Finding Strength

After class today, fueled by an excess of too-black coffee, I felt my energy levels skyrocket with no healthy outlet immediately available.
Despite my queasy stomach from the caffeine excess and my determination to have a lazy morning at home relaxing, I put on spandex and found my way to the gym. It was empty, except for a few buff looking college-aged guys – no longer as intimidating to me as they were before. I got on the only erg, strapping my feet down to the ancient wooden footboards and starting my typical workout. A slow warm up to prevent myself from slipping into my exhausted slouch followed by steady rate with two minutes of powerful, high stroke rate rowing every eight minutes. After thirty minutes, I am done, exhausted and spent because I really try to row every piece like it is the last one I will ever row.

In the past, it has been difficult for me to find motivation to keep doing things. If something is painful or seems fruitless – for example my brief love affairs with running – I will stop and feel no guilt at doing so. What is it about rowing, or at least erging, that motivates me to continue, even when no one is pressuring me to, and I could feel no shame at stopping, screaming “fuck this” and returning home to a comfortable recliner to watch terrible daytime television. 

A part of my motivation comes out of a sense of duty. Being a coxswain for Middlebury’s women’s novices has given me a certain degree of respect for the physical activity these women engage in. Right now, I cannot hope to be anywhere near their level of dedication or physical fitness, but I feel a sense of failure and not being worth their presence if I stop my comparatively painless workout regime. I work hard, yes, but I don’t get up at 4 am to erg or suffer incredible cold weather or white-capped waves while I’m working. I respect them, and a part of my motivation is out of respect for them; it is a level of respect I have for many athletes but few on quite the same level.

For many practices and races this season, I could feel every emotion that happened in the boat. Sitting in the coxswain’s seat I can feel them tiring out or I can feel them trying to forget their pain as they push themselves to finish. They are a unit, they are powerful and sure of themselves, but they are also forced to push weakness aside in a way that few other athletes are forced to. If a runner is tired and slows down a bit at the end of a race, he or she will only disappoint his/her self. Rowers have eight other people to worry about. They cannot afford to let up strength, no matter how weak and tired they feel. They are utterly reliant on one another and this commitment is found in few other sports at this deep psychological level. Their source of motivation is different from other athletes. When I feel that I cannot continue, I try to channel their power and their strength. I try to power their ability to get out of their head and commit their bodies to doing something their mind tells them is not possible.

Something else that helps me to continue is my way to have overlapping voices in my head. There is my instinct – the voice that tells me to stop, breathe naturally and to stop pushing my aerobic capacity. Then, there is my “inner coxswain”; she is the part of me that cannot feel physical pain, but understands it. She has pushed so many others to finish erg pieces and races that she is untouchable by exhaustion. This part of me knows what to say to get me to finish a piece. She knows how to make me feel strong and can push me into oxygen debt, superseding my instinctive desire to stop moving.

Today I found another interesting source of motivation. As I pulled my second two-minute piece and got about halfway through, I thought about all the people who have ever made me feel inadequate. Sometimes these people have been friends, boys or teachers, but each one of them has affected me in some way. As I repeated the names in my head, my strength picked up and my ability to move fluidly up and down the erg increased. I used what had previously caused me a lot of emotional turmoil to find athletic strength. This is possibly the first time that I have ever positively used my anger and frustration at being put down by other people. It was successful though, and I feel better about my existence. I don’t care what anybody else thinks of me. I don’t need to be enough for anyone else because I know what I am capable of, and I know that I am enough for myself.