The Hurt Locker is the unfortunate byproduct of Swing. When the rhythm of the boat re-enforces the output of the oarsmen, they feel it as a sublime, unstoppable moment that can last for a few strokes or a few thousand meters. Swing encourages the crew to continue the output they are generating for as long as possible. Frankly, the crew might feel as if they could continue on that pace indefinitely.
The Hurt Locker opens up when the boat finally stops and the body, which had been fooling itself, suddenly realizes how much energy has been produced. Between two and three breaths, pain suddenly floods the various systems. Welcome to the Hurt Locker.
Once you've gone there, it is very difficult to get back to the swing the boat has just experienced. There's just too much pain. If you're lucky, you've timed your trip to the hurt locker with the last piece of the practice, or the final at the big regatta. If you're unfortunate, you've got to somehow muster up the physical courage to start rowing again in the next few minutes or hours to go all over again.
Jay and I took a trip into the Hurt Locker this morning. It was our best outing in the pair so far, with the boat set well and running straight. There were times as we swung downstream from the 62nd street bridge that I felt as if I were rowing an erg. It was Swing.
Of course, when that feeling comes over a boat, the rowers usually increase power to reenforce the good row they're having. And so on we went, steadily increasing the pressure and then the rating over the next 2.5 miles. I was breathing hard as we made the final turn under the wires toward the 40th street bridge.
Sweat broke out all over my arms we relentlessly pursued speed. I knew what was happening; I felt like I could continue this pace for a long, long time. There always seemed to be more energy, flowing from the boat, through me and into the water. I wondered why I wasn't hurting too much and why my hands had gone numb on the composite oar.
One last power twenty took us under the bridge. Even that didn't seem to tax me so much, it just required moving a little faster and drawing more power out and into the oar. Then we paddled and stopped. And the Hurt Locker opened like a yawning, stinking mouth of hell.
I had made some poor eating choices yesterday, and my guts were reminding me of them. Feeling returned to my aching hands, where fresh blisters from earlier in the week protested the continued abuse of this morning. My head pounded; I was dehydrated despite guzzling down a quart of water every workout.
It was very difficult to stand when we landed the boat. Jay's back was in agony. He had difficulity putting on his socks later in the locker room. I feel, now five hours later, as if I'd been up all night before going on the water. (No, I wasn't.) There's just no energy left in me, and my legs are aching now. No amount of caffiene has overcome the all-consuming desire to sit at my desk and sleep.
However, I now sit here with a smile on my face and content in my heart. It was a great row. I wonder if Jay's back will be ok for Monday?
