Throughout my entire life, I’ve struggled with feeling misunderstood. I always felt too weird for the normal kids and too normal for the weird ones. I was too athletic for the theater kids and too theatrical for the athletes. I never fit into a box, and I lived most of my life feeling completely shapeless, aimlessly floating through multiple identities.
I entered my senior year of high school swaddled in self-doubt and anxiety. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my career or my life and my mind was a battlefield where war was waged constantly. I was hypercritical of myself, hyper-focused on the way I was perceived, and a chronic overthinker. I didn’t feel like a real person, let alone an athlete. But in a matter of two or three weeks, my entire life changed.
My high school bedroom. I spent a lot of time here.
I was persuaded by a friend to try rowing- coxing, specifically. I knew nothing about the sport or even what a coxswain was, but I decided that I would give it a shot. I soon learned that the coxswain’s job was precise and critical:
steer a straight and efficient course, keep the rhythm of the boat, synchronise the blades moving through the water concurrently, and motivate the athletes to perform at their best. As for the rowers, their job was to give their all for 2,000 or 4,500 meters. I absorbed the hurdles of a 2,000 meter race, or a “2K.” The 2,000 meter race is broken into four intense segments…The first 500 meters run on pure adrenaline. Blades cut through the water quickly and powerfully, building momentum and speed for the race. Reality hits in the second 500 when it is time to shift into base pace.
The adrenaline powered sprint has concluded. Muscles burn, pain surfaces, and it is here where grit is essential. In the third 500, your mind starts to work against you. You start to want to put down the handle of the erg, or the oar, but quitting is not an option. The third 500 is where mental resolve comes into play. Working your body through the ache and fatigue will determine the success of the boat.
I brought my coxing notebook everywhere. I studied terminology and tonality and race plan strategies. In my free time, I watched race film, and as my skill set grew, I began to develop an intense bond with the sport as well as the teammates around me. When I finally stepped into the coxswain seat, I started to grasp the meaning of the sport and my role in it in an even bigger way.
I understood that it truly wasn’t about me anymore. I felt a duty to something greater, a greater purpose, something bigger than myself. And moved by the trust my athletes had in me. I found a new level of focused, fierce concentration within me to engage with at practice on race day. It paid off. Our boat began to move as one, building speed together. I felt a duty to something greater, a greater purpose, something bigger than myself. The connection we had built was powerful. The responsibility I assumed when I started coxing enabled me to find an emotion within myself, stronger than my anxiety ever could be. A beautiful mixture of love, gratitude, and determination. Coxing has transformed me. It has become my outlet, allowing me to step out of my ego and into a calm, powerful clarity. I no longer feel aimless. In the boat, I’m firmly anchored, connected to the water, the hull, and the athletes before me, and I know that I am one of them. Together we’re a network of people committed to working hard and going fast, and even more committed to each other.
Ultimately, I’ve learned that my reason for showing up each day is rooted in the team around me. I show up for the people who need me,and for the people whom I equally need. I keep going because of them. Spring racing, those punishing 2,000 meters, represent some of the most grueling physical and mental challenges the human body can endure, but facing it together. As a cohesive unit, bound by trust and driven by purpose, makes every stroke, every ache, and every triumph worth it. In the boat, there are eight blades moving together and one voice. That pressure and that responsibility is what makes me understand that I have a duty not just to the rowers in my boat, but to something greater.
The view from our dock at Smith’s boathouse.
The trailer at the Oxbow, a marina where we practice when the Connecticut’s current makes our primary location unrowable.
Sunrise row. Waking up for morning practices was worth it when the water was this still and the views were this stunning (often!)
My first-ever medal!
Race day braids.
Spring 2025 mediaday. I smize at the camera atop my teammate, Nusche,’s shoulders.
Spring 2025 Coxswains, sans Bess. From left to right, Virginia, me, Ellie, Maddy, Grant.
There’s a new force that we become when we move as one, and to me, that is what it means to row for the team.
