Life on a taper seems dull. With racing starting on Monday, coaches are careful not to prescribe overly taxing workouts. Throughout the year, we row up to 50k per day. Now we are averaging less than half that, and I, for one, am getting restless. Other than my "week off" in Lucerne, this is already the least work I've done since last September, and we still have days to go until racing. I am slowly going crazy.
Yesterday's afternoon off was NOT a trap, for once, and subconsciously that makes me nervous. I am also consciously nervous of course, because with so much time off I have the energy and the hours to think about the implications of next week. Watching the track and field on TV doesn't help, since the women at the starting line of the 400m hurdles look as though they are about to cry before the starting gun fires. I am confident I won't cry when we pull into the starting blocks, but I am certain I will want to be elsewhere.
This is all familiar of course. Before seat races, erg tests, selection regattas, the Boat Race, the Cal duel... it's always the same. It varies in degree, of course. Erg tests, for instance, usually aren't a big deal. They hurt like hell, but that's the only thing you have to worry about. They are good for you, like vaccinations. They protect your body against evil invaders (weakness, cowardice, boredom), and they're over before you know it. They are all the same; the erg never changes, but you always get better. If you're doing your job, that is. The problem with racing other people is they have done been doing their job too, and that is cause for concern.
For the past year, all we have done is prepare for this race. And for the next 14 months, I'll either have an achievement from which to draw encouragement, or a failure to inspire regret, anger, and self-directed fury. Both will make me faster, but the former is far less painful. I am sick of managing the emotions of loss, trying to twist them into something productive. Even without the pain of losing, the effort of getting over a loss is so much work it's worth winning the first time around. Managing failures is a part of the sport, and it sucks. I would rather not get any better at it.
Managing the preparation effectively is also part of the sport. Kreek used to say that nerves are like "a little nuclear reactor" in your core. He is right. Fact: It is uncomfortable to have nuclear fission occurring in your stomach, especially if it lasts for days. The by-product makes you no friends on the elevator. In addition to effecting my digestion, pre-race nerves make me lose my appetite. It's a good thing the food here is so delicious, or I wouldn't eat enough.
Being nervous also hampers my sleep. When I do get to sleep, I have weird dreams. Last night, I had a dream that Holbrook was moved to 7 seat, and that Tyler had put bees in our air conditioner and they came shooting out like bullets trying to sting me when I turned it on. Why would he do that to me?! I wake up panicky, but he is calm/asleep, so clearly the bees have been exterminated. But why would Tim be switching the line-up around the week before racing? This is of greater concern to me, and I am confused until I get up, urinate, and realize that it was a false alarm as well.
Before races, there is a sequence of thoughts that occurs in my head several times an hour. It is initiated by distraction. Conversations, books, TV, etc. will draw my attention away from the task ahead, and it takes awhile before I remember: "Oh shit. It's coming." I feel it in my intestines and in the muscles in my wrists and neck. "It's almost here."
(Sorry for swearing, Mom, but this situation calls for profanity. Remember when I was nine and didn't come home from school because I was playing at the creek? That is the first time I remember you cursing, and it was because you were terrified. I have no children yet, so this is as scared as I get. At least once I realize the bees are not real.)
Let's take a step back. What is there to be afraid of? Rowing is what I do best, so logic dictates that I should be more comfortable rowing than doing anything else. I am not very good at a lot of things: jumping rope, making smalltalk, playing video games, fixing the Grumbler, using Powerpoint, on and on and on. I trip walking up the stairs far more often than I should. I really ought to be nervous before doing anything except rowing. I do get sort of nervous flipping my eggs in the morning, because I don't like it when I break the yolk. Other than that, my life is fairly nerves-free.
My problem--and it's a big one--is that for some reason I have decided that rowing matters. Ironically the very reason it matters is that it is what I do best. And if I fail at the one thing I do better than anything else, what does that say about how well I can manage the rest of my life? What does that say about who I am? If I fail in this race, I will be tasting the broken yolk of defeat for a long time. Without being melodramatic, I will be tasting it until I die. We are only at the plate for one at-bat, and life only gives us a certain number of pitches. This is my only chance to be a 24-year-old world champion. I could get hit by a bus on Nassau street this September and never get the opportunity to race again. This could be it. This IS it, buses or no. Life is short and very fragile. Hence, my moment of panic. And my profanity.
However after this "Oh shit" moment, the next thought is always "But I'll be fine. I'm prepared and I'm strong and I'm tough and I'll be fine." The reason I know I'll be fine is that as soon as the race starts, it all disappears. Everything disappears. I know because I've done this a lot, and it is always the same. The women's 400m hurdles is the same too, or at least it looks that way. BANG, they're gone, they're on autopilot, and they're doing what they do best. They are not nervous, because they are finally in it. Habit takes over. They know where their feet need to be and where their heads need to be. They are finally being weighed against each other and against a higher standard, which is what they have wanted all along.
And so it will be next week. The one thing that is comforting as I eat little, sleep less, and fart a lot is that this will all culminate in a race. A race is a chance to win, and winning is fun. So following "Oh shit" and "I'll be fine" is...
"I want it now."
I am sick of training, sick of wondering, and sick of waiting. I don't want to be doing steady state in Princeton, and I don't want to be on the starting blocks. I want the light to be green, I want the roar of six boats across, I want to be purging my demons in a fire of lactic acid, and I don't want to wait another six days for it. I am ready to show my cards.
Clearly this taper has given me too much time to think, which can be dangerous, though writing this down will help me keep things in balance. One way or another, the hourglass is slowly running out. Monday will come when it comes. All that remains for me to do is understand my situation, acknowledge that this is where I want to be, and play Unblock Me on my iPhone until the day of reckoning is upon us. It cannot come soon enough.
Jake
http://www.rowjakerow.blogspot.com/
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