After over two years of not writing, here is the beginning of a series on “Lessons Learned” from racing again. This column simply introduces the series. Other entries will discuss training, how it went, how it felt, what worked, etc.
Before last fall, I had last raced 3-4 years prior to that. After essentially paddling up the course to “race” in a new single during that last race, I decided to let go of even the occasional racing I had been doing. I settled into a routine of erging, biking and other exercise - on my own, no set goal other than general fitness, no performance targets.
In the interim, while I had continued to row and ride the bicycle and get some other exercise on a regular basis, since there was no goal, there was little incentive to push hard and maintain a higher level of fitness. I had even asked my doctor during an annual physical whether I should take a stress test if I were going to train harder (as in, to prepare to race more seriously than in that last, very slow event). He knew I rowed regularly and did not understand the question. He did not seem to “get” the difference in bodily output between rowing moderately and training to compete. I let it go. And I continued not to race or train to race.
About a year ago, I was offered the gift of a guaranteed entry into the Head of the Charles Regatta for October 2022. I had to think hard about it. My fitness remained weak, to put it mildly, albeit above average compared to most people my age. I was on blood pressure medication for the first time. I was busy with work (and still am). I had run my single onto an oyster bed and scratched the hull while rowing in Florida and had not been getting out on the water as much as in the past. And I simply did not know how my body would respond to being pushed harder to regain fitness. In other words, I had become almost a complete convert to the very “moderate” exercise I had championed. Good exercise and I thought healthy exercise, but certainly not competitive exercise.
In the end, I decided to accept the offer. I began to train a bit harder indoors. I considered events in which I would row with others, as well as the possibility of using the guaranteed entry for my single. That led to some discussions with fellow alums I had raced in eights and fours with over the years. I got out on the water more regularly, both at home on the bay and by keeping my rack on the truck and carrying the single into town to row on the river/small inland lake.
I was helped and encouraged by the fact that a women’s quad in the same club (same board that offered the entry the club had won) was training to race. The four of them had worked out together both indoors and out for months. They were working with a team of coaches. They were meshing their backgrounds, whether in rowing or running or weightlifting, to build up all four of them. If I drove my single into town, they would usually be there training. On a couple of occasions, they even invited me to row in the quad with them when one or another had a conflict. All good encouragement and support. It made me realize that my loner lifestyle (self-employed, usually worked out alone, living in the woods with my wife) was not necessarily the best encouragement to train well.
Over the months, I tried a lot of ways to get more fit. I rowed harder and more regularly. I watched my diet and tried to lose weight. I thought about and worked on my wind and my strength. I pushed myself in my single (higher power, higher stroke rate) enough to confirm that my technique needed work to hold together on the power. And then, in October, I raced and took a minute off that dismal time from 3 years previously.
The following entries in this column will discuss some the efforts I made and some of the lessons learned, both during that training and racing, and since then upon my return to a more moderate level of effort.