticking clocks awaits you--as soon as lactic acid begins to win & you head for home. Silently you glide towards the awakening sun. Once in a while (once a year that is) the shores of the same quiet Charles river overflow with throngs of people who share your strange but daily toil. They speak the same language, of limbs on fire.
And it swells your heart!! On dark quiet lakes in Quebec and Switzerland where the mist rises hours before you do; on warm brown rivers in Thailand and Brazil, these fellow rowers begin their days with the same painful poetry as you--in that narrow little boat.
So in the end it is not your absentee father's haunting voice that brings a tear as you round the last bend of the long long race. But the loud cheers of these beautiful strangers from the river's edge that push you on, far past the searing pain pleading with you to stop. From the familiar depths of their own experience, your fellow oarsmen encourage your success. They have become your lungs & precious breath when needed most. You move with them in one seamless powerful motion, far transcending this moment & its aching self.
Rowed in my 10th Head of the Charles this weekend. I'm officially a "masters" athlete now. That's me in the red boat, 4th person from the front. Terrific weather on Saturday, we had a long but smooth row; great rhythm & swing. And of course, speed. That taste of blood in your lungs & the relentless demand for more speed! I had an oustanding day, on & off the water.
As always, the head of the chuck was a great opportunity to re-connect with old friends from Philly, Boston & Barcelona--2 of whom I raced aginst! Kind of a reunion weekend.
p.s. Photography credit for this shot goes to my friend Dirk, who shot this from the Anderson bridge.