It's safe to say my chances of becoming a hand model are slim. Ripped nails, torn up palms, blistered fingertips. Comparable with construction worker hands, mine are tough and calloused. The words dainty, gentle and elegant, would be inappropriate to use whilst describing my extremities. In fact, the words dainty, gentle and elegant would be inappropriate to use whilst describing me at all, because I am a rower. And I have survived the Spring Training Trip of 2016.

Our itinerary?

6:00 AM: Wake up

6:45 AM: Row

11:30 AM: Eat

12:00 PM: Sleep

2:45 PM: Row

6:30 PM: Eat

8:00 PM: Sleep

Repeat.

This past week has been one of the most physically and mentally challenging weeks I have experienced as a rower to date. The early mornings, long hours on the water, the dehydration, the blisters. Sometimes I question why I have committed myself to this sport at all. There is well known quote within the rowing community that describes the sheer physical pain a rower undergoes:

"Marathon runners talk about hitting 'the wall' at the twenty-third mile of the race. What rowers confront isn't a wall; it's a hole - an abyss of pain, which opens up in the second minute of the race. Large needles are being driven into your thigh muscles, while your forearms seem to be splitting. Then the pain becomes confused and disorganized, not like the windedness of the runner or the leg burn of the biker but an all-over, savage unpleasantness. As you pass the five-hundred-meter mark, with three-quarters of the race still to row, you realize with dread that you are not going to make it to the finish, but at the same time the idea of letting your teammates down by not rowing your hardest is unthinkable...Therefore, you are going to die. Welcome to this life." -Ashleigh Teitel

I think the closest to death I have ever been has been while rowing: the boat is unbalanced and rain pours down my face and my coach is screeching. My vision goes black and my head is foggy and my legs are screaming and my ears are ringing. There is no doubt in my mind that I'm going to drop dead if I take another stroke.

But that's just it. I haven't dropped dead and my legs haven't broken and my heart hasn't stopped. The boat becomes balanced and the rain stops and we're moving and we're flying. There is no better feeling than cutting through the crystal water and hearing the sweet harmony of eight oars gliding together, the trickle of water alongside the boat. There is no better view than watching the sky catch fire with color as the sun rises and dips over the horizon, true serenity in the air.

It's true, I have hit my Hole. I have fallen victim to the confused and disorganized savage pain, I have battled down the race course with Death. All rowers have. But we have conquered the hole and every day we come back thirsty for more. Because the most alive we have ever been has been while rowing.