I always thought you had to wake at the ass crack of dawn to be in crew. In college I considered joining the team, but foolishly heeded advice from some Tri Delt from Oklahoma that bulky shoulders were unseemly. But when I researched rowing classes this spring, I found a series in the evening for beginners and decided to give it a whirl. It’s everything I’d imagined, but harder and better.

You have to have some patience through the first few classes, while you learn technique (most gym rowers do it all wrong), safety (what to do if your oar gets caught the wrong way in the water, how not to die of hypothermia if you fall in), and proper handling of the equipment (shit’s expensive). But it’s all worth it once you’re out on the water. Rowing shells are light and fragile and fast—just thin carbon/plastic between your body and the depths. As you pick up speed, the silky, rippling blackness mesmerizes you, its glimmering fractals sliding under and around you. Your body learns the pattern as your oar feathers and dips, forming pretty, overlapping triangles of mini-wake.

My class is at the Mt. Baker Rowing & Sailing Center on a little jetty sticking out into Lake Washington, about halfway between I-90 and Seward Park. The sky is big here, bigger than most places in this city, where hills or buildings eclipse its expanse. And yesterday evening the clouds were fucken crazy (not as crazy as these [via Rachel Maddow], but definitely deserving of props here): a looming gray monster here, a perky clique of fluffs there, all connected via stuttering streaks across the baby blue stretch from Mercer Island to Beacon Hill.

It’s easy to get distracted by the sky or the swooping osprey (it circles and dives, its freakishly small head disappearing beneath the surface) or the shrieking wakeboarder (he swerves and flips, crashing with a glorious splash half the time), but don’t—like riding a bike, rowing takes intense concentration at first. Through fits and starts you find a rhythm, engaging your stomach and back and hamstrings and, of course, arms. And you must pay close attention to your crewmates—if you’re not in sync, it’s like riding a lurching county-fair roller coaster. I know taking a random class all by yourself with a buncha strangers can be weird. But working together pays off, and your differences matter little when you are zooming across the water with the strength of eight bodies (though I still can’t wait for solo sculling).
It’s nice to have the anchor of a scheduled class within the mayhem of possibility that is Seattle’s fleeting summer. Check it: Lake Union Crew, Lake Washington Rowing Club, Mt. Baker Rowing & Sailing Center, and Pockock Rowing Center.
Photo by charlie don't surf. from Flickr.