Vegas

Only one closet of several, lined with dresses
and shoes, none of which belong to me

In the Bay Area, this past weekend was the Head of the Port, held in Port of West Sacramento, hosted by River City Rowing Club.  Results are posted here.  It looked like a good day for Lake Merritt and the Cal Lightweight men who raced several heavyweight crews.

Instead of doing anything productive, such as racing at Head of the Port, the weekend was spent in Las Vegas for a good friend's bachelorette party.  Living it up in style at the newly-built Planet Hollywood Westgate Tower suites, there was plenty of sleeping space, alcohol, junk food, and bathroom space for ten girls.  If you have not figured out by now, I am an old lady who is married, has a kid, and just struggling to get by with a clean house.  Partying and Vegas are not really ever in the cards.  So this trip was a trip to see how this whole Vegas thing is really done.

Going out to town required a three to four hour getting-ready, make-up period and the experienced party girls made it look like a controlled massive production line--shower, make-up, dress, hair.  Apparently, for girls, it is key to look the "part" in order to cut lines at clubs and get free admission. To my chagrin, my one-and-a-half inch black heels that I normally wear to work was not going to cut it.  After much peer pressure, we went shoe shopping (luckily, the Miracle Mile shops were right downstairs).

I have this bad habit of acquiring new shoes when I travel.  My husband who owns maybe three pairs of shoes and who wears his shoes until the soles are falling apart, always has this skeptical look of when accosted by the latest shoe acquisition.

Latest and greatest (and absolutely non-function) pair of shoes

Unlike the last pair of shoes I brought home from Colorado, this pair from Aldo were wedges, which, as I was informed, are quite in-style now, and had a heel about three-and-a-half inches.  Trust me, there were many other more extreme choices, but this was the pair in which I would not break an ankle and which I might possibly where on another occasion.

The first night was spent at two clubs.  By the third hour, I felt like Cinderella who had managed to squeeze her foot into the glass slipper, but found out that the more she stands, the larger her feet become.  Every other woman was wearing shoes like mine or even more ridiculously taller and uncomfortable.  If there was a woman there who said that her feet did not hurt, she is LYING.  The absolutely stupid things women do for beauty.

The second night, I ditched the new shoes and wore my plain black, grandma shoes.  Much more comfortable.  Thank goodness.

Picture with the bachelorette and grandma shoes

Welcome to Bair Island Rowing Club (BIAC)

BIAC boathouse and erg room

The move to the South Bay with a new home and new job would not be complete without a new rowing club.  Despite the vast bay, rowing here is pretty much limited to two areas--Lexington Reservoir in Los Gatos and Redwood City.

I have joined Bair Island Rowing Club, also called BIAC (Bair Island Aquatic Center), the most conveniently located boathouse to my work and commute.  BIAC is located in Redwood City at the city port.  Like most ports, the Port of Redwood City is not located in the best of neighborhoods.  The area is crowded with industrial factories and large tugboats shipping goods in and out of the port.  In addition, there is an extra bonus of a women's prison nearby the boathouse!  Just like in Oakland, it is best not to leave anything of value in your car.  You never know which shady character will take a rock to your car window...

Other notable ports in the Northern California include the Port of Oakland (the estuary) where the Cal Lightweights, Cal Heavyweight men, Berkeley High, Oakland Strokes, and East Bay Rowing Club row and the Port of West Sacramento where UC Davis and River City Rowing Club row.  None of these areas are the nicest or safest of neighborhoods.

BIAC docks and nice, flat water

Luckily, there is an upside to BIAC's shoddy location.  The water is, for the most part, flat and calm for 2,000-3,000m out.  As the estuary widens and pours into the bay, the water becomes rougher and eventually, you end up rowing in the bay where you can see the Dumbarton Bridge on one side and the San Mateo Bridge on the other.  The mornings are very dark with lights blinking far away on the shore; without knowing the course and being able to see in the dark, it is very easy to become disoriented.  A number of green and red channel markers can guide you, but the lights flash so damn infrequently that they are easy to miss.

This body of water can get crowded in the mornings with a variety of teams that include Stanford varsity crews, the Stanford junior rowing program or Peninsula Crew, Palo Alto Rowing Club (juniors), and NorCal crew (juniors).  In fact, BIAC shares its boathouse with the NorCal crew.  In the mornings during the school year, the boathouse teeming with high school boys and girls who cannot seem to stop talking at 5 in the morning.

BIAC boats all stored outdoors; covered singles are private boats

BIAC is a fair number of boats, all stored outside, that are shared between all the teams.  There is also some storage for private boats.

Club singles, mostly Aeros, Maas 24s and 27s, and flyweights

Club singles

BIAC masters have an advanced mixed masters team, an intermediate mixed masters team, and individual scullers.  The club also puts on a number of regattas in the fall.  The fall BIAC regatta with its infamous turns and crabs is actually held in the San Mateo Lagoon.  The other regatta is at the BIAC home course and also consists of a number of turns and twists, hence the name "corkscrew."

Mark your calendars!
BIAC 20th Annual Fall Regatta - Sunday, November 6th, 2011
BIAC 5th Annual Corkscrew - Sunday, December 11th, 2011

Rowing Tidbits

Apparently, I am not the only one to notice how non-ideal the Charles River is for rowing.  The official Head of the Charles regatta blog has noted a very calm river this weekend here.  The caption reads, "Please water be like this in 28 days."  Good luck.  If you are going to the HOTC, 26 days now to find more speed!

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Great Britain's men's quad for Worlds 2011

Ever wonder why you row?  Here are some of the reasons why you row.  Ask Steve Rowbotham of the British men's quad and you will get, "I might have quit rowing if it wasn't for my stubborn streak...now all I want to do is win a medal at London."

He also said this about rowing and erging, "Rowing is not very glamorous...I have had some pretty dark days, particularly in the winter when it snows. You spend a lot of time outside in the cold and wet doing a lot of training and the rowing machine is probably one of the worst things that you will ever do. I will never get back on one."  

Bostonian Weather

Just another day in Boston...

There is a saying in Boston about the weather, “Don’t like the weather, just wait a minute and it’ll change.” What Bostonians do not tell you is that the weather usually changes for the worst.

The morning after the Petaluma River Marathon, my unfortunate husband woke up before the crack of dawn to drive me to the airport. (The Princess was undisturbed, asleep at her vacation home, i.e. Grandma and Grandpa’s.) New job and a new location to travel to—Boston.

I arrived Monday evening to a warm, humid Boston. Guys walked around Newbury Street, a popular tourist and shopping area, in T-shirts and cargo shorts and girls in skirts and spaghetti straps. By Tuesday morning, all the Walgreens and CVS’s in the city, had rolled out their umbrella racks, knowing that in miserable, drenching weather, anyone would be willing to pay $15 for a crap umbrella.

The rain and cold from Tuesday continued into Wednesday. With only light rain Wednesday morning and wearing all the layers that I had packed—a T-shirt, long sleeve, and jacket, I headed to Union Boat Club (UBC). UBC is located on the south side (downtown side) of the Charles River Basin.

The sheer number of Boston rowing clubs makes the Charles River THE place to row. Many of the well-known clubs include Cambridge Rowing Club, Community Rowing, Riverside, and UBC. Other teams include universities (e.g. Harvard, MIT, BU, Northeastern) and high schools.

MIT women's crew getting ready to launch in the rain

UBC is a small, but well-established club in Boston whose rowers primarily scull with a handful of members or ex-members being elite or national team scullers. The average club boat is, you know, just an Empacher!

We had 2 men’s singles, 1 men’s double, and 2 women’s doubles (of which I stroked one) out on the water with the coach in a white, sleek, official-looking wakeless launch. Rowing up river, the water was rough. The workout was 3x8minutes at 24, 26, and 28spm—two pieces up river and last piece coming back down.

Right about where we started our first piece, the river was calmer, but nothing in comparison to Lake Merritt on an average day. The slowest boats started first--my double started second. We were able to hold off the other women’s double who left third, but they were able to close most of the gap between us. We rowed past a whole armada of Riverside boats pass us and steered our way around Community Rowing boats and other singles who were stopped.

After the last piece, we were still a good distance from the boathouse, and the coach went in ahead of us. The wind and rain began to pick up, and the river turned choppy again. On the way back, my doubles partner spotted a fellow member sitting wet and curled up on a dock on our starboard side. The girl had taken out a Peinsit single and her boat, bouncing up and down with the waves, was parked along the dock. We pulled over to check out the situation.

As the weather had deteriorated and water filled the boat, the terrified girl had found it hard to row. She had managed to find safety on the dock and tried to wave down the coach as he drove by, but he was driving on the far side and did not see her.

In order to get back to the boathouse, we all played a game of switching seats. My double’s partner went into the single. I moved to bow seat in the double, and the girl sat in stroke seat. With the new arrangement, we tried to push off the high dock, which was definitely not designed for rowing shells. Somewhere in the push off, my double’s partner flipped the single. Luckily, though, compared to the rain and wind, the water was warm.

Unable to get back into the boat, my double’s partner pushed the single back to the dock and got back in. Then, I got out, ran over to the single, in my hurry slipped on the dock, pushed the single back out, and got back into the double. We shoved off the dock and rowed half-slide back to the boathouse.

If you are a rower, you know that the Head of the Charles (HOTC), in October, is THE head race. With two days of racing and over fifty different events, each with an invitation and lottery entry selection method, it feels quite prestigious and official to race at the HOTC.

It is days like Wednesday, however, that make me really wonder what is so great about the HOTC and the Charles River. In October, Boston weather is usually crap and the river is never calm and flat. When you mention HOTC to other rowers, you always hear stories of the year that it started to _(fill in the blank with snowing, hailing, storming, pouring)_ or the year that the Chinese eight crashed and sank (2006). Experienced rowers will tell you to bring a sponge because you might be bailing water out of the boat. And that despite your warm-up, you will probably find yourself sitting at the start line, shivering and waiting for your bow number to be called.

Perhaps the HOTC is the ultimate example of “misery loves company.” With over 8,000 other rowers suffering the same fate, it almost seems like THE cool thing to do. It just happens to often be cold, rainy, and windy.

Petaluma River Marathon 2011

Lake Merritt Rowing Club trailer at PVM;
one 2x, two 4x's, one 4+, one 1x

Sunday was the 8th annual Petaluma River Marathon (PRM) up in Marin County. A small, low-key regatta for two events—a half marathon (13.1 miles) and a full marathon (26.2 miles).  There was a good showing of 1 four, 2 quads, 1 double, and 1 single from LMRC.  A mix of LMRC rowers from the Women's team, Bay Blades, and scullers.  Even Chris rowed.  Results are posted here.

My mixed double’s partner is quite the enthusiast for this regatta, volunteering to organize it and volunteering to row a mixed double entry for the full marathon. I was tempted by the idea of doing a marathon, and I guess this year was the year to actually try it out. A marathon, whether it’s a running marathon or a rowing marathon, is an event that often appears on people’s bucket lists. The distance is daunting, but yet there’s something official when you can say that you have done a marathon.

A marathon is about equivalent to ten full lake loops at Lake Merritt. Two weekends before PVM, we spent Saturday morning rowing around and around the lake for a total of 26.4…nautical miles, approximately 30.5 “land” miles. Note: You should always check the units of your GPS first before you start rowing.

The start of the PRM was so causal, almost mind-boggling for rowers used to officials, stakeboats, start flags, etc. Once the coxswains/coaches/bowmen/rowers meeting concluded, anybody ready to launch launched. There was a small warm-up area, but essentially the dock was the start line—no flag, no sign. When we rowed by, I was not sure if we had started or not.

It took about 15 minutes of rowing before I felt truly warmed up and comfortable. The first half of the marathon went by fairly quickly, with other boats to look at and landmarks that my Mx2x partner pointed out. For the first 8 or 9 miles out, the water was slightly choppy, making it harder to row cleanly. There was one motor boat that drove by at mile 7 or 8. The wake was large enough for us to stop and hydrate while riding it out. As the river widened and the turns became barely noticeable, the water flattened out, making it exciting to feel the extra run of the boat.

As we approached the Route 37 bridge—the halfway and turnaround point, we saw a two-person outrigger canoe (OC2) and a men’s single already heading back. I was a bit surprised by these two boats ahead of us because we had passed most of the other marathon boats by mile 7 or 8. At the bridge, we stopped and turned while cramming a mixture of almonds, dates, and raisins into our mouths to refuel.

The first few miles back felt strong with calm water despite the slight headwind. I craned my neck around to try to spot the outrigger canoe and the single, but failed to see them. They must have been farther ahead than I had anticipated. My Mx2x partner noted that if we could keep up this speed, we could be close to the course record of 2 hours and 58 minutes. At some point, at a major turn in the river, we passed the paddle boat on our starboard side. The two paddlers looked up, smiled, and said, “Good job!” to which my Mx2x partner replied, “You too!” I was focused on the single, whom I had caught of glimpse of right before the turn.

For the next few miles, before the half marathon turnaround buoy, we chased the single, which, from a distance, had appeared to be an Empacher 1x. Once we finally pulled even, the Empacher turned out to be a light yellow Hudson, still a beautiful boat.

With less than a quarter of the race left, I was starting to get irritated. First, I had been hungry to pass that single for 6 miles and once we passed it, I had wanted us to push away from the single faster, making the single become smaller and disappear from our view. The single was quite tenacious and managed to stay in our view for some time. Second, what the PRM regatta brochure had promised to be a "fun" course with “gentle S curves” ended up being a devilish course on the way home (who wrote the brochure anyway?!). With my poor eyesight and my lack of mental ability to process the course map taped in front of me, I could not tell where the next turn was or if there even was a turn. The scenery along the course was beautiful, but everything looked the same—like one big, vast grassland. I could see where my steering suffered, and I damned the river.

In the last few miles, I thought about staying effective through the water, hanging onto technique. Somewhere close to the end, a motor boat drove by, generating a massive wake that poured almost five inches of water into our boat. We rowed the last 2,000 meters with whatever little was left in the tank. As we rounded the turn on starboard side, my Mx2x partner said that this is it—the home stretch. I only believed him once I saw the dock and even then, I was not sure where the finish line was until we heard the horn.

At the end, I was not exactly sure what to think.  I was exhausted, but even more relieved to just be done.  I was frustated with my back-and-forth steering in the second half, not knowing what line to hold.  We came in at 3:07, missing the course record of 2:58.  A difference of nine minutes--almost 2,500 meters--might sound like a lot, but where could we have squeezed out nine more minutes?  Close, but not close enough.  My thought was, "Shit, does this mean we have to do this again?"

Petaluma River Marathon 2011

Everlasting Youth

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A new place, new people, new job. New should be fun and exciting, right? If fun and exciting are euphemisms for petrifying and "outside-of-comfort zone", then that sounds about right.

The secret to everlasting youth (as if I would know) is fear. Fear is usually associated with learning something new or pushing yourself to a new level, like high rates or racing. You do not have to go skydiving to experience fear. You can find fear in the most ordinary things.

As a teenager, I feared driving. Truly, deeply feared. But I feared driving not because of the possibility of dying. I feared driving because it made me feel dumb, real dumb.

My learn-to-drive experience began the same as the experience of many other kids at school. My parents had sent me to the local driving school where the class spent three whole Saturdays watching driving videos from the 1980s and listening to the old cranky instructor gripe about life. The driving school package also included three driving with an instructor sessions in those awful cars with “Student Driver” written all over them.

These sessions were the beginning of my fear of driving. My instructor was a nice middle-aged woman who, in the long-run, was totally unhelpful. I escaped each session unscathed, but with very little confidence in my abilities. I truly believe my instructor thought her job was not to teach, but to sit, lay back, and pray really hard that “Student Driver” signs on the car were a fair enough warning to all other cars on the road.

Three of these sessions went by in a fearful, anxiety-filled blur, and I was now on my own. Correction--I was now on my own ..with my parents, that is, with my dad. My mom is not the most confident driver and  probably secretly suffers from some of the same fears of driving that I do. So driving with my mom was out of the question.

I feared driving, but it wasn’t until I had to practice driving with my dad did I passionately hate driving. Not only was I not a confident or really, to be honest, competent driver, but now throw in the typical parent-teenager tensions and we had an explosion that was barely containable inside of a 1994 Toyota Camry. My dad who had every reason to be fearful for his life only exacerbated the tensions by sitting in the passenger seat, ready for impact with his hands tightly gripping the door handle and his legs locked and jammed against the front. He would bark orders to turn here, drive slower, brake earlier, and ask, in a nagging tone, “Did you check your mirrors first?”

Although our car didn’t have any “Student driver” signs, I felt as if it would have been better with those signs rather than have all the other drivers peering into our car to get a glimpse of this person who clearly didn’t know how to drive.

The best lesson with my dad came one weekday evening when he insisted that I practice driving. We drove around town for ten or fifteen minutes with no incident. Then, somewhere I missed a turn, and we were driving on a one lane backcountry road, which was actually Dougherty Road before they developed and expanded the road. By now, it was dark and this road had no lights.

The road had several curves and with each curve, my dad, still holding his impact-ready position, would tell me to slow down. Soon, I was driving at a snail’s pace, but that didn’t bother me. What I had angst about was the number of cars following us. I could see their headlights in the rearview mirror, and I saw the car behind us flash his headlights, signaling me to pull over. He did this several times. Each time my dad told me to ignore him and to keep driving forward. I really wanted to pull out, but everytime I saw a turnout, I was either too late or too timid to act.

This drive continued on for at least a lifetime and a half, with me feeling dumber and more embarrassed every minute. Finally, I saw light, a traffic light, at the end of the tunnel. Welcome back to civilization. As the road widened and split into two lanes, all the cars behind me now passed me, and I was too timid to see whether  the drivers were glaring at me. I breathed a sigh of relief and thought I was in the clear when I realized that a police car was following me with flashing lights! Oh no! I didn’t even have a driving license and I was getting pulled over already?! I felt horrified and deeply embarrassed.

As I rolled down my window, the police officer peered in and was surprised to find a daughter and father duo in the middle of a perfectly-innocent learn-to-drive lesson. The officer explained that someone had phoned in a drunk driver, and the officer had positioned himself at the end of Dougherty Road, ready to catch this drunk driver, that is, to catch me! After a few understanding glances at my dad, the officer wished me safe driving and let me go. At the time, I was simply miserable. Who gets pulled over for driving sober and driving so poorly as to be mistaken for a drunk driver?

That was the lowest point in my fear for driving. From that point, things started to look up. I failed the driving test twice, but passed on the third try. With enough time and practice over several years, experience and confidence began to replace my fear of driving. I no longer have to ask my passengers to help me keep an eye on the road and let me know if I am clear. In fact, now I actually enjoy driving. As for parallel parking,
however, that’s a whole other story.

Thank You, Lake Merritt



Goodbye and good luck card.  Thank you, LMRC!
(There was delicious banana chocolate and walnut cake associated with the card,
but I could not wait and already ate all the cake...)

It has been over a week since my last row at Lake Merritt, and it already feels like a distant past.

In Moonwalking with Einstein, a story of remembering and the US National Memory Championships, the author describes that the more dramatic, memorable events are, the better you remember them, and thus, the slower time passes for you.  This is the opposite of the idea that "Time flies when you are having fun."  A week packed with "fun"--moving, traveling, a new job, new faces-- feels much longer than just seven days.

When you are young, life is good.  You are fresh, always improving, learning new things.  You are invincible, on-top-of-the-world.  You can handle anything and everything that life throws at you.  You are hungry--you want everything right now.  You are the epitomy of "bright-eyed and bushy tailed."  Moving?  New job?  New house?  No problem.

In a span of a day and a half, my husband and I stripped our old place bare and officially "moved in" to our new apartment, filled with boxes, bags brimming with our worldly posessessions (some of which we did not even know we had).  The next four days were spent traveling, meeting new people, learning new things for the job.  Ever felt really stupid and slow?  Ever felt like you are holding on by a nail? 

Maybe my constant memory loss, which sometimes does apply to other things besides rowing, ages me.  Maybe when people say that a new job, a new city, is a big chance, they are not kidding.  Maybe everything is easier when you know what you are doing, when you have your anchors--friends, family, rowing, swimming, goal, purpose, life--in place.  Maybe my amazing ability and huge appetite do have a limit because I may have bitten off more than I can chew.

Just like the things I have learned from swimming with Marcia, here are a few things I have learned from rowing at Lake Merritt:

1. A really good coach is worth his or her weight in gold.  Coaching takes time, energy, patience.  Masters coaching is even more difficult.  Trying to get rowers of different ages, backgrounds, abilities, goals to row together, race, win is hardly an envious responsibility.
2. I am probably not the easiest athlete to coach.  I do not trust coaches easily.  Many people coach, but few actually know what they are doing.  I have my days when I disagree with the workout, line-up, people, life in general, etc. and have a few not-so-nice things lined up in my head.  As a friend pointed out to me, "Yes, you are a HUGE 'I'," I do not like to be pushed by a coach, coxswain, or anyone or anything else.  Who are you to tell me how far I can go and where my limit is?  Luckily, at Lake Merritt, I have met some really good coaches who do know what they are doing and who have helped me go farther than I had imagined.
3. Sometimes, I am just a kid with an attitude problem.  I may appear to be an adult with a real world job, a husband, and a Princess, but some days, I am really just your typical teenager, snappy and pissed off.  Forgive me.
4. I am a small boat person.  Big boats can be fun, but what I love is small boats.  There is not always strength in numbers, which is why small clubs can do BIG things. 




LMRC Women's Team...I have no idea what they are trying to do...


5. On a team, everyone brings something to the team whether it be a fast erg score, a good atttiude, humor, competition, maturity, rhythm, experience, etc. 
6. Rowing a single requires a lot of time, dedication, and patience with yourself.  Ever want to feel stupid and slow?  Remember rowing a single for the first time?
7. Erging can be less tortuous--sometimes.  Haunted by old erg tests, I hate the erg.  If the sport was erging, not rowing (like during the winter in the Midwest), I would just quit.  An former Cal Lwt Crew coach and friend would constantly tell us, "The erg is your friend.  You love the erg.  The erg will make you stronger."  Sometimes, the erg will be your only honest friend.  Think of the erg as a tool.  Work with it, not against it.  (I still hate it though.)
8. Be grateful for what you have and the people you meet along the way.  Thank you, LMRC.




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