There was over a year, and another annual CRASH-B’s competition, that went by since my first experience with adaptive rowing in Boston. I missed all the facets that made up the training and competition aspects. My athletic ego, identity was re-emerging again. I’ve learned that this identity does not recognize age. And, at times, ignores existing, as well as potential injuries while throwing caution to the wind. My mind was willing, but my body had to catch up. Or at least adapt and come up with a plan to scratch my athletic itch. My left leg was having more knee problems, more surgeries. I was also developing lymphedema, a gathering of fluid in the leg. This made it difficult to bend my leg with any type of flexibility. The first time I competed at the CRASH-B’s, I competed in the category of using both arms, upper torso, and one leg. The rowing machine (ERG) had a sliding seat which helped the rower perform. With missing my right leg, and having a non-functional left leg, I chose to enter the adaptive, rowing category where the rower just uses arms and torso. Here, the ERG has a ‘fixed’ seat where the rower’s legs, stumps are strapped down, rendering them useless during the competition. This was the category that I would compete in. I had a plan and sent my entrance fee to Boston.
My weights and ERG were set up in the log cabin’s garage located under the house. There were no windows, just the illumination of some poorly functioning, overhead, fluorescent lights. I had a television set up with cable and a DVD player, so I had something to watch while I rowed. It was always damp. Some days it was humid and other days it was just plain cold in my workout area, but damp none the less. Because I was competing in a different adaptive rowing category, I had to swap out my sliding chair on the ERG with a ‘fixed’ seat. The back of the ‘fixed’ seat can be set, inclined at different angles to provide the rower with better extension while training or competing. I trained every day, lifting weights and rowing for months. I lifted and rowed watching videos and listening to music. Mentally and physically, I felt ready, strong. Let’s get it on.
Every year, the CRASH-B’s were held at the Boston University’s Agganis Arena, toward the end of February. Boston plus February equals bad weather, usually snow. The weather only could have an affect on the travel to and from the competition. Everything else was indoors. My first time competing was during a cold weekend, a little remaining snow on the ground from previous winter storms, calm for the New England Winter months. This second time was dramatically different. Winter storms with heavy snow were hitting the Boston area the week of the competition. I had fears that Melissa and I wouldn’t even be able to fly in from Raleigh, NC. Having our flight cancelled due to bad weather. Sneaking through the weather’s ‘window of opportunity’ we arrived and checked into a different hotel from the last. This hotel had many competitors and competition personnel staying there. This was also the hotel where the competitors went to, the day before the races, to be assigned and fitted for the ERG that they would be competing with the next day. Staying here made me feel more connected to the weekend competition. We arrived and checked in on Friday. The assignment and fitting of the ERG was on Saturday. And the competition was on Sunday.
Saturday, the assignment and fitting of my ERG, may have been one of the most significant milestones in my life. More so, at least for that weekend, than the following day’s competition. One of the heads of Concept 2, the manufacturer of the ERG met with me, at my scheduled appointed time, to fit me on the ERG that I would be competing on the next day. I met Mark during my first time competing and had become friends with him since then. It was good to see a familiar, friendly face in a sea of competitors. This time around I was competing in a ‘fixed’ seat. The fitting, or ERG adjustments dealt specifically with the angle, incline of the back of the seat. This was for extension during the row, pull. I had explained to Mark the setting of the seat that I had been using during my months of training. He showed me that I could set the back of the seat back, angled more, to get more extension, more length, distance from my pull. With the back of the seat set further inclined, the few sample-pulls that I took felt great. I told Mark to set my chair at that. My ERG was numbered and assigned to me for the next day’s competition. I felt confident with the new setting and the additional extension that I would get.
The race was set at 9:00 AM on Sunday morning. With the lack of sleep from my anticipation, I dressed and met other competitors in the hotel lobby at 6:00 AM. This was the meeting spot and time for competitors and family members to take the hotel’s shuttle bus over to the Arena. That morning was dark, not just because of the time, but because of the weather – there was a blizzard going on outside. Leaving the lobby and going outside to climb on the shuttle bus became a competition within itself. The wind was blowing so fiercely that the falling snow was hitting with such force sideways that it could have knocked you down. The coldness prevented you from catching your breath. Living in North Carolina, my Artic attire consisted of a baseball hat, several sweatshirts, and shorts. Having a full leg prosthetic and having the mobility and dexterity of a turtle caught in quicksand, getting to the safety of the shuttle was treacherous. Melissa and I held on to each other for not just love, not just safety, but it seemed more like survival. Thankfully, seated on the bus we were able to capture our breaths and warmth on the way to the competition. I didn’t have to remind myself on the quest I was embarking on. It was evident by the atmosphere inside the shuttle bus. The dimly lit bus accented the eerie quietness that a locker room would take on before a big game. Those moments of reflection by the athletes of all the hard work to get to that point, all the people along the way helping/supporting the journey and thanking the Lord. Any eye contact that was made was met with just a nod of the head, an acknowledgement. Nothing more, nothing less.
Arriving and walking into the Agganis Arena was the same as it was before. I still marveled at the sea of hundreds of ERGs lined up in rows, filling up the arena floor, forming the different categories. It took on the look of a military formation/exercise. All ERGs identical to the eye, not one out of line from the next. Melissa and I were directed over to the area of my adaptive rowing category. Once again, Melissa was to be my coxswain, coach, one-person cheering section for the competition. This was a 1K, 6-tenths of a mile race against, maybe not so much against others, but more importantly, a test of myself. Part of the test came from my athletic identity and the other part of the test came from my disabled identity. I wanted to prove this to others, I wanted to prove it to myself that I could do this. I found my numbered, assigned ERG from the day before, took my prosthetic leg off, sat in the seat, strapped my leg and stump down, and started to take some slow, steady warmup rows, loosening up for the race.
My goal was to finish under the 4-minute mark. The first time I competed, I finished at 3 minutes and 58 seconds. I was determined to beat that time. I felt confident with my experience at the CRASH-B’s, my training that led up to that point, and the added edge of more extension that I would get with my newly adjusted seat from the day before. As race time neared, there were no ‘good luck’ handshakes with nearby competitors. There were no nods of acknowledgement that we shared on the shuttle. There was no eye contact. A kiss from Melissa and my silent ‘thank you Lord’ was all the supportive communication there was. When the race started, I followed my strategy with different rowing speeds at different intervals. The adjustment to the back of my ERG’s seat had given me great extension. What I wasn’t realizing was that this extension was putting a lot of pressure on my left leg that was strapped down. In a blink of an eye, I went from being totally exhilarated to feeling like I got shot. At about 2 minutes and 30 seconds into the race, I pulled with such force and extension that it put so much pressure on my leg causing my hamstring to pop. I came to an abrupt stop. Physically, I could not row anymore which would have put more pressure/pain on my leg. Melissa, sitting behind me on a folding chair got up in confusion, asking me what I was doing, why did I stop. I couldn’t speak over the noise in the arena and the pain I was going through. All I could do was sit there for the remaining minute or so waiting for the race to be over. I sat there in humiliation, pain, disappointment, and discouragement. I felt like I let so many people down, including myself. I felt like, with all the physical suffering that I had gone through in the past, that this was owed to me. I paid my dues. This wasn’t fair.
At the end of the race, the competition’s medical team surrounded me, unstrapping me from the ERG and laying me down on the arena floor. Blue-gel ice packets were ace-bandaged to my leg. I felt like a race car at a pit stop. After refusing to go to the hospital, some people started working on my injured leg, while others were working on getting my prosthetic leg on. I felt for the helplessness that Melissa was going through. She had put in as much time and effort into preparing for the CRASH-B’s that I had. Taped up and leg on, Melissa and I hobbled across the arena floor exiting the arena to get back to the hotel. Along the way, we passed through darkened sections of adaptive ERGs readied for competitions that had not happened yet. My restricted gait presented the opportunity to slowly see the ERGs that were modified for an individual’s disability. There were modifications allowing people missing legs, arms, and having nerve damage to participate in rowing, not just competitively, put for every day physical exercise. I was astounded and equally ashamed that, with my athletic background, was not aware of this. I asked myself, how many other people were not aware of this, especially the ones with a disability. At that moment I knew that I wanted to share my experiences and that of the adaptive rowing community with others. I just didn’t know how.
This time the trip back to the hotel was quite different than my first experience at the CRASH-B’s. I was not in the shuttle bus celebrating with busting pride. I was in the solitude of a cab with Melissa. Instead of celebrating with other competitors at the hotel, taking Melissa out to dinner, painting the so-called town, we exiled ourselves to our hotel room. The celebratory bottle of liquor, that we bought the day before, was now used to sooth my broken pride and kill the nagging leg pain. Ice became the common theme, denominator of that day and night. It was on the outside of our hotel window, wrapped around my leg, and the foundation of my vodka. The only consistent thing was the snow. It was still snowing - sideways. Eight months later, pride and my where with all somewhat restored, I enrolled at Grand Canyon University with a purpose, the purpose to tell a story.
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