The next term, I was promoted to the first boat and soon tried to quit. I was vaguely worried that I wasn't doing enough work between all the other things I managed to fit in (for example, science and maths society lectures or going to the theatre), and rowing seemed like it ought to be the first thing to go. Within a week I was subbing into the second boat and had agreed to row with them. So here there was a trade-off between my friends in the boat club (most of whom were in the second eight) and concern for my work (oh, the enthusiasm of a misguided fresher!).
I stayed in the second boat for the next term and then began to row with the first eight. At this point I had a few more motivations other than the social side of rowing: 1) I had become considerably fitter and stronger (and thinner!), and noticed the change; 2) I realised how much I enjoyed winning races; 3) It was nice to have an escape from the work-work-work routine at college, where people did get very stressed about exams.
Then followed a long period where the boat club was my social life, my family, everything really. I committed a lot to the club and I got a lot out of it. There was little that could have convinced me not to row: 1) I felt fit and strong and found myself actually to be physically competitive for the first time; 2) I really loved the people in my crew - we had an awesome bunch of very different characters who worked well together and came up with the goods time after time; 3) I started to realise the "zen" of rowing as a kind of meditation - that intense concentration on a repetitive but highly-skilled activity - and to appreciate for itself the rhythm and the feel of the boat.
Then I was Captain of the college boat club (and a long way from the nervous, unfit fresher I had been), which was the most rewarding job I have ever done. I enjoyed being a leader, a mother, a friend, a secretary, a counsellor, a figurehead, an accountant, a mediator, a negotiator, an inspiration, a slave-driver, a motivator, a coach, a cox'n, a member of my crew and a role model for the club. We had an awesome year and I loved every minute of it. I spent too much time on it; maybe up to 40 hours a week. I neglected my studies, I'll admit, but I did pass the year and it's hard to say I didn't get a good deal more out of my place in the boat club than I did from my academic study.
After that it was time for a change, for many reasons, and I left Cambridge for a bigger river to do a PhD at Imperial College. Why do I row here? To begin with I wanted to find the same kind of family I had at Cambridge, to find another group of wonderfully different people who share this one rather all-consuming interest. It's funny that rowing attracts such strong characters. Perhaps other sports are the same and I don't realise, but I think there is something about the constant search for another percent of efficiency, another inch of water, another ounce of strength, that just draws in some people so completely where others see no point. I was unsure about the 1x, though now I think I am coming to appreciate how unforgiving it is and take that as a challenge rather than admit defeat. I want to get better in the single; I want to reach that state of fluidity where you slip past the water rather than pushing through it. I won't consider myself a good rower until I can scull a 1x well enough to feel that flow under the bow and lose myself in it, until a cold autumn morning is the best training session I could imagine and leaves me higher than a kite.
So rowing has kind of slipped into my subconscious now to alter how I see the world; in the coaching we get I have learnt to learn from other people's mistakes as well as my own; I have learnt that there is no substitute for patience and commitment; I have learnt to trust my friends and give everything for them in the knowledge that they will do the same for me. I have learnt that hard work is not always more effective than subtlety, but that it will beat anything else by a country mile. I have learnt the value of self-awareness, the beauty of a heartbeat and the joy in feeling dissonant universes click together in rhythm, harmony.
In this mood I like the three seat of a quad, the five seat of an eight, the stroke seat of a double. I don't want to have to think in literal terms about rowing or steering; it should just happen and if I can lose myself into that kind of trance of self-awareness I know that I can push myself right to and past my limits.