Shades of Gray

Two and a half weeks ago, selection was completed and Tracy and myself are back in the double training for the World Cup III regatta in Lucerne, Switzerland. I then settled comfortably into my new apartment (with the generous help of Patry Inc.) with team mate Patricia Obee (lwt. 1x). It was a pretty great week to have made the double and find a new and more permanent home to reside in while in London.

The first week of training in the double was fun but definitely a bit shaky. It was clear when we started to take strokes together again that we were not exactly where we left off last year, but the base speed and technique were still there and we knew it was just a matter of time before we started to feel like our "old selves". Two full weeks have past now and the double is really starting to get back to where we left it but I guess it's frustrating to think that we had to leave it in the first place. Every time we have a less exhilarating piece, I think "what if?". Every time I see some bad habit that has crept into the stroke, I think "what if?". What if we had been rowing every day for the last six months? (Sundays off of course). I do not like "what ifs" and I especially do not like them when they have been forced upon me; when they are there because of no choice of my own.

I was thinking today how simple things could be if there were no shades of gray. Does A make you faster? Does B make you better? Then do A and B. There should be no clauses, no compromises, no acceptance of less. If A and B are the best and the things that make you believe you can win, then that's exactly what should be done. I'm not being silly here. If you think a McDonald's big mac every day makes you better then you probably need to see a psychologist, but if you think doing your sport every day as much as possible and with intent and focus is the way to be the best, then that's what you should not only do, but be allowed to do.

All athletes have a goal. Some or many of those goals vary and are quite different from athlete to athlete, but we are always taught that you can not get anywhere without a goal, and that the goal must hold you steadfast. What if one of the main components to reaching that goal were sacrificed by some force uncontrollable to you? How then do you reach the goal? When you see something as paramount to success and that thing is taken, what do you do? If there were no shades of gray, you go find it. You do whatever it takes to have the answer be black and white so the end result can be gold. How do I know what makes people win? I don't. There are no sure answers, but I do know that whatever someone BELIEVES makes them win is the most driving, most powerful force behind coming first.

Settling In

Finally I have sat down to write my first post while residing in London, Ontario. Most people who know me know that it's a hard transition for me to go from training and life in my home town of Victoria to training in London where there's not much life at all and just rowing. The reasons for not wanting to go obviously exceed well past the reasons of just liking the city and friends and family however. Let it be known that ultimately it's about training and the training environment in which I exist at my best that holds me to one place or another.

I have been here for three weeks and nearly all the time has been spent in a preparation for racing/selection and/or watching fellow team mates (heavy or light) be raced off time and time again. It leaves one craving a hard 22km row of side-by-side battling. Being in a holding pattern in sports is probably the hardest thing an athlete can do. We are mostly driven to move forward, to make ourselves hurt and to push to a point of physical fatigue that many people have never experienced...selection is the opposite. You must sit and wait and keep healthy and constantly be monitoring how your legs feel when walking up a flight of stairs. It's easy to worry if you feel a little more burn than you'd like when carrying groceries a block or two. The worst part: the mind. The mind goes from a state of comatose inactivity to spinning and reeling up possibilities and scenarios and I don't even know what else. My mind is an opponent right now, not something I feel I can control. However, I must. The strong will survive and I think when it comes to selection and "data collection" (as it's so fondly referred to at the LTC), those that keep their minds an ally and not an opponent are the ones that escape cracking and splintering and are the ones that end up rising to the top. We are in the process of choosing the strongest mental team in the world.

photo by: Kevin Light

So although I am here working through the hardest part of the year (selection), I have left supportive and motivating team mates at home. I remember what we did together and I use the lessons I have learned throughout the year to get me by. The above photo was taken as a thank you for John at Shawnigan Lake School because he not only lent, but re-rigged a pair into a double every day Patricia and I showed up there to row. His generosity is what allowed us to clock nearly 150km some weeks up at Shawnigan alone. If he had not been so willing to help, the selection that I speak of right now would be even harder. Because of him and the people in that photo I feel prepared, I feel strong and I feel ready for the rest of the summer. I have to admit somehow that I'm missing Will Crothers accuse Patricia and I of cutting km's. Don't worry Will, we're clocking all the k's here!!

The Theory of Relativity

It's 930pm on a Sunday night and I am definitely not in any shape to be describing to you how objects might bend as we travel through space at the speed of light, so I'll cut to the chase and announce that I am about to describe a different kind of relativity.

This thought occurred to me between what I thought was going to be two 28km rows at Shawnigan Lake this past week. We had already finished one 28km row and I thought the next was going to be the same but found out during breakfast that it was only going to be 24km instead and I felt so completely relieved. Then I gave my head a shake! Twenty-four kilometers in a double for the second time of the day is still a TON of work! And it's not just 24km of steady state work, it's 24km getting chased down my either men's fours or a men's eight working at full capacity. However, I had convinced myself because it could have been 28km, that we were all getting off easy. A typical "hard row" on Elk Lake would be 18-22km. Then this got me really thinking.

It is fascinating what the mind and body can accomplish when working together. Somehow, while doing an endless number of 7km "runs" at Shawnigan, I started to convince myself that that was the norm and that my body better be prepared for that amount of work. I started unconsciously to stretch both physically and mentally what was the boundary of what I was willing both physically and mentally to do. These changes in mind and body occur at such a subconscious level that you suddenly find yourself thinking that an 18km row is a break. Perhaps some of you are reading this right now thinking that I'm still crazy but it's what has happened to me and I'm very glad for it. This is the epitome of training; hard is relative. Something that we perceive to be "hard" is only something that is more than we are already doing. If we do more, then hard is no longer what we were doing but rather something even more. Why would we constantly work within the boundaries of mind and body? Why would we only do as much as we did last time? Einstein's theory states that the outer limits of the universe are travelling farther away from us and at a rate faster than the speed of light. If we don't push those boundaries of ourselves we'll be left in the dark. I would like to imagine that an Olympic gold medal brings a lot of light.

From Bow to Another Bow

This isn't an overly insightful blog post, but I had to say that today was my first ever time rowing starboard. All through junior rowing and university I was a port, permanently occupying either stroke or two seat. Now for the exciting part. Not only did a row bow seat of an eight today, it was the VTC heavy men's eight! We were just doing a tech row and they needed an eighth body, so I came to the rescue. I am absolutely sure that even on the "paddle" we were moving faster than I have ever gone in a boat before. Well I have coxed a men's eight, but this was faster because I was in bow. Ha. I really wish I had some pictures to share with you all but this will have to be only a memory in my mind. I told two seat, Kevin Light, that I can now cross another dream off my dream come true list...next dream...Olympic gold!

Un"bent" Memories

I'm so excited to write this entry that I can barely decide where to start. I have said it before, but the world works in mysterious ways. So here it is.

It has been a while since my last post, but it has been because I was waiting for something worth writing about. I have wanted to write for a while about the various coaches I have had in my rowing career and how they have shaped me but I haven't been quite motivated enough to tackle that challenge. I have written about Mike and have felt somewhat guilty for having not included another great man that I was extremely privileged to have worked with. I guess you can say I have been coached by arguably the best heavyweight men's and also arguably the best lightweight coach in the world. I was unsure if I could do Bent justice through my amateur writing and therefore held off writing about him.

Here's what's interesting: I decided months ago that when I had tallied a running count of 50 bald eagles spotted during rowing at Elk Lake, I would write about Bent. For those that don't know, Bent was from Denmark and was absolutely mesmerized by the graceful bald eagles that swoop and soar over Elk Lake. So much so that you would often note him bobbing around aimlessly in his coach boat staring into the sky while you were out working your ass off. It was easy to laugh the image off and know that the man just couldn't resist a good eagle ogle. Next, during an interview this evening with a sports writer, I was encouraged to continue my blog and made to answer some questions that caught me reminiscing about Bent and my training under him. I thought it no coincidence but rather fate saying it was time to pay some tribute.

What I know to be most notable about Bent was that he was the first coach I had that I could really talk to. I mean really talk to. Strange when you consider the man spoke barely one word of English when he arrived in Canada and understanding him most days was harder than the training session. I could tell him my fears, my arguments, my apprehensions, my positive beliefs...anything! He made you feel part of your own journey. I know that sounds strange and that it should be a given that an athlete is aways in control of her own journey, but that is unfortunately all too often not true. Bent was a leader that let you lead with him. He had all the knowledge and the wisdom it took to help you be a champion and then you joined him and did it together.

My absolute fondest memory of Bent was in Lucerne 2008 when I was racing the lightweight single. He was deep into his chemotherapy treatment and was administering it on the road so that he could be there coaching his Olympic lightweight men's four and double. He told me "Leensey (that's how his accent said my name), you must race with rhythm. All the crews here that will win, will have rhythm". I won Lucerne that year with rhythm. When I got to the dock, I found Bent beaming with pride and happiness in my accomplishment; I learned then what a coach looks like who wants nothing but the best for his athlete. There were two Lindsays on the team that year and I was the smaller. He looked at me and said one thing, "Little Leensey, big heart". Later at that regatta, he strongly encouraged me to pursue the single that year at the non-Olympic world championships. He told me that many people go through their careers winning many gold medals, but it's so rare to win a world championship. He said "Being a world champion will never leave you". I did race the single that year and came far from winning. It was sad, and I felt like I had let Bent down. Cancer took Bent from us in December of 2008 and I have kept a picture of him on my fridge riding a bicycle, beaming from ear to ear (he had polio as a child and could not walk easily, but could ride a bike like Lance Armstrong...almost). When Tracy and I won the world championships I was praying for the first time in my life that people who have left this world can see what we accomplish when they are gone. I hope Bent had the best seat in the house for that final because he's part of the reason why we achieved that standard. Both being a world champion and Bent will "never leave me."

Following are some of my fondest Bent quotes (remember the broken English and impossibly difficult Danish accent when reading these, and the fact they're being yelled from a coach boat-in brackets is the translation)

1. Leensey, more legs, you must use more legs (push harder)

2. Leensey, you must use your back (push harder)

3. Leensey, just go quicker (push harder)

and my absolute favorite in regard to competitors while racing

4. Leensey, f@#k them all away (push hard)

Bent was an inspiration to us all in the Olympic year. He fought his battle with cancer hard enough to be able to guide the Canadian men's four to a bronze medal at the Beijing Olympics. I have never been so happy to see someone so happy. Thank you, Bent. I quietly say hello to every bald eagle I see. I swear those eagles show up when I need to push harder!

Perfect...

I was doing a tech row the other day and I was practicing strokes by watching my blade enter the water and was trying to work a good release and catch. Then I started to get bored and jokingly thought to myself "Now that's a perfect catch!". Oddly, my little amusing joke to myself sparked a train of thought that was worthy of the blog. What the heck is a perfect stroke? I started thinking how I have now been rowing for fifteen years and I can't tell you what exactly a "perfect" stroke is. Then I thought, if I can't pinpoint the perfect stroke, then perhaps there is no such thing. Then, what the heck does perfect mean anyway? I looked up the definition. Perfect is "being complete of its kind and without defect or blemish". What??!!! I think that might be the most abstract and useless definition I have ever read. Like my competitors post, perfect to me seems to be something of relativity. We all know that different styles of rowing, different strokes and different training programs win gold medals, so why are we always seeking perfection? What I mean is, if perfect doesn't actually exist in a tangible, non-relative form, then why do we pursue it?

Now in that question, I have found the answer. Perfect is perfect because it does not actually exist within the rowing stroke and so it is the pursuit of something unreachable that keeps us trying over and over and over to achieve it. Winning a rowing race doesn't mean you raced the perfect race, it doesn't mean you took 250 perfect strokes, it means that something added up and came out in your favor but I guarantee it wasn't the execution of perfection. I have taken almost all my strokes not perfectly, but every one has been with intent. I think the following Nike ad sums this up "perfectly".

Finally Have a Case of HMS (heavyweight man syndrome)

I posted yesterday but I had to share this momentous occasion. For years I have been around heavyweight men during extremely hard weeks of training and there has always been one complaint that has not only been constant but really stands out as bizarre (or so I thought until today). You see, the calorie output for the "training programme" can be upwards of 3000 for me, so you can imagine that for a heavyweight male weighing in around 195lbs-240lbs, it's going to be somewhere in the ballpark of 5000 and that doesn't include daily activity. So, to get to the point, the one complaint that I have heard coming from the men for years is "I find eating a chore and I just don't want to eat anymore; I can't eat enough in one sitting." Boo hoo, right? I always thought, "Man, life is sure rough if you just can't eat enough." I absolutely, 100%, definitely did not sympathize or understand how one could possibly feel that way. As a lightweight women, I have been trained to watch my intake. I tend to eat whatever the heck I want during the winter months, but it doesn't always come without a tiny bit of guilt. Now here's where the tables turn. I was driving to rowing today for the third and final workout of the day. It was a hard day and I spent my time between the second and third row worrying about whether I had eaten properly and would not face "a bonk" during the last practice. As I was heading there I found myself thinking "I can't wait 'till this practice is over so I don't have to eat anything." Then I almost crashed the car because I was thrilled that I had done it! I finally found myself understanding what the heck it meant to just be plain old tired of eating. It was a great day :) I feel fully part of the club.