After re-reading this entry I realize that I sound horribly self-centered and a little silly. Racing makes you feel and do (and apparently write) some funny things.

“You never forget your wins and your losses in this sport. YOU NEVER FORGET”

-Brad Lewis, Assault on Lake Casistas

Fear or Faith. At the start line everyone will be the same. Same weight, same erg score, same boat (all Empachers, except for one Filippi), same age. The only thing setting us apart is our confidence. Do we, as the US LM8, have more faith in ourselves and in each other, than any other boat out there? Do we need it more? Can we summon the courage to place it all on the line?

I distinctly remember a practice with the 8 split into two 4-‘s. We were piecing the U23 LM4-. 4x2500 meters at a 35. Our coach tried to make two even lineups and then switch them to make “A” and “B” fours. He couldn’t do it. Everytime we made a switch, the boats would stay even. Bowball to bowball down the Charles River we would trade seats, finishing 300 meters ahead of the U23 4- each time. We had already selected the 8 and yet we still wouldn’t back down. That was honestly the most pain I’ve ever felt on the water. We rowed back to the dock and I couldn’t stop smiling. Tomorrow we’ll have to do the same, except this time we’ll do it to the Danes.

Our race day is here. Finally. A week of pieces every other day makes me wonder when we’re tapering. I’ve been told it’s because tomorrow is “only” a seeding race that we’ll start lowering the workload after Tuesday.

You can tell racing has begun at Worlds 2006. The bus rides over to the course in the morning are deathly quiet. Every row on the bus as at least one person with Ipod buds in his/her ear; turning to music for inspiration before the task ahead of them. The Italians have become less boisterous at dinner. Being around this intensity when you yourself aren’t racing is exciting and tiring at the same time, a bit like drinking a pot of coffee after staying awake all night.

Now that my time has arrived however, it’s infectious. It envelops me and I can immediately recall all the things that motivate me in the final 500 meters of pain. I think of rowing outside in Richmond, walking two blocks each morning to dock that is always a little too high. I think of all the early mornings and the 20k ergs and the evenings after practice going to gym to cut more weight. I think of my high school coach and how much I admired him yet how little he thought of me as a rower. I get angry over perceived and real slights. I get sentimental and make myself believe there is nothing else that matters. There is only this.

 Five days remain in my season, yet I won’t allow myself to think about anything but my next stroke. Think about the moment and worry not about the outcome.

We check weights and I’m a kilo over target (70.2 kg) before I go to bed. I’ll easily wake up at my weight. We’ll paddle for 1000 meters before weighing in and find our rhythm once more.

Weigh-in, eat some honey and GU, and stretch in a circle. I’ll look into the eyes of my crewmates and know they want this as much as I do.

The weather is cold here and I’ll have to wear a jacket in the boat warming up. I’ll look at the 7 red, white, and blue blades squared up in front of me. I’ll see the USA on the side of my 2 seats uni.

We’ll do 120 full pressure strokes total to warm-up and line up in lane 1. Pretty much every race I’ve been a part of since Dad Vails last year has been the biggest race of my life. Tomorrow will be more of the same.

Going out for paddles and pieces on the course this past week, avoiding getting into battle paddles with other boats, spinning quickly at either end to prevent any traffic jams, finding the way our boat rows: it’s been almost indescribable.. I’ll look at video and be unable to recognize myself. Every stroke I take is better than my last.

I’ll need 220 pretty good ones tomorrow morning.