Normally, I have no problems with national diversity. Our boats are manufactured in Canada. Our coaches are Polish and Australian. Fifty-one weeks out of the year, I am open to people of all nationalities and cultures. But for the next nine days, the alien crowd gathering at Malta Lake are my enemies, and I have no reservations about saying so. I expect them to say the same about me. This animosity should be public knowledge.
Let me be the first to say that hatred is bad. I am happy to say that the revulsion I feel toward my athletic opponents has been tempered over the years. For instance, I now look forward to conversing with our international friends after the medals are handed out, and I am confident this geniality will not hinder my ability to get one. I was not always able to isolate the heat of competition from the rest of life so easily.
This is because for me, rowing has generally been fueled by negative emotions. Growing up, I found that anger is a powerful feeling. One would think this is sufficiently evidenced by war, genocide, and the Star Wars trilogy, but for me it took teenage temper tantrums and the wake of destruction they left behind. Unfortunately my family bore the brunt of these youthful outbursts of discovery, for which I am very sorry. The following are some sample manifestations of my adolescent frustrations, in order of occurrence:
-Toilet bowl smashed by toilet seat -Kitchen knife thrown through microwave -Hole punched into wall -Road sign felled by 1988 Mercury Grand Marquis -Rowing
Thankfully, rowing finally provided a constructive (or at least less DEStructive) outlet for my immature expressions of rage. The unhappy by-product of this was that rowing angry became a habit. At first, I rowed because I was pissed off. Later, I was pissed off because I rowed. By this, I don't mean that rowing made me upset. Rather, I found that the most effective source of energy for training and racing was anger. This almost certainly made me row poorly, but hacking around while pulling hard made my boat go faster than my opponents rowing beautifully soft. It became difficult to row without it.
Once I grew out of my teenage angst and realized that my life is actually pretty enjoyable (aka "the dream"), this became a problem. Without a true source of angerfuel, I rowed like a pussy, and I still rowed like crap. Clearly this was not an option. As a result, I developed the dubious habit of intentionally cultivating a hatred of my opponents. Don't tell my current teammates, but in college I wanted to put their teeth through the back of their heads. There was no logical reason to dislike them, of course. This emotion was consciously manufactured, but it was real. I couldn't understand how our guys could befriend rowers at other schools, or how Craig could talk to rival coaches on the phone every day. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?? WE ARE TRAINING TO RIP THEIR F****** THROATS OUT, AND YOU'RE TALKING TO THEM ABOUT THEIR FAMILIES?!! Ah, the good old days. (There are still remnants of this. At a visceral level, seeing blue and gold still makes me want to kick puppies.)
Fast-forward a year to 2007, and these mortal enemies became my teammates. Clearly this gave me reason to question this worldview. It was slightly disorienting, to say the least. We're rowing with Huskies...we've got no jobs..our pets heads are falling off!? Apparently, the oarsmen at Washington don't cultivate a hatred of Stanford rowers. This could be because we never beat them, or it could be that these athletes are more emotionally stable than I am. Regardless, it immediately became apparent that my manufactured hatred would not work in this environment, for three reasons:
1) For ten months out of the year, our primary competition comes from the people with whom we train, eat, sleep, work, and party. Without these people, I would have no friends. The prospect of isolating myself from everyone who might help me enjoy life was unappealing.
2) Another four years of purposeful hating seemed far too exhausting. Training in college was difficult, but not because of the four hours a day we spent training. It was hard due to the 20 hours outside of training spent accumulating the weapons-grade fury required for this approach to the sport. For my plan to yield success in Princeton, I would have to hate more than a select group of rowers in the US. I would learn to hate the entire world, which hardly seems like a success. That sort of mindset probably isn't even worth an Olympic gold medal. Probably.
3) I still rowed like a wounded donkey, and anger would not solve this.
Long story short: Now I only hate my opponents for one week a year, which seems manageable. I don't really even hate them, but I do I hate what they stand for, which is me losing. I suspect they feel the same way. Now, instead of hating flags and people, my energy comes from a vicious aversion to losing, which is relatively benign. Hence after the racing, I will probably have beers with the Canadians and Brits and Germans without wanting to do them bodily harm. I hate to say it, but I probably have more in common with them than most Americans. And besides, in my book, any story that ends in beer is a good thing.
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