Annalog

The last few days have been slow—one assignment, if any. Today I drove to the Royal Cape Yacht Club with Jeffery to make a photograph about two new engines that had just been donated to a sea rescue organization. When we had finished, we lingered for a bit and looked at the waterfront, as the mid-afternoon sun hit the water that was covered with white and blue yachts. It reminded me so vividly of Southern California, Newport Beach specifically.

In that instant, I missed rowing. I could imagine stepping into a shell with my oar secured in the oar lock and shoving off the dock. Warming up by pairs, adding in the feather after the first few weeks of practice, the last few weeks on the water when the arm finally turns warm.

I miss having the luxury of time to row. The routine helped keep me level-headed in the most hectic times. Now, it’s only a distant memory. My body has gotten totally out of the habit of jumping on it. Pressing hard with my legs. And driving the water away. And though I know it’s possible to get back in the habit, I feel a certain sadness that I can’t just sit down and do it now.

Everything I learned in rowing was applicable to another part of my life. The drive to always cross the finish line knowing I had left everything I had in me on the water. The visceral realization that you are only as strong as your weakest teammate.

One day I’ll be back on the water in that capacity. Stepping into the boat again, dreading the searing pain during a piece and getting prepared to battle through it. As for right now, I can only stand on the dock, outside a yacht club, and watch the hundreds of masts bob up and down on the glistening water.