Let me go back a few years. 

I started rowing in college. 

I had grown up playing soccer and running track. These sports felt like part of who I was. They played a part in my self-image and the growth or existence of self-confidence, and the mannerisms of these sports became so ingrained that years later, well into my 20s, I wore some Adidas flip flops at the boathouse one summer, and a guy I had known for a few years but only in the context of rowing said, “I KNEW you were a soccer girl.” There’s a swag, a way of holding oneself that goes along with soccer, especially. 

Track felt like my secret passion growing up. It was a weird enough sport that it felt like “mine,” even though thousands of people of all ages participate in it at some point in life. It was as deeply a part of my self-identity and self-esteem as soccer, but I held it even closer to my heart. 

When I tore my ACL as a senior in high school, I knew soccer wasn’t going to be a sport I could play at any competitive level anymore, and I figured track was out as well. I wasn’t ready to let go of my identity as an athlete. I thought I could be great at SOMETHING, and that’s when I found rowing. 

I was 18 before I took my first stroke. It felt wrong and unnatural and hard, but not in a way that kept weight off (at first) like running. I gained weight and bulked up a lot because it was the first time in my life I’d ever needed or had upper body strength. I went from having a mental image of myself as a quick soccer player and lanky runner to a bulky and unagile rower. I was not enamoured with the sport at first, and I clearly didn’t know anything about it outside of my limited experience with it as a novice. I was not ok with this new identity and kept the old one on the back-burner. 

It took me a few years to grow into my new body and to be happy with these new muscles (of which I became very proud), and I eventually did become really good at rowing, better than I had ever been at soccer or track. I loved rowing intensely in college, then became a little obsessed with it, then decided I needed it out of my life. I kept trying to quit rowing and go back to this supposedly simpler time when I played soccer and ran track. Somewhere in my mind, I thought rowing was a placeholder until I could go back to my original sports, when in reality, soccer and track were preparing me for my true athletic calling of becoming a rower. 

Even during early quarantine, back in March, I was like, well I guess I’m a fulltime runner now, which lasted a couple of months until my knees hurt and I got plantar fasciitis. 

Don’t get me wrong. I LOVE running. It feels awesome. While I am running, I am a runner. When I stop running though, I go back to being a rower. My natural state is now “rower,” which comes with its own weird identity and baggage. 

All of this is a lot of words to say that I now have an erg in my basement, and I love rowing. There is absolutely nothing like the feeling of flying on the water. There is nothing I’ve experienced that is so satisfying as racing your heart out with a crew, though racing a single is also uniquely satisfying. Plus, I’ll be able to do it for a long time, unlike running, which will eventually be limited by what my knees can handle.

I’m starting a new training program through this awesome organization of which I was just made aware called Rower’s Dream. I’m starting next Monday, and it’s a 9-week plan that will culminate with a 2000m test (or a 2k), something I haven’t done since 2007. Woof. But it’ll be great! I’m going to write about it as I go, and I’ll put it in context of being a mom and balancing doing some more intentional training with everyday life.

You can train along with me if you want, or you can read about my process and pick it up in your own time. Another thing you can do is join my Encouragement Group. I’m figuring Sunday evenings will be a good time to meet up and get in community for some support. I might be a rower, but you don’t have to be to train for something and need support. Let’s do it together.