Our bodies — slumped. Our legs — burnt. Our breaths — heaving.
I thrust my feet, socks and all, off the sides of the boat and into the water.
It was 102 degrees out, and my shirt and shorts were already soaked with sweat. Who cared if I had to drive home with wet socks?
I could feel the heat leaving my body, but my legs and back were still smoldering with lactic acid.
My chest was still heaving. Sweat was still dripping off my nose.
I closed my eyes. Still trying to catch my breath.
The lactic acid just wouldn’t leave me alone.
It burned the last bit of our row into my mind.
This is where you meet God! Evan McGowan had shouted from the launch.
Any rational person would’ve stopped a minute into our piece.
But we kept pushing. Straight through the pain.
Not just for ourselves. But for each other.
As we caught our breaths, Evan’s voice came once again from the megaphone.
I didn’t really hear it.
Something about needing better togetherness. Good swing. Dog mentality.
I heard one word though.
Believe.
I stepped out of the hotel shower. Skin red because I’d turned the heat all the way up.
Man, I was still cold.
Opening the door out of the steamy bathroom was like stepping into a freezer.
Why did this have to happen?
I had chills. My throat was sore. I could barely eat.
And there I was. Sarasota, Florida. The day before Nats.
The practice row already fried me.
How was I going to race?
The light steady state jacked my heart rate up. My mind didn’t work straight at all. No amount of Ricola could save me.
But Ian, our stroke seat, pulled me aside after.
I’ve got a good feeling about this race, he said.
He believed. Eli and Hewes believed.
Where was my belief?
I woke up the next morning, feeling a bit better. I’d stayed the night with my parents.
That tylenol helped. And orange juice.
I popped a few Ricolas and stepped into the shower.
Hey, no chills today.
As the water hit my face, I thought of my shower last night.
Who would be crazy enough to race with a fever? Who would be crazy enough to even think about it?
Only me.
That fired me up.
I was the first at the race course.
As the rest of the quad and coaches walked up to our trailer, I smiled.
How’re you feeling? They asked.
I gave a double thumbs up.
The thumbs up wasn’t enough to tell my quad how dialed I was, though.
I added my pinky and made a double surfer sign.
I was so ready to give everything I had for them.
I was so dialed.
I believed.
Belief.
That’s what I love about rowing.
The foundation of rowing culture is that we know each of us is putting out and giving everything we’ve got for the boat.
It doesn’t matter if it’s Nats or just balance drills. The best rowers put out.
I’m far from being a perfect rower. But those days I know I put everything into the chain on the erg or into the water — that builds confidence.
Because I know I’m not just doing it for me.
Because it’s for each other.
In a world with so much isolation and insecurity — it’s hard to find self-confidence without a team.
Last year, the Surgeon General released an advisory to call attention to the public health crisis of loneliness and lack of connection in our country.
The mortality impact of being socially disconnected is similar to that caused by smoking up to 15 cigarettes a day.
In the 44 years from 1972 to 2016, Americans lost trust in each other — going from 45% to 30%.
Surveys found that about half of U.S. adults report experiencing loneliness — with some of the highest rates among young adults.
But we don’t have to live like that.
Find your team. Your tribe.
Become closer with your family. With your friends.
Find a group of people you’d race sick for.
Because that’s how you find belief.
