For the past four years of my life I dedicated every afternoon, and early morning to rowing. Going to a small, all girl middle and high school, everyone was always involved in some type of extracurricular. I tried them all: theater, dance, volleyball, golf, until I stumbled into the boathouse one afternoon the spring of my freshman year. Being 5'3 I wasn't the fastest, in fact I was possibly one of the slowest people to ever join, but there was something about being out on the water that I fell in love with. Luckily, rowing is one of those sports where you can be useful even if you are one of the most un-athletic people on the face of the planet. I found my place in the stern of the boat as a coxswain. I was in control of the boat's rudder and directed workouts and race calls to the crew.
The camaraderie we had as a team was like something out of a cheesy inspirational sports movie. We were inseparable at school, making giant tables every Friday before regattas, wearing our team jackets, despite it being against the dress code, and piling as many people into our cars as possible to make the short drive down to the river.
As my senior year finally approached I looked to continue into college rowing. At the beginning of the year; we went through dramatic coaching changes, a grueling morning practice schedule, and a competitive racing schedule we all grew even closer. The whole dynamic of rowing at my high school had changed, we had to improve as a team to prove that we were a strong group of girls no matter who was the one coaching us. We had a chance to compete at the Head of the Charles regatta in Boston, one of the largest races in the world, and had less than 3 weeks to prepare.
Every morning we were standing in the boat bays at 5:50, ready to workout. Those 8 girls and I spent countless hours with each other as the HOCR trip approached. It was there where we experienced major heartbreak, by not placing high enough to be invited back the next year.
Once we were back home we had to immediately begin prepping for Head of the Hooch, a large regatta hosted on our home course in downtown Chattanooga. The course was simple, downstream, only one sweeping turn that the boat naturally followed. I had gone down that 5000 meter course I don't know how many times. But this race was different, for the first time we would have to place within 10% of the winning boat's time, in order to be able to compete the next year.
We were by no means a slow crew but there are stark differences between a club team from a large city like Atlanta or Oklahoma City and a small high school team in Chattanooga. Our resources were nothing like our competitors, some of our boats were older than our freshman rowers. After Boston though, we knew we had to get the guaranteed entry. By the skin of our teeth we placed 25th and earned a spot for the next year.
The spring was different, shorter 2000 meter head to head sprint races are much more involved than 5ks. Plus we would be competing against our rival school in two races, the Carney Cup and the Midsouth Scholastic Championships. I found out a few weeks before these races that my season would end early at Midsouth to give the younger coxswains experience in bigger races since me and my best friend on the team would be graduating.
Midsouth was my last chance to ever race on the Tennessee river as a Bruiser and I don't think I've ever cried as hard as I did once we put the boat up and I hugged my stroke seat, another senior and one of my closest friends.
Things would never be the same as they had been. Earlier in the year both of the Division 1 programs I fell in love with told me I wouldn't be asked to sign a letter of intent, despite how much they liked me they had others from higher profile teams. I gave up on signing anywhere and decided to attend my dream school without a spot on the team and thought about walking on in the fall. But as my senior season ended, I realized I would miss my teammates and coaches more than I wanted to continue racing.
I babysat my coach's kids and texted them constantly, I drove the freshman varsity members to practice everyday, I went to breakfast before every race with my coxie best friend. Rowing defined who I was throughout high school, my teammates were everything to me. Once I realized all of that was gone I didn't miss the sport itself, I missed my team. Every time I would drive over the bridge and see the boathouse I miss those sunrises over the water, the spandex unis, and the year round chaco tan.
Now as a freshman in college I keep up with the team as much as I can, visiting when I'm home and offering them advice about college. I learned so much in my time on the water, about being a better person and competitor. I'll cherish all of the inside jokes, cox tosses, and paper plate awards much more than any medal or trophy I ever earned.
Deciding to quit was by no means easy, but I couldn't try and replace what I had, it was just easier to walk away. I wouldn't change my decision, I regret even caring so much over whether or not I would sign my senior year. As cheesy as it sounds the girls I was with matter more now than the sport itself ever will to me. So thank you to all of my former teammates and coaches for your impact on me and dedication to our team. I can't wait to see the amazing things y'all do.
