It is early April. The alarm clock rings. 4:30am. I know I have another 15 minutes to snooze before it rings again so I hit the snooze button and drift off. 4:45, the alarm rings again. No time to contemplate how good it would feel to roll over. All I need to know is that if I don’t get out of bed RIGHT NOW!!!, there will be 7 other people at the boathouse who will not row this morning because of me.
The regiment is simple, and there is no discussion. We have to be sitting in the boat, hands on oars, ready to push off the dock at 5:30am sharp. Anyone who is not there by 5:25am, doesn’t row. If you are unlucky to be assigned to a boat with a rower who shows up late or missing in action, you get to go home without practice. Regardless of how far you live, even if you had to get up at 3am to get there in time. You can’t row with one team member missing from you boat. No discussion.
Therefore, when the alarm clock rings at 4:45, there is no doubt in my mind about what has to happen next. Bolt out of my warm bed with eyes still closed and run into the ice cold bathroom, brush teeth and put my hair in the pony tail. Ignore the fact that I’m freezing. By rote, put on the clothes which I layed out the night before. No thinking possible at this hour. I have 15 minutes between the time I get out of bed and pull out of my driveway. I’ve done it in 8. The wrath of 7 people the next day for missing practice because of me is a great motivator. It happened….. once. Believe me, no one wants a repeat of THAT…..
I arrive at the parking lot at 5:15 and walk toward the bridge which leads to the boathouse. It is bone chillingly cold, just above freezing, so I must walk briskly. There are no lights between the parking lot and the bridge. If I forget my flash light I walk in pitch dark. I know that there are bushes next to me and feel very vulnerable to whatever may lurk in the dark, but I push that thought out of my head. The ground is uneven and I can’t see my steps. The blackness which envelopes me is palpable. As I walk, I see circles of light bouncing in front of me. They belong to my fellow rowers who are walking ahead of me. At least I don’t feel I am completely alone, at least not this time. As soon as I get on the bridge I feel more protected and on even ground. I can see the light from the boathouse and the rowers who arrived before me as they are putting out the oars from the boathouse. I need to hurry so I could contribute to the effort of getting the equipment out, otherwise I might be considered a slacker who shows up only to row but not to help with the preliminaries.
i1950s 