Butterfly: Now.

Two races, nine days, and as many more practices after landing in Prague, I've got to say: my legs are feelin' it. Regardless of all the weeks spent training on Mercer Lake, and the many months before that leading up to the Selection process, the physical demands of Worlds are truly unlike any other at the junior level. The racing is only part of the trouble; the combination of thousands of miles of travel, unfamiliar foreign diets, and high levels of stress simply breaks the body down. Most years, athletes have been known to lose more than just a pound or two over the course of their stays abroad. Given that I'll eat virtually any kind of food that's put on my plate, and that I'm morally opposed to not eating all of the food at my table (including other people's), I can't say that weight loss has rung true for me, thankfully. The food at the venue has continued to be terrific (especially for absurd amount they must produce every day), and though I leave full every day, I have nonetheless felt empty inside after a number of meals because my very soul has been defeated by the sheer quantity of nourishment. The hot food was certainly a friend today, though; without it, I may quite possibly have frozen to death.

As one may have deduced from my small hint at the end of that paragraph, today was more than a bit chilly. In between the morning and afternoon race sessions today, we took out the eight for two laps of the course, fine-tuning our plan in preparation for tomorrow's race. I was under the impression that it was against international law for it to be cold during the summer; apparently I was erroneous in that regard. While the temperatures weren't too too cold (around 60 Fahrenheit), the torrential rain was not whatsoever enjoyable, particularly after we stopped rowing. In typical New Englander fashion, I refused to wear my splash jacket and instead opted for a uni and longsleeve only; even after we got off the water, I remained in those clothes, which was probably not such a good idea, in retrospect. Regardless, I lived to write the blog; that's all that matters.

I am now led into the final part of said blog, into what will most probably be one of the last posts I make. I thus feel obliged to offer some sort of lesson, to convey some higher knowledge that I have acquired during my time with the Junior team. I feel obliged to put forth what I have learned from coaches and experiences, in a concentrated puff of my idea of how a junior crew can become "special." The truth is, rowing is a very simple sport. If you win your seat races, you will earn your spot in the boat; if you put your bowball in front, you will earn your spot on the medal stands. Go faster than everyone else, and you win. Simple. Earn what is yours, and you will have it. But what of that enigma presented by our sport, that it relies on absolute teamwork for victory? That, my friends, is more difficult to resolve. In spite of one's greatest attempts to earn one's goals, the synergy of rowing may seem to flutter away, exactly when it is needed most. The phenomenon is exactly like.. a Butterfly. The butterfly is that inexplicable flow, that "Eywa" of sorts that yields incredible boatspeed. The butterfly is ephemeral for most. For novice crews, the butterfly can be seen from afar and is attractive, but proves too difficult to coax in. For JV crews and the majority of junior crews, the butterfly continues to operate on its own will, though the crew's utmost efforts may attract it now and then. For the best crews, the butterfly is commanded. "Butterfly: Now." Come where you belong. This brings boatspeed; this brings victory. If you want to race at the highest levels of the sport, this is what you must attain. We will need the butterfly dearly in our race tomorrow. If we lack complete command, we will fail; but if we do something truly poised, truly mature, we will demand the butterfly's presence, and it will carry us to victory. That is precisely what we need to win, to be "special".
Butterfly: Now.