Rowing fool update

I have lost some of the intimidation I used to have, but I am still a bit reluctant to jump in my rowing shell and go. There's still a physical challenge as some of my joints have spoken out against the practice of scrunching up and stretching out. Knees and hips are primary complainers, but I still am optimistic that I can beat them into submission.

I hadn't gone out to row in a few weeks as one weekend was spent in Kansas at my niece's wedding and the other was step-daughter Diana's birthday weekend. The former was a good excuse. The latter a poor one. I have yet to take a row in the early morning or late day, before or after work respectively. No good reason, only that there is more of a process to getting going than there is with the kayak, which I still use 2-3 times a week. There is also less sweat involved with using the kayak.

This weekend Delia was in Phoenix, and I was determined to make at least one foray. That came late on Saturday. I prepped myself and pushed off even though I had something of an audience from a good sized party that was using the house across the canal. I figured I wasn't likely to embarrass myself that much, and I might even be perceived as athletic, despite my obvious girth. I set out without drama.

I got to the end of the canal without too much zigzagging from my poor form. When I made my clumsy turnaround just a few yards from the dog park (yes, in Aventura we have a park just for dogs, their poop and their owners), I noticed two women sitting at a bench that gave a good view the length of the canal. I might have momentarily fantasized that they found me to be worthy of their quiet but lurid comments about my obvious manliness. More likely, they were wondering if I'd fall to port or starboard when the coronary struck.

I had actually demonstrated some improvement and was making progress in terms of smoothness, speed and coordination. That is, until my sliding seat suddenly and abruptly stopped sliding. I was unable to shift around to determine what the cause was, but clearly I was no longer able to roll fore and aft.

Swell. Now what? I was only halfway home and pretty much dead in the water. The seat had become frozen about where my knees reached their peak in the motion. Any movement to shift my position made the shell wobble and could easily have dumped me in the water if I tried too hard, and we know what a setback that could bring.

With about 200-300 yards to go to my dock I tried my best to propel the shell from my suboptimal position. No matter what I tried, I could not adjust my position to get a decent stroke. My knees always got in the way. I tried stretching them out and crossing them Indian/yoga style but to no avail. So I settled for little tiny abbreviated strokes that moved me a few feet at a time.

I imagined some onlooker wondering what kind of boob I was to be rowing like an idiot. Then I got close to the party. There were a handful of young men, apparently of island, possibly Cuban, descent, but I was happy that they really didn't seem to care much about what I was doing or why I was doing it in such a manner. Maybe they figured I was doing this silly motion deliberately. By the time I had gotten near them I had gotten more coordinated with it so it's conceivable.

I finally maneuvered myself to my dock and got out, glad to be dry with the exception of the sheen of sweat I was bathed in. I finally was able to inspect the sliding mechanism and discovered that it had come apart and the rear axle of the seat had bent the screw at the end. It was repairable but will have to be a point of inspection in all trips to come. I don't want to think that I could have had this problem far from home.

I have not totally conquered this thing and I am reminded of a quote from Russell Baker: "The goal of all inanimate objects is to resist man and ultimately defeat him."

This isn't over.