An Excerpt from Mind Over Water

To our port side, the powerhouse abides in majesty. Four strips of color--yellow, blue, green, red, as in: wood, water, grass, brick--form a spectrum that links us. From beneath the bridge, we row into splendor, as the setting sun fires the river with magenta and flames of gold. Tall smokestacks rise from the powerhouse and waft plumes of smoke into the sky, the epitaph of fuel burned into power. Rowers call this reach of the Charles River the powerhouse stretch; it is a straightaway about 1,000 meters long where boats can attain maximum speed. Many races have occurred here. Invoking the word powerhouse has been known, all by itself, to inspire speed in a crew.

This evening I sit in the center of the boat, in the #5 seat. We are easing comfortably into our warm-up. The ritual evokes a meditative state. Deep breaths infuse oxygen into my blood, then blood into tissues, awakening muscles and memories. It is always thus. The first hundred strokes stretch limbs out, loosening tendons and connecting me with other times on the river. To starboard, another eight paddles downstream. Soon we will have at each other.

Before a race, even a scrimmage, there is always anxiety . It is essential. If there is no fear, we don't have enough at stake. Gamble more than you can afford to lose, and you just might win. Tonight, we have a secret weapon: the calm, assured voice of our coxswain, a former member of the U.S. national team, quiets our nerves like a seasoned airline pilot explaining the flight plan as we taxi out to the runway. His confidence becomes our own.

On the water, though, it is ultimately the stroke who is in charge. When in doubt, we follow the stroke's blade, not the cox's voice. If the cox orders the rate up two, but the stroke stands pat, the rate will not go up. While the coxswain's power is de jure, the stroke rules de facto. Luckily, strokes rarely overrule their steersmen. Stroke and cox are the only two crew members who face each other, and they had better see eye to eye. Should they disagree often, the boat is in trouble. Tonight, happily, it feels like stroke, cox, and the rest of the crew are on the same wavelength.

In front of Riverside Boat Club, we turn around to head upstream. Our coach brings the two eights together, lines us up, and tells us we'll row for three minutes and see which boat is ahead. Then he announces, "Ready all? Row!" and our scrimmage race starts. Our boat gets off well and after thirty strokes we are a seat up.

Something happens as we emerge from the River Street Bridge and come up on the red brick powerhouse. "Now, the powerhouse stretch," our cox intones. "So feel that power now...staying long...we're going up two, in two...Now watch us... one...two...on this one!" Tumblers fall into place--click--and a lock opens. The boat suddenly gets quiet; we hear only eight oars grabbing the water together, finishing as one. Some energy flow grips us like a river current, synchronizing our motion; we row as one body. Thinking disappears, leaving behind only presence and rhythm; yes, presence and rhythm are rowing this boat, using us for oars.

The boat is perfectly level. Set up beautifully, we skim the surface on an invisible laser beam running from horizon to horizon. There is no friction; we ride the natural cadence of our strokes, a continuous cycle. The crew breathes as one. Inhale on the recovery, exhale as we drive our blades through the water: inspiration and expression. In. Out. Row with one body and so with one mind. Nothing exists but: Here. Now. This. Rushing water bubbles under our hull, as if a mountain brook buried within the Charles flows directly beneath us. I have never heard this sound before, but I know that it means we are doing something right.

The coach calls the end of our three-minute piece and we gradually come out of the trance. Back on earth, I recall that we were racing, and wonder what happened to the other boat, which is nowhere in sight. Then I see them, a hundred yards downstream, a good five boat lengths behind us. We must have horizoned them.