Here’s a question to ponder that has applied to my rowing status since lockdown began in March 2020: Is flat water still flat water if you’re not a rower anymore?

At the beginning of the lockdown, all kinds of team rowers were thrust into the same global club of the brokenhearted. Feeling cast adrift, I often took walks just to peer into the windows of our shuttered boathouse, just a short walk from my cottage. Like many of you, I dove into doing virtual circuits – both with my Vashon Island Rowing team and ZoomErgos for a global taste – partly to stay active, but mostly to break up the seemingly endless days alone without seeing fellow humans maskless. 

When rowing finally resumed in the Summer, opportunities were reduced to singles sculling, we are a very fortunate club in that way – consistently good water, lots of singles in the inventory, and a new, loose, regatta-free format that allowed for dropping in.  For the first few weeks, the single had a certain flashy novelty to it – I was staying upright, keeping up with fellow rowers. And I really tried, I swear I gave it a good old college try….to no avail.  My body said a resounding no thanks, aching for the asymmetry of sweep strokes and, despite rowing being embedded in practically every aspect of my life for the past 20 years, my heart just wasn’t in it anymore, either. 

With one pandemic, everything about how rowing worked shifted. And more profoundly, everything I loved about the sport had changed – Training, Goal Setting for Racing. I was facing a big “Now What?” At the heart of my changing relationship to rowing was and still is TEAM.

In early 2020, the Vashon team was still new to me with only a couple of seasons together and I admit I was already struggling to find my place. On my former team, I was seen as a “utility player” – able to help stroke a novice boat, able to anchor a faster boat, pretty much game for anything. As with most new teams, there were financial and spiritual dues to pay. By the time lockdown rolled around, I had resigned myself to a limited upcoming season where I planned to just quietly grind it out in the engine room of the nearest 8+. I honestly wasn’t even sure I wanted to continue rowing anymore, but I knew it would never leave me completely. And lockdown, as heartless as it was, actually helped to clarify a few things:

1. Rowing is awesome, but (SHOCKING!) can also be optional and/.or part-time. As of today, I’m declaring a 2022 commitment to Sweep 4Ever and am asking the universe for a great pair partner and a decent boat still actually rigged as a pair (elusive, I know).

2. What I love most about rowing, and what I felt was most lost in the pandemic, is its reliance on a beautiful and painful interdependence. Without it, I find myself yearning for a place that features an electric pride between active beings, the quest of a conjoined slog, and a sense of singular focus, clear and forward-facing. The search continues…

3. And finally, as much as seeing flat water generates a mixture of longing and nostalgia, there is a grief to render and recognize. I’m confident we’ll get through this and maybe someday, we won’t think twice about planning a team banquet or crossing the border to Canada for our favorite regatta. The day will come. 

In the meantime, I’m still looking for a place to dock. In 2, lengthen….1….2….lengthen.