With ice forming on the rivers and lakes (apologies for the northern hemisphere centrism), long dark months off the water can force certain entirely-explainable, yet disconcerting (to the civilian), adaptations and behaviors to get us through to spring. If the following treatment log reminds you of you -- or of anyone you know -- just remember: crew is a very mental sport. In various meanings of the word.
Day 10 -- Subject showing improvement. Slept past 5:30 am for second consecutive morning. Still bothered by vision of wakeless launch floating above bed.
Day 12 -- Slight feathering of cereal spoon noticeable, but complaints about the set less vehement than previous week.
Day 15 -- Subject attended client meeting with spare socks and water bottle tucked into waistband, and a suit pocket full of oarlock spacers. Boss unamused but understanding. Has happened before.
Day 17 -- Subject bungied car seats again.
Day 18 -- Dangerous glint in the eye. Up to something; can't tell what.
Day 19 -- Long rambling conversation with entirely imaginary aquatic creature described as having eyes like burning coals and identified only as "the coxswain." Instructions to build crewshell sixty cubits by three cubits out of gopher wood. Project well under way in neighbor's garage before medical staff could intervene. Recommend restriction from all power tools for duration of treatment. Sign at end of driveway "Henley, 3215 miles."
Day 20 -- "Comfort foods" (Power Bars) showing some effect. Nonetheless, subject still insists on sleeping with hammer under pillow. Emphatic about this. "Not just any hammer; a starboard hammer."
Day 21 -- Boathouse Row statue of Leif Ericsson spoke to subject in a dream, assessing 10-second buoy violations "for absolutely no reason at all."
Day 22 -- Subject broke off in the middle of our session, asserting bright lights from the CoxBox circling the house and peering into our brains are part of international conspiracy and that "They'll never make me tell where the spare rigger washers are!"
Day 26 -- Subject finally getting in touch with "inner Redgrave." The "erk monster" with its sound of roaring wind receding.
Day 30 -- Relapse. Subject attempted to abscond with wooden crewshell from TGI Friday's salad bar. Altercation with wait staff about the missing oars. Note to self: Must alert the night manager at J. Crew to be particularly watchful.