A view “to live for”…

My recent experience with trying to measure up against the mighty Potomac provided the most vivid illustration of this twist of the phrase ”to die for” , which had apparently stuck in my brain after hearing it a while back. Those who had similarly gone through serious situations, fearing for their life, yet in the same time feeling elated, will probably relate. No, I’m not going to recount a pure adrenaline-rush episode some seek on purpose, like plunging at the end of bungee cord. Mine was a less contrived occurrence requiring me to put up a good fight, the reward was not only staying alive but feeling overjoyed about being alive (something I would otherwise take for granted).

My professional career created the opportunity to further expand my… rowing horizons. As of April I became a guest member of the Potomac Boat Center in DC, one of the most prestigious and venerable US rowing clubs, situated on the banks of one of the mightiest North American rivers. After a long winter during which I was reduced to sadly contemplating my little frozen lake, I could not wait one more second to experience water in its liquid form. On my first day as a member, I had been summoned to launch my boat well before the crack of dawn, something I never do back home. I was told the basic rules (needed to use boat lights to be noticed, which side I was allowed to navigate on) and some useful information (how far to the last bridge and ‘current is strong today’).

The mighty Potomac, further inflated by the heavy rain in the last few days, was glowing seductively under the full moon, so there I went, taking on it in a light weight single boat. The power differential was a bit intimidating, but the water seemed rather smooth, and the easy going with its flow enhanced the whole magic of the new experience and my belief that “I can do this”… However, after navigating a couple of turns (in the dark!) the water became very rough just before having to pass under a series of bridges. All of the sudden I was sucked into a vortex, the boat was accelerating toward a huge pillar. I rapidly pulled in my oar (which normally hangs more the 6 feet on the side of the boat) completely into the oarlock to prevent it from being snapped. Of course, the boat was now completely unbalanced so I instinctively leaned overboard on the other side while we were twirling together out of control toward the pillar.

I used the blade as a rudder and just when the light boat was about to crash into the pillar, instead of avoiding it, I planted my blade into the pillar and began to push and extend again the oar redirecting the force to push us away from the center of the vortex. Seemed like time stood still, yet the locked dance with the pillar might have taken only a few seconds, then all of the sudden we were set free of its embrace. If I had to plan it, I would probably not been able to anticipate the moves needed to keep us afloat. The experience of less dramatic yet various challenges during the past years somehow combined into an instinctive knowledge of how to maintain the balance. Probably even more importantly, I distinctly remember becoming more calm and deliberate as the outside world started to spin around me. I also remember wondering, almost as if I was looking at myself: “how comes I am still riding above the water?” It was a strange feeling of completely being into the moment, yet rationally thinking about it as if observing if from the outside.
The last couple of bridges I navigated as in trance, then I hit again open water, seemingly reaching the proposed goal for the day and such decided it was time to turn back. The first signs of light helped avoid getting close to the pillars again. Working now against the current, I was making slow progress. Then, the wind really picked up.

My boat, being close to the shore hit by the wind, began to briskly jump up and down on the valleys and hills created by the combined direct and reflected waves. My back was now swept by cold waves, that swept of the boat, soon the hull was completely filled with water, and my legs and feet became submerged. I was pulling my oars very hard threading through the water but it felt as if I was exercising on a stationary rowing machine. I could now see the shadows of some lone runners making good progress on the shore while I was apparently not moving at all; the Potomac was pulling every trick to just not let me go back. I remember feeling my legs were frozen, I began worrying that my back will lock, and although the adrenaline was still giving me strength to continue, I began to feel some despair.

Then… a fire lit the sky and the water, and I found myself under an enormous pink dome. Flocks of black birds began swarming the sky, and I could now make out the white lace of the blooming cherry trees on the shore. I fixated on their joyous image then realized that I was very slowly, but surely, progressing against their position. That made me happy and reassured that if I just continued I would eventually get back to the dock. I then also began to look beyond my immediate surroundings. The DC monuments looked truly majestic from the water, their light stone glowing against the fiery sky background. I thought: 'had I given in to the treacherous vortex earlier, I would have missed all of this. I’m so lucky to be alive, here, at this very moment to see this view from such a great vantage point. This was indeed a “view to live for!”’ and felt elated. I swear the obelisk even winked his red eye reassuringly at me and I smiled back at it. I knew that I will be OK, despite both the current and wind fighting against me, and the extra-liquid weight I had to carry all the way back in my boat. I grew accustomed to the rhythmic sweep of the waves getting all the way up around my waist, then over the boat’s hull, then dissipating back into the rest. I could not go any deeper than that, right? I had been literally integrated by the Potomac. Now, I knew it was just a matter of keeping going and the view was so beautiful that I did not mind moving so slowly.

When I finally reached back to the dock, the boat captain was standing waiting for me, visibly worried. As soon as he had helped me flip the boat to empty all the water, he launched into a quick series of questions: why did I go beyond the bridges? Didn’t I know that even a big 8+ boat got snapped in two by the pillars in such high current and they had to fish the rowers out the water? Did I realize I was the only single boat out there this morning? Didn’t I know it was acceptable in such a life threatening situation to break the traffic rules, why didn’t I row on the “wrong” side to minimize the effects of the wind? I looked at him, lots of answers and more questions running through my mind (why did he immediately tell me how many miles past the last bridge which I interpreted as a suggested trip, why didn’t he caution me about the pillars’ vortex, how could I already know I was allowed to break the traffic rules and not be expelled from the club?) But, then I took another look at the fiery Potomac and decided to stick with the essential. I replied:

“Sorry, just got carried away”…

Get inspired

Being inspired by others is one of the most helpful things in achieving our hard to reach goals.

I have already shared my struggle to keep up my daily exercise routine during this time when I can’t go out on the water… It is difficult to block-off the time and in addition I find erg-ing (using a rowing machine indoors) just plain hard to do! I needed to work diligently on finding ways ("Start with the end in sight") to continue to use the rowing machine, but overall it did not seem to get any more enjoyable or any easier, especially with the long-drawn-out winter this year. No wonder I don’t seem to get any better at it! Thus, it may come across as odd that when I learned of an Indoor Rowing Championship “regatta” in my city, I decided to participate.

I have been previously to a grand total of two similar events. At the first one that happened ten or so years ago, I was able to buy my rowing machine at a discount (after being used during the competition). The second indoor rowing competition took place 6 yrs ago almost to the day. I let myself being talked into a “walk-in,” meaning I just showed up and rowed (no, I did not do great there); however, I have a pleasant memory of their atmosphere, seemingly positively charged from all the energy of those serious about competing. So, I decided to go get energized about erg-ing! Little did I know that I would not only immerse myself in an energizing crowd, but I would also meet two truly inspiring people.

Paul Randall will turn 93 this year and competed to defend his world champion title in the 90-95 yo category. I can say that he is the most energetic 90+ person I personally ever met. I watched in awe as he rowed the physically taxing 2K course and took a couple of pictures of him (stretching before the start and an "action" picture).

After his race I also took the opportunity to meet and congratulate him. He indicated it was not a ‘big deal’ that he beat the time required to qualify for the finals, as he explained it, he had been specifically training for this event since August. I caught myself before asking him “of which year”? But I did ask about his potential association with Indiana University, as he was wearing an academic athletic tank top. His explanation indicated that he was not only physically fit but also very witty. He said ‘Yes, I am an Alumn’ and then immediately followed ‘and I make sure I take good advantage of it! I called them up and asked if they were going to keep their promise to give me 1% for each year since I graduated. I pointed out to them that might mean 50% off"... He paused and said with a smile: “They checked their files and came back to say, ‘In fact, Mr. Randall, you are entitled to 59%. We will honor our pledge. We are not too worried, you are the only one in your age group who is still buying athletic gear!” Paul is on his way to Boston to defend his world title at the World Indoor Rowing Championships (also known as C.R.A.S.H.-b). A much younger heavy set guy sitting in the audience commented in response to my expressed admiration, “Well, sure he can be the champion, he probably does not have much competition in his age group.” To which I said, “Yes, you are likely right, but isn’t that exactly what a champion is, someone who greatly outdoes the competition?” I also thought: Will you start training to see what it really takes? Btw, while many rowers compete in the indoors events, it is not necessary to be one to do very well on an erg which eliminates the need to be able to balance the boat on the water while simultaneously pulling hard.

The other inspiring person I met is at the other end of the age spectrum. Mika Baugh is 19. I was so lucky to crash after my own race (about lessons learned from that adventure in a future post!) on a bench next to her proud grandfather. He seemed so overjoyed that he turned toward me and said: “My granddaughter is competing today and she is my hero!” Sounded as a rather surprising statement until he told me that Mika is an A student (was Valedictorian) and a star athlete at Indiana University. He added that Mika is also the President of the National Federation of the Blind of Indiana Student Division. And yes, Mika is blind. I decided that I needed to stay longer so that I could cheer for her. She not only competed, but also coached another young woman who seemed to be the only African American competitor. I received the permission of her mother and grandfather to publicly share my own admiration for Mika. They also introduced me to Mika after her race. Exactly as her family had warned me, she too acted as it was not a big deal that she had competed and qualified for the Adaptive rowing world finals in Boston. She however shared the fact that, sadly, she will not make the trip due to a shortage of funds.

Witnessing the strength of the human spirit in overcoming such great odds filled me with awe and brought me to tears – of joy! So, back to my erg-ing… let’s hear again, what was your excuse, Z?

Never too late...

I was recently prompted to consider what might have been one of my own most valuable lesson about learning at any age after watching a TED talk given by Tim Ferris recommended by my friend Vic. I agree: the talk is inspiring. Tim Ferris delivers with flair a message that rings true beyond whatever his own facts might be (I understand some people had questioned them). In addition, an interesting coincidence brought back memories of my own trials and tribulations, small victories and lessons about learning. In the video Ferris credits his swimming achievements to a new method called "Total Immersion" pioneered by Terry Laughlin. I had personally met Terry several years ago during one of my own most significant learning journeys while we both had attended the same… rowing camp. The participants, a group of like-minded adults of different ages and skill levels, came from all over US to improve upon their rowing. I was a true beginner and had signed up for the chance to dedicate one week to “crash learn” how to row a skinny scull (competition-style boat). I had previously rowed a few months in a recreational boat (those of you who row, please be tolerant, I was so “green” I didn’t even know what I didn’t know…). The rowing camp turned out to be one of my most telling experiences about learning as an adult.

I had arrived at the camp with so much enthusiasm that the first day I took advantage of all three extended rowing sessions (one was optional). This was way more than three times I had ever rowed in any single day…. yet, I felt no fatigue. However, within minutes I was made painfully aware of how much I needed to improve upon. Each of the many trainers stationed every 200 yds. on the lake pointed out yet another major issue with my technique. I would barely start working on something only to hear the next coach yelling about another huge mistake or simply making fun of my “style”. They made sure to leave me with no doubts: I was at the very bottom of the skill ladder. I was once again re-experiencing all of the frustrations and humility that come from being a complete novice critically assessed by experts, not an easy feeling for someone who had become accustomed to operate with great ease in her professional and everyday life.

They finally broke me down by the middle of the second day: "how could I ever possibly fix so many major things terribly wrong with my rowing technique???" So instead of the additional rowing session that day, I opted for the trip to the nearby ice cream factory. As I was drowning my sorrow in the biggest possible cone I was able to get, I was struck by a thought: “So what if my rowing ‘looked funny’ or I was possibly doing everything totally wrong?” Being out in the boat, pulling the oars through the crystal clear water in the middle of the woods gave me tremendous energy and joy! Who was going to watch me once I finished camp? And, if they did, should I worry about what they thought of my style? In that second I decided that I will not let the way my rowing looked prevent me from experiencing the happiness it was giving me. Thus I would go back on the water the next day and try my best to correct whatever possible (maybe not at the pace they wanted me to!) but I would not give up on rowing. The rest of the camp days continued pretty much the same: I rowed every single session, worked hard to correct various things, put up with a lot of criticism, including a lot of ridicule, and asked a lot of clarifying questions undaunted by the fun they seemed to engender. The coaches got to expect me to raise my hand at every Q&A session.

The camp’s final row was a “head race” in which all students, starting one by one like beads on a string, had to row the full length of the lake against the clock. The rowers were started in the reverse rank of their skill to give enough head start to the slow ones. I was called to start second, being assessed by coaches to only be possibly better than one other student from the group of 20+ with various skill levels. By this time it did not bother me (I knew how much I had to work on), I was just so happy I was still rowing in my white skinny scull! We then all gathered in the camp cafeteria where the head coach read in decreasing order our times, slowest first, regardless of student’s gender, age, or skill level, a nerve wrecking exercise… My heart jumped with anticipation every time they were about to call another name, but once they called out most students, my heart really started racing again! Soon I noticed that the only few not called yet were all guys, and the best rowers. I started to wonder if the coaches would play some last prank on me, they seemed to have particularly enjoyed making fun of my technique and even more so of my eagerness. With somewhat of a sheepish laugh the head coach called: “…and finally, the 'Fastest Woman on the Lake'...” It turned out to be… me!?! I was totally stunned (apparently they were too) and really happy - then, as I am now! -that I did not give up that second day. More, that small victory against great odds taught me that my enthusiasm could overcome my inexperience, and how “funny” I looked while I was learning it. I got a distinct feeling that the coaches also experienced some eye-opener that day…

I am now convinced that the ability to learn anything at any age depends in no small measure on our capacity to conquer our own fear of ridicule. Since my rowing camp days whenever I am confronted with the challenge of learning or trying something new, I have started asking myself the question: so what's the worst that could happen if I ’looked stupid?’ If the only danger is that others might think I looked goofy– then I’ll go ahead, it is well worth it! And I can have a good laugh about it too. As young children we learn new things while we are still not self-conscientious. Later, as the fear of peer judgment intensifies, we avoid trying things that might make us look ridiculous. Then, with age comes the wisdom that the “sacrifice” of looking funny is well worth the learning and we can return to being the child freely and fully embracing the fun of learning and experiencing new things that truly matter to us. At that point we become free to make choices based on gaining value, rather than on losing appearances. As a teacher of adults I try to encourage my students to fearlessly pursue their passions, even when they lay well beyond their previous/formal training. There is no substitute for really wanting to learn or do something. I don't care how "off" you might start at it! And, I make sure to reassure the first time I meet my students, and then remind them frequently, that "stupid question" is a misnomer. If someone can formulate a question about anything, than obviously there is something that needs clarification - which is the purpose of a question - thus asking any question simply can not be stupid. I learned from asking lots of "stupid" questions: if one is ever told or made feel that had just asked a "stupid question" is because the receiver had a hard time answering it and was ashamed to acknowledge it. Voila, the secret is out!

Kids, do try this at home: if you see older people, friends, parents or grandparents learning something new, do not laugh, but rather plan to continue to have the same curious and adventurous attitude… Truly, it’s never too late to learn new things!

p.s. My rowing technique has gotten better after all these years of learning, but I am still working on improving many things. Also, I still have to follow-up on my plan to someday (soon!) learn Terry’s "Total Immersion" fast, ultra-efficient swimming style. As for that rowing race, well, yes, my time was faster than Terry’s ;-)

In memoriam: Armin’s wish was granted

And so it goes, and so it goes… life is short, but if we get lucky we get to live it at its fullest and leave the way we wish.

This past week we got the sad news that one of our fellows rower died. Armin passed away while rowing in a double with his rowing buddy, Ed. It was of great comfort to all of us to learn about those last moments. Thank you, Ed, for writing such an inspiring message in spite of your own pain to make it widely available to those who knew Armin, or at least could relate to his love of rowing.

Ed described Armin as being “among other things anti-establishment, a romantic, poet, artisan, father, brother and friend. He knew the value of friendship and once befriended he never abandoned the 'ship'." Indeed, Armin did not abandon their ship, he simply stayed the course until his wish was granted… This sad event allowed all to learn more about Armin than they had a chance to learn under normal circumstances. We learned that while Armin and Ed were planning to row together into their 80s, Armin’s personal wish was to pass away while rowing. Many of us who spend significant time on the water have similar “exit plans." A few years back, based on her wishes, I myself had spread the ashes of a previous rowing partner from a boat. It was sad but comforting for us to watch the white petals spread in the same time being slowly washed away. We toasted to her life with champagne and rowed back in silence. I do not know of what comes next or where she might be now, but I do think of her every time I row by the site. I am hoping that she has found peace.

Ed also told us about his last row with Armin that he felt “privileged to have shared his last moments and close his eyes” and he then spoke directly to Armin: “You will be missed my good friend, you will be missed. Thank you for being a part of my life. You are and always will be a part of my heart. You have finally found peace. Watch over us. You were never religious. I bet you were surprised to find the afterlife. You became a believer Friday night for I was present when you experienced in the words of the poet, Thomas Ady, 'the four angels round your head, one to watch , and one to pray, and two to bear your soul away'. How would I know, I saw the peace on your face.”

Tomorrow, June 14, 2009, rowers, family and other friends will hold a memorial service on the banks of the Chattahoochee river to celebrate Armin’s life.

Getting the high and the glow the healthy way

This morning when the alarm clock went off, it was like trying to resurface from the depth of a dark ocean. My eyelids were so heavy I could barely pull them up. No chance of moving any of my limbs… or so it felt. I had worked late into the wee hours of the morning, again! I briefly considered blowing off my exercise and sleeping another hour, but then I gathered all the determination I was capable of and somehow stumbled into my boat and onto the water. After a few minutes of easy rowing, I already felt better.

It never fails, this “high”: the surge of energy when I manage to get myself to work out even if initially I had thought I had none left. Maybe it’s the light recharging that pineal gland, which Descartes thought was the connection between our body and our intellect ; maybe it's the fresh air oxygenating my brain, or the movement of the water, sun and clouds. Whatever it is, I am then as able to work as after a very restful night. Working out in the sun also works wonders fr me when I am jet lagged.

And the "glow"? I come from the land of Transylvania (the real one). Being tanned and skinny was not cool in my grandparents' farmers community. Being tanned and skinny were characteristics of people working all day long in the fields. On the other hand, being pale skinned, maybe a bit pink, and plump was a luxury only well off people could afford. I will never forget the subtle disappointment expressed by my grandmother upon meeting my soon-to-be-husband: “He is handsome…. but he is surely dark skinned”…

I now live in a society where people are obsessed with being tanned and skinny. They are willing to pay serious money to be spray-painted with brown chemicals and to lose weight by any possible, as well as close to impossible means…

So where do I stand on this issue? Well, I do prefer being tanned and toned, even if not skinny... I also truly enjoy working outside, but my actual work does not really call for that. I am making time to be outside and work out in the sun. And, I don’t mind receiving compliments for my brown glow. What would my grandmother say if she could only see me now…

Earning the right to be considered a Master

I was talking to a friend who does not row… yet! (yes, I still have some of those…. more recruiting work needed). I had just mentioned that I was training for a “Masters” rowing competition. Her eyes opened big; “Oh, I did not realize that you were THAT good!” I smiled (yes, I could remember making the same assumption before I knew better), and after taking a brief moment to bask in the glory of that comment, I clarified to insure I was given the proper credit: “you know, being called a Master it’s actually a matter of age, anybody who rows past the age of 26 is called a Master Rower”. I just learned from other competitive athletes that different sports bestow the Masters “title” based on other specific age limits. So, this made me think, is being a Master really just a matter of age? Upon further reflection, I think that I might have needed to add something else to my previous statement.

Among many things I learned during my rowing years is the appreciation for “aging gracefully”, which for me is not so much about acceptance of aging, but about living at its fullest no matter what your age is. When registering for a competition we all have to disclose our age, which may feel uncomfortable in the beginning. Then, if you look around, you will most likely think: “wow, are these people really the age they said they were?!?” They all look so much younger and fitter than what you would normally expect for someone at that age. You may think: why would anybody in their right mind say they were older?!? Well, when competing, being older has its benefits. There are different age categories or, if needing to compete directly against younger people, one’s age is recognized by awarding them a time handicap.

I still remember one particular 5 km head race. In such races, rowers are released through the start ("chute") one by one, like beads on a string. Each one seems to compete only against themselves, although if people who started after you are catching up and passing you, you can pretty much expect that their time will better than yours. So, in this race, I passed several people and by the time I finished I could still not see on the horizon any of the rowers who started after me. I pretty much expected to win the race. Yet, when the results were posted, I saw that my time (of twenty something minutes) was bettered by a tenth of a second (!!!) by a woman significantly older than me. And I never saw her or this coming: her handicap was of almost two minutes… My initial shock turned into awe. I actually felt very inspired by it: wow, she really deserved to win! I could only hope that I would pull a race like this in twenty years! She actually looked for me to congratulate me, then she said smiling: “well, a tenth of a second it’s less than a breath. Next time, don’t you waste even a second thinking before you pull your oars because…. I’ll be right behind you!” We became instant friends.

So, yes, you may need to be of a “certain age” or experience to qualify for being called a Master, but in sports as in life, you have to stay on top of your game to earn the right of actually being considered one.

"Get over yourself": be able to laugh at yourself

After learning to row and perfecting my technique and balance in a training single boat for almost a year, I finally decided it was time to graduate to a "skinny" style boat, the type normally used in competitions. Of course with this change came the next challenge, the realization that I should now begin working on getting good enough to race.

Finally, the day of my first novice race came. I had practiced for this day for the past few months and now I only had to put it to good use. We had travelled with my club to another city and I was now rowing a beautiful white skinny boat toward the starting dock. The boats in my race were called to align at the start line. Maneuvering in a tight space a skinny boat with its wide reaching oars is a task that can be daunting even for an experienced rower. Moreover, there were many referees and other competitors watching. I pulled all my power of concentration together and a few moments later I was happy to remark that I had a perfect alignment in the center of my lane. I rolled up my chair to the start position, a rather delicate balancing pose. It was time for me to calm down enough to hear the imminent cue that would unleash the explosive motion needed to the start the boat. The sky was blue, the water was calm, I could have not wished for any better conditions. I looked down the nicely buoy-aligned course, trying to visualize the finish line 1 K ahead, rapidly coming closer and closer to me. I felt the trepidation of the moment, like a race horse fidgeting before the gate opens, I had to close my eyes to calm down and get myself into 'the zone': "I can do this! I can do this!"

It seemed that it was taking way too long to hear the start signal. Instead, a voice booms through the loud speaker: "Atlanta Rowing club… we have a problem!" (?!?) That meant me! I opened my eyes, finally looking outside the zone I had put myself in. I noticed that all the referees on the shore were laughing… at me?!? The booming voice continued: "Atlanta Rowing club… you'll need to turn your boat… 180 degrees!" Taking another look at the other boats helped me finally realize that my boat was pointing in the wrong direction… If any rowers are reading this they had probably already understood my conundrum... for others it may not be evident, but one rows backward. I had aligned my boat at the start as if I was going to run, not row in the race! Yes, everybody was laughing, referees, competitors, I bet they all told the story about this novice rower who perfectly aligned her boat in the opposite direction that day, ready to crash it into the start dock. In fact, this was so stupid of me, that I started laughing about it myself! I laughed so hard that I completely relaxed. I turned the boat around quickly, I no longer worried about how competent I looked. There was nothing more stupid than what I had already done. I was still giggling when they finally called the start.

I rowed my first race laughing… at myself! The time seemed to fly away and I still remember the exhilaration I felt during that race as if it was yesterday. What was even more amazing is that I ended up winning that race!

Knowing what I know now after several years of rowing, I can pretty much attribute that first win to my ability to laugh at my naiveté. This allowed me to completely get over it and focus on rowing in the race. Making possibly the biggest, stupidest mistake right at the beginning, and then getting over it, freed me from worrying about any other possible inadequacies. This does not even take into account the fact that I had most likely disarmed my opponents: what competition could they possibly have expected from a novice who did not even know which way the boat was supposed to move?

If you are a novice, making mistakes is inevitable, but getting over it and over yourself, is up to you. Otherwise, if you are dealing with a novice, never discount one who feels that there is no face left to lose…