When I signed up for the military rowing program at CRI this last spring, me, and really all of the Veterans there were talking about the Head of the Charles. What we weren't talking about was stroke rate, extension, muscle memory, the basics. We were focusing on our end goal even as John was insisting that we watch videos of actual successful rowers. I feel like that is a big part of our strength and probably even a bigger part of my weakness. No fear.

Thankfully, Chris, Pam, Isaac, and KariAnne were kind enough to spend a couple of days with me to at least get me familiar with the oars and boat. Tom and Barbara were very supportive giving me a much smaller life

vest, a seat pad, and even a laminated map of the course. It's almost comical how helpful that map was. Still, given the number of blank stares I received when I told people I had been sculling for two weeks before the race kicked off; I have to admit I was beginning to recognize that there could have been some folly in my decision. The group I was rowing with included many lifetime rowers, college rowers, Olympic rowers, and even a guy that did a transatlantic crossing.

If there was an award for the worst rower, I really think I had the gold. I was only slightly faster than the insane guy rowing on his stomach on surfboard.

Each stroke forward was matched by maybe a half stroke backwards. I recall at the halfway point thinking, wow, I am probably going to row 30 miles in this 20-mile race when this is all said and done. It was sardonic

moment and I have to admit that I laughed about it for maybe a mile.

I did keep trying to focus on what everyone had said. I had a ton of wonderful instruction. Chris said don't grip the handles too tight. Check, got it, but actually fail. Pam said keep a nice and relaxed motion; don't row faster than the boat. Check, fail. Isaac said make sure you square the oars and push only when you feel the pressure. Check, fail. KariAnne said get a full extension; don't just pull with your arms. Check, fail. For the better part of the first twelve miles I forgot all of it. Somewhere past the lighthouse checkpoint at the halfway mark it dawned on me that I really should actually apply some of their advice. Maybe it was because I was pacing the paddleboards or because it dawned on me that this might be harder than I thought. I began taking long well placed strokes while gently holding the blades. I counted one, two, three, push for a couple of miles and a funny thing happened. I actually started catching up with and even passing many of the other racers. Unfortunately, it was too little too late. My hands

were already ruined from over gripping. Each stroke hurt like hell. When I stopped and counted later on I had 19 blisters, or almost two on every finger and a bunch on my palms. Now my stroke really was shot, I was having such a hard time squaring the blade. The last two miles were especially bad because there were so many powerboats going by causing quite a wake, which would further throw me off. I think I finished somewhere around 5 hours. If someone said when I landed that everyone packed up and went home, I wouldn't have been too shocked.

As I got close though, I could hear my girl calling my name and her friends cheering me on. I kept thinking to myself, what are they cheering for? I am dead last. I realized later they were cheering for bravado of the effort. Even if I didn't understand it at the time, they were cheering an accomplishment even if I felt somewhat a failure.

Before the race started, Gary turned to me and said, so how are you feeling. He was genuinely concerned. I said never better, and that I am already looking forward to next year. This got a well-deserved laugh from the group. Gary was one of the first people to great me on the beach. He could see that I was having trouble getting in. He asked me again how I felt. I am more grounded now, but I still am looking forward to doing it again next year.