I've promised a lot of stories on this blog that I actually haven't delivered. I always think a fair bit about things I'd like to write about on this blog, but for various reasons they are never written or posted. This blog has a few ground rules that I have have set for myself, but the main rule that I am not willing compromise on is:
- If [I] don't have something nice to say, [I] don't say it at all
This mostly pertains to things in the present (i.e. no trash talking other teams or people), but as I think about the stories I want to share about the SU team's history, inevitably there is always something less than flattering about someone (some team, some something...) who's feelings I wouldn't want to hurt, since after all it is just my faded memory that the story is drawing from.
So the next few posts from me are stories that tell some part of the history of the SU Crew team, but from my own limited perspective. In almost any crew story I can think of there are always tears involved. Take from them what you will... One such story that I promised was along the lines of "The Lite 8 Journey to Head of the Charles."
It was a very long road, which saw it's humble beginnings in Spring 2003 with an ambitious sophomore having broken 8 minutes, but a seed that was laid later that fall with a junior making a bet with her coach.
It wasn't a bet in the traditional sense -- there are no Vegas style odds on unsolidified boat line-ups. I don't remember it being particularly well publicized, nor reminders given. Aside from a conversation or two, it quietly slipped past the team's radar and life (rowing) went on as usual.
If you haven't guessed, I was the ambitious sophomore turned junior, love sick in her affection for crew. A year and a half of increased exercise and difficulty of workouts led me to return to SU in the spring of '04 a few pounds away from the 136 max of Erg Armageddon. Our team worked with tireless pursuit to compete at Bucknell's Erg Armageddon, the largest/closest indoor rowing machine competition in the area. The competition (always a week or two prior to Spring Break) gave us something to focus our energies on during that long, endless period of time stuck in the "Green Room."
I approached Coach about rowing lightweight for Erg Armageddon. He got that look that people get when they talk about wrestling, diving, gymnastics, or other weight driven sports. It is a hard look/feeling/sentiment to describe, but at it's core says, "this kind of thing can really mess people up, I don't want to deal with that." So, I let it go, but in a few days, he said, "Okay, but if you're going to do this, it has to be right." This included a very lengthy discussion on what to eat or not to eat. Water - good. Pretzels and other snacks - bad. Vegetables - good. Soda - bad. I'm putting it in this binary form to simplify the conversation, but it basically led to me making some big, but pretty easy to adapt to lifestyle changes in my eating. A girl who had once said, "I could never be lightweight because I like food too much," and "I could never be vegetarian because I would miss meat too much," had to totally eat her words (excuse the pun).
So I exercised, ate really colorful salads, still managed to have a cookie (maybe two) for dessert and hit 134 by the time Erg Armageddon rolled around at the end of February. At the time, I thought my foray into lightweightdom had ended, went on our yearly Spring Break training trip and was rowing openweight again. For reasons more complicated than I could ever understand or explain, our openweight varsity eight disbanded. I foggily remember a conversation with Coach next to the trailer after Spring Break, where he told me I could seat race for a spot in the varsity four or that I could have a seat in the lightweight eight. I was hesitant to consider moving to lightweight full time. Sure, I had made my goal but it almost seemed unreal. Even though there were four tiny pounds between me and the Knecht Cup or Dad Vail weigh in, it seemed so huge in my mind. So I thought about it.
It was the best. decision. ever.
I started practicing with the lightweight eight and I don't remember much about the early formation of that boat. I do however remember the harrowing Occoquan Sprints. The weather prediction for that day was 20-30 MPH winds, with up to 50 MPH gusts. They decided to move from the sprint race course to the more protected head race course. The race organizer also wanted to move the events up, therefore it was only possible for us to enter one event, the lightweight 8 or the lightweight 4.
Our coach wanted us to decide which event to enter. I was set to race both events, knowing full well that we had better odds to medal in the four. Standing on the bus that day, medal dreams aside, we chose the 8.
It was the best. decision. ever.
That day turned us into the "Lite 8." We weren't merely a collection of nine women who weighed under 133 pounds, we bonded over making making a tough decision and surviving to tell the tale. This may sound a little bit exaggerated, and in some ways it is, but I don't know if I have ever been as fearful of flipping/dying/losing equipment as I ever was that day. There was pile up of boats in the finish area of the sprint course, waiting to turn and make our way onto the head race course. We were out there forever at a standstill. The wind was picking up and blowing our backwards, which of course the oars are designed to steady the boat the other way. The starboard oarlocks were nearly under water, and there was no way to set set the boat without rowing to right ourselves. It was terrifying. Granted, we weren't in any life threatening danger, but it was still scary as heck.
We raced, we made it, and then another terrifying experience. On the return dock, Kathy Wulderk (our coxswain) called for "up and over heads" when one of those wind gusts came through. There were eight lightweight women holding on to this boat (Meridian) for dear life, as our feet started to pick up from the dock. Looking back, I'm not sure how we didn't go Mary Poppins style into the Occoquan Reservoir with our boat. Luckily Coach (Brian Tomko) and Coach Jim were there to grab onto the boat and we narrowly avoided disaster.
The Lite 8 went on to do pretty well at Knecht Cup, we even got to race the infamous Wisconsin Badgers (the Wisco Lights). After racing Coach told us that we had made the US Rowing national ranking poll. He didn't want to tell us at first, in case we got big heads or it messed with our ability to concentrate on the race at hand. All I can remember is a lot of shrieking on the side of the Cooper. At the Mid-Atlantic Collegiate Crew Championships (on a less harrowing day) at the Occoquan, the Lite 8 earned first place. We also earned 16th in the US Rowing national ranking poll. Unfortunately that year finals fell over Dad Vail week and we weren't able to prove ourselves on that national stage. This is the one thing - of anything - that I would if I could change about my college career. It was just out of our hands.
I owe a lot to those ladies. Kathy Wulderk, Erica Garland, Alyssa Russo, Erin Toenehboehn, Allison Bankus, Dawn Raskewski, Kate Jensen, and Jess Hibbard. They taught me more about teamwork than almost anyone I can think of in my entire life.
It was probably summer, I was doing research with the psychology department and went to the gym every weekday at 4pm sharp. My coach just happened to be in the cardio loft while I was
on the elliptical machine. He said, "You may not remember, but we had a deal at the beginning of the year if any of our boats placed in the top 3 at Knecht Cup, made finals at Vails, or got first place at MACCCs, they could go to Head of the Charles..."
This. was. it. My boat, the Lite 8, was entered into the lottery for a place in Head of the Charles that fall. I had no idea it would be my boat. Our boat. And it happened. I was beyond ecstatic.
No comments:
Post a Comment