I am back at the hotel, sipping Pedialite, and trying to pick up the pieces from this morning. I have been consoled by so many great friends, family members, and teammates, assuring me that getting sick last night was out of my control, but still, I can't stop crying.
There have been many times in my life, in my athletic career, when my heart was not in the right place, when my head was not screwed on right, and my actions were not consistent with my goals and beliefs. There have been plenty of times when I knew in my heart of hearts that I did not deserve to perform well because I had not prepared well enough. I had not trained with fire and purpose everyday. Maybe some days, random days, but not every single day. Not like this year.
This year I felt it in my gut every practice, every meal, every ski race, every time I talked to a friend, every time I read a book, wrote a letter, or talked to a girl. I felt that fire because I believe that everything matters. When it came to rowing, for the first time, I refused to get comfortable, I refused not to improve. I felt the brevity of youth and the fleeting moments of being capable; being ready, physically, mentally, spiritually. Matured enough but young enough to pursue one's dreams. It is one thing to realize that, but it is another to act on it.
I showed up to Princeton a few days ago with a secret. I was faster than I had ever been in the single, focused but loose, and fully understanding the great toughness that is required to race four times in three days and peak on the final day. I had prepared better than ever. I knew that this year I would need to raise the bar and I had done it. I wanted to be a length faster per 500 than 2013, and all indicators pointed to that being the case. My body was ready but more importantly my heart was more in it than ever.
I went out yesterday in the time trial and rowed a very controlled piece, 32 spm most of the way compared to my normal 35, and raised at the end to 34 for 10 or so. It was almost exactly the 90% 2k I did in Clemson, 7:04-5 pace at 90 percent. I had no attachment to winning the time trial, I just wanted to row clean and feel like I was breathing well. I finished the piece feeling a little guilty about how good I felt, paddled into the dock, and prepared for afternoon's heats. Almost no residual fatigue. Exactly why I did a ton of easy miles this year, so I could recover faster than anyone. When I saw that I had the fastest time, I had no idea what others had done, but I knew that there was a significant amount of speed I left in my pocket for a later day. I felt incredibly excited to advance into head to head racing and start laying down some great pieces.
Right before bed, I felt weird. My stomach was unsettled and I felt empty. I was not hungry though. I couldn't eat anything. I fell asleep and in 60 minutes I was on the toilet, forgive the graphic description, but water was pouring out of me. This happened every hour for 10 hours. At 6 am, I was trying to get ready to leave but felt dizzy and weak. I got dressed, got in the car, and drove to the course. We asked the HPC what my options were. They only way I would be able to race on Sat. was if I made it down the course in the semi. So, the plan was to go out see how it felt. Paddling felt ok, but when I took it to pressure I threw up in my mouth. That happened multiple times. I quietly locked on to the stake boat, and got ready to go. Somewhere in the back of my mind I was thinking that maybe this race would go really well against all odds. Off the start, I was ahead, after 20 strokes I was ahead, and then I threw up in my mouth again. I shifted to base and tried it out. I was still with the pack but it felt awful. I had nothing behind it. When I was in last place, I took the rate to 20 and paddled in. Heartbreaking. There so few moments that an elite athlete gets to put their preparation on display. Today I felt like I was deprived that chance by things out of my control. It just shows how much luck plays into all of this. I am crushed, yes. But only for now. NSR 2 is in three weeks. No time to sulk.
Thanks to all my friends who have been there for me today.
There have been many times in my life, in my athletic career, when my heart was not in the right place, when my head was not screwed on right, and my actions were not consistent with my goals and beliefs. There have been plenty of times when I knew in my heart of hearts that I did not deserve to perform well because I had not prepared well enough. I had not trained with fire and purpose everyday. Maybe some days, random days, but not every single day. Not like this year.
This year I felt it in my gut every practice, every meal, every ski race, every time I talked to a friend, every time I read a book, wrote a letter, or talked to a girl. I felt that fire because I believe that everything matters. When it came to rowing, for the first time, I refused to get comfortable, I refused not to improve. I felt the brevity of youth and the fleeting moments of being capable; being ready, physically, mentally, spiritually. Matured enough but young enough to pursue one's dreams. It is one thing to realize that, but it is another to act on it.
I showed up to Princeton a few days ago with a secret. I was faster than I had ever been in the single, focused but loose, and fully understanding the great toughness that is required to race four times in three days and peak on the final day. I had prepared better than ever. I knew that this year I would need to raise the bar and I had done it. I wanted to be a length faster per 500 than 2013, and all indicators pointed to that being the case. My body was ready but more importantly my heart was more in it than ever.
I went out yesterday in the time trial and rowed a very controlled piece, 32 spm most of the way compared to my normal 35, and raised at the end to 34 for 10 or so. It was almost exactly the 90% 2k I did in Clemson, 7:04-5 pace at 90 percent. I had no attachment to winning the time trial, I just wanted to row clean and feel like I was breathing well. I finished the piece feeling a little guilty about how good I felt, paddled into the dock, and prepared for afternoon's heats. Almost no residual fatigue. Exactly why I did a ton of easy miles this year, so I could recover faster than anyone. When I saw that I had the fastest time, I had no idea what others had done, but I knew that there was a significant amount of speed I left in my pocket for a later day. I felt incredibly excited to advance into head to head racing and start laying down some great pieces.
Right before bed, I felt weird. My stomach was unsettled and I felt empty. I was not hungry though. I couldn't eat anything. I fell asleep and in 60 minutes I was on the toilet, forgive the graphic description, but water was pouring out of me. This happened every hour for 10 hours. At 6 am, I was trying to get ready to leave but felt dizzy and weak. I got dressed, got in the car, and drove to the course. We asked the HPC what my options were. They only way I would be able to race on Sat. was if I made it down the course in the semi. So, the plan was to go out see how it felt. Paddling felt ok, but when I took it to pressure I threw up in my mouth. That happened multiple times. I quietly locked on to the stake boat, and got ready to go. Somewhere in the back of my mind I was thinking that maybe this race would go really well against all odds. Off the start, I was ahead, after 20 strokes I was ahead, and then I threw up in my mouth again. I shifted to base and tried it out. I was still with the pack but it felt awful. I had nothing behind it. When I was in last place, I took the rate to 20 and paddled in. Heartbreaking. There so few moments that an elite athlete gets to put their preparation on display. Today I felt like I was deprived that chance by things out of my control. It just shows how much luck plays into all of this. I am crushed, yes. But only for now. NSR 2 is in three weeks. No time to sulk.
Thanks to all my friends who have been there for me today.
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