the slog.

I often forget the daily struggle of rowing. Looking back, it is easy to remember the joys of winning and racing well, and the frustration and despair that come with losing. What I don't remember are the mornings when my soreness makes walking a challenge, the dispair of being in a slow boat and not knowing how to fix it, the desperation and anger that come with a coach haranguing you you about a technical change when you can't see straight or understand his accent and you are already at your limit. I only remember the emotional punctuation. Last year, for a majority of the time, my rowing seemed to be going poorly; I was struggling in the single, and the coaches didn't seem to think I was a good prospect. I was making difficult decisions about where to train and who to live with. Yet despite the difficulties of last year, when I reflect on the year, I mostly remember how great it felt to get 2nd at trials, to make the 4-, and how disappointing it felt to race poorly at Worlds and Lucerne.

I am back in the slog. My pair isn't going as well as I would like, and troublingly, I can't think of any reasonable explanations or excuses. We are on a difficult three-practices-a-day schedule, and about all I can manage in between practices is to shovel food into my mouth and flop onto my bed for a quick nap. I feel frustrated much of the time.
I must constantly remind myself to cling to the positive, and wait for the emotional punctuation.