I needed a distraction to block out the anguish as I rowed that early morning on the ergometer, an instrument invented I think for torture, certainly, the cause of a great deal of lung-excruciating pain.
As I strained against the machine, gasping for breath, sucking air, mouth gaping, legs burning, I saw her.
Though the wall-to-wall glass doors were frosted from the winter cold, I could see from my painful perch that out across the lake a single rower had emerged from behind the island.
Alone.
In an article for rowers entitled “Winterize Your Training,” Rich Davis wrote “It is critical that you row with a partner. If you flip, you have very little time to get back in the boat or to dry land.”
But there she was.
The frigid water was ripple-free, a freezing fog lifting from the surface making her just visible.
And then she was not alone.
In my imagination I had caught up and was alongside. Though she was on the water, and me on the ergometer, I matched her, stroke-for-stroke.
Together we oared our way past the long line of fall-turned-winter foliage.
Together we put distance behind us.
Together we rowed on into the familiar bend, through the cut, made the turn and headed home.
Together.
Like rowing in winter settings, so loving and living in difficult conditions, it is best not to be alone.
But rather to match, stroke-for-stroke.
To together, put distance behind.
To together, make the turn and head home.
Together.
To pair up.
