Rowing Against the Current On Learning to Scull at Forty

Introduction To improve the oarsman you must improve the man. -- Steve Fairbairn on Rowing Around the time I turned forty the unfinished novel manuscript went back in the drawer. I dropped the Buddhist mantra I had been worrying over like a string of beads. What I really wanted besides career and marriage and kids and comfort was, I decided, to learn how to row boats and how to race them: four- and eight-man boats first, then two-man boats, then, finally and preeminently, a single scull. If what followed is a story worth telling, it is a tale not of a champion but of an amateur, whose heart was stirred by boats and whose imagination was lifted by history. The oars gave me power but they also taught me humility.I began to row on a whim a few years ago. A poster in a storefront caught my fancy; it announced a summer learn-to-row course at a local boat club. I had read a lot about the history of oared ships, and I had heard a little about the sport of rowing. Graduate school friends had spoken with reverence of their undergraduate rowing experience. For years, my favorite sport had been running, but lately a string of injuries had cast doubt on my future on the road. So I decided to give the rowing course a try.It was not a case of love at first sight. The technical complexities of the stroke confused me. If my conditioning was up to par, my innate sense of grace and my ability to concentrate left a great deal to be desired. Rowing was a tough sport and I was not a natural. After a few lessons, rowing might have gone the way of other such midlife diversions as fly-fishing, wine-tasting, yoga, and the saxophone, one-week wonders all. Yet it has lasted. Why?Certainly not because I became a star. I am a competent rower, but my enthusiasm far outstrips my talent. I kept on rowing, rather, because I love being on the water and because the oars spoke. Listen: they spun poetry out of equations drawn from fluid mechanics. They summoned the ghosts of other rowers, from nineteenth-century collegians to Nile boatmen. Mostly, though, they asked questions, tough questions about who I am and what I am made of. Could I learn to row? Could I row a race? Could I win one? And if I couldn't win, would all the miles on the water logged in, pursuing a mirage, have brought me somewhere worth going nonetheless? After twenty years in a profession, it was sweet to hear a beginner's questions again, sweet enough to inspire the search for answers which the following pages record. Or perhaps they merely lead to other questions.I hope this book inspires others to row. Perhaps there is a nugget or two here of practical wisdom for experienced rowers seeking to improve their form. I am not an expert on rowing technique, however, and this is not a how-to book. Several fine handbooks do exist, and they are included in the list of Suggested Readings at the end of this book. As a professional historian, I speak with more authority on oared ships of the past. Rowing has attracted over the years writers, intellectuals, and artists. A small sample of their work will be found herein, in both the text and Suggested Readings: enough to whet the appetite, if not to do them justice, and more than enough to demonstrate my good fortune in having such high standards to emulate.A word about rowing technique. The descriptions of proper form in this book are based on my own experience, on the advice of coaches, and on my reading in the literature. Not all rowing authorities agree, however. Many points remain debated or idiosyncratic. The style may make the man, but men and women make the styles.I have tried to keep technical terms to a minimum, but the reader will have to master a few.Rowingrefers to a sport whose practitioners race in light, narrow boats propelled by oars. The practitioners are known asrowers, oarsmen,oroarswomen;the boats are known assStrauss, Barry S. is the author of 'Rowing Against the Current On Learning to Scull at Forty', published 2001 under ISBN 9780684863306 and ISBN 0684863308.