What I'll Miss ….




6:11 pm

Sunday, February 15, 2009
Meters rowed: 5,477
Time: 25:00
Pace: 2:19
Total meters rowed * : 338,178

Appropriately, perhaps, I have had another Lolo Jones sighting. Do you remember Lolo? I have written of her before — twice, in fact. Lolo was the U.S. hurdler at the Beijing Olympics who won the gold medal in the nine-hurdle event, if only there had BEEN a nine-hurdle event. Alas, she hit that ninth hurdle hard, and — Just. Like. That. — the work of a lifetime went unrewarded. I see now where Lolo is back on the track, the indoor circuit. This past weekend she lost a race when she, yes, hit a hurdle and fell. Two days later at another meet, she won, in the best time of the year. Go, Lolo, go!

It is the journey, not the destination. This is what I think of when I think of Lolo.  I mean, once I get done just, uh, looking at Lolo. I think of Lolo, and of Arthur Ashe, too, as it is he, I believe, who is the author of that wonderful piece of advice. The journey is the destination. It can’t be about the reward, it must be about trying to get the reward. That has been my approach these past six months prepping for the C.R.A.S.H.-B.’s. And I am better for it.

For ten days, two weeks now, with the C.R.A.S.H.-B.’s nearly upon me, I have felt myself in a certain kind of mourning.  Not because the C.R.A.S.H.-B.’s promise their own particular agony. (Well, OK, yes, that is part of the reason.) No, really, it’s knowing that once the C.R.A.S.H.-B.’s aren’t out there waiting for me, these past six months will be over, done, finished. And I will miss them. I miss them already. I miss their, their … purposefulness. How they created a reason for me to get out to the garage, my boathouse, to sit down on the Concept2 and … pull. To pull sometimes as hard as I could, or for as long as I could. I wouldn’t have done that without the C.R.A.S.H.-B.’s.

Oh, yes, I would have got out there. I would have pulled, worked out, put in the time, hammered it out. Of course I would have. I have been for too many years to stop now. But the looming specter of the C.R.A.S.H.-B.’s made it all somehow different, important, necessary … somehow of greater consequence than it really was. I miss that feeling, those feelings, already.

* As of September 12, 2008