Look who I repped today!
And oh, God, ignore my hair. You read my last post, right?
Anyway, we did our race walk-through yesterday in 18 degree temperatures with 20mph winds. It was pleasant. The University of Virginia crews, who had come to race Cornell, looked pissed they'd ventured past the Mason-Dixon line.
Today was only slightly warmer, but without winds. So we were ready to go, ready to take on William-Smith.
Before the race, we linked arms in a huddle. We made inappropriate jokes and cheered.
Then there was the warm up. Quiet. Focus. A kind of rattling anticipation.
Waiting for our turn. I watched my roommate explode off the start with her boat, oars rocking, water splashing. I was so proud. Just look at us!
Our turn. At the start. Adjustments. Quiet. Attention, row!
We're jumped off the start, but we're together. It's controlled. It's catch up time. Seat by seat. Alexa, our coxswain, is grinding her voice for a fight. Half-way through. They're dying, we're flying.
Then the boat rocks. Our stroke seat's oar rips through her oar lock, jolting us to a complete stop. Ten seconds gone fixing. We're two full boat-lengths behind.
The race is gone. But we're not finished. We finish less than a boat behind them.
First there's the crashing disappointment. The knowledge that we were the faster team, barring small mistakes. But then there's pride. We'd never rowed so well in our lives. We recovered amazingly. We caught them.
My sports life is full of imperfections and almosts. But today's almost doesn't matter, because I realized, I'm playing for the huddle and I'm playing for the comeback.
If we've got that kind of strength in us, I can't wait for the next race.
