There's an excitement about launching a boat into the quiet darkness of an early fall morning: you can't see at all and it doesn't matter anyway because sometimes we row with our eyes closed as an exercise to increase our feeling for the momentum and sounds of the boat and oars on the water. But my eyes are open, and the feeling of pushing back against the darkness is singular.
At moments, I am engrossed in my rowing and focused on correct rowing technique--slide control and catch timing. But then I remember to look up at the morning, and for several strokes, I have one of those "where the hell am I" moments.
As we approach about 100 strokes above Key Bride, the water level is still black, but above the Key Bridge, the early redness of a day hangs like a magnificent velvet curtain. There was no talking in the boat, and I savored the quiet rhythm of the moment. Our exersise was to row low and long all the way up to Fletchers Cove with a focus on form and energy at the drive. It was a day when things seemed to come together well, and there was satisfaction that maybe we can row well after all.
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