The Big Row

Greetings, Gentle Reader. If this entry carries a different graphic style than previous submissions, it is because I am sitting at my mother's machine, outside of the supervision of a responsible, technically competent adult (a.k.a. Peg), and I cannot find a way to smooth the typographical edges. As you have undoubtedly already noticed, I can't go to a new paragraph. Neither can I figure out how to change the font which, to my eyes, seems too big and bold. Nor am I certain that I might not erase this entire thing at any moment with an errant keystroke. I am, in a word, a Techno-Peasant. But if you believe, as I do, that it's the words that matter, not merely the style, then you'll bear with me. You have so far. (NEW PARAGRAPH) {Sorry, it's the only way....} Not only am I employing my mother's alien machine...I am sitting at her writing table on her porch at Lake George, facing my Training Ground for the row: Lake George... 32 miles of crystal-clear water, surounded by majestic (and,at this moment, fog-shrouded) mountains. I have 12 days to prepare for my start on the 5th. I've been here for two days already. "You have??"you ask. "You've been there for two days? You must already be in the rhythm of your training,"you are thinking. Sort of. Let me explain. (NEW PARAGRAPH) {This paragrahp thing is lame. I've got to figure it out; I can harldy expect my faithful readers to limp along through a block of prose such as this. Hemingway didn't ask you to....nor should I.} I arrived at Lake George on Friday night. I was watered and fed, lolled around on the porch catching up on familial things and local current events- deep sea divers have to re-acclimate themselves gradually to ambiant air pressure...time on the porch at Lake George is my favorite depressurization capsule (Peg is, lamentably, still in Baltimore greasing the wheels of industry; she arrives on Friday). When I hit the hay on Friday night it was my full and enthusiastic expectation to be on the water at 6AM, pulling hard for On-The-Water-Training: Day One. I'd positioned the boat on the dock, weighted and ballasted to simulate my load, packed some food and drink, and laid out the incidentals that a day on the water command. I was ready to go. (Next Paragraph) I heard the driving rain before I opened my eyes. The wind whipped the curtains inches from my face. I could hear the waves lashing over the dock. Moral Dilemma: I will indeed face inclement weather on my trip. Shoud not Day One of Training also be a test of my will, my resolve, my perseverence in the face of discomfort? It should have been, and I confess, Gentle Reader, that by this criteria I failed Day One of Training miserably. I....(sigh)...rolled over. In fact, I rolled over until 10, curled up at 10:30 with a hot cup of coffee and my latest Ian McEwan novel (I am lately reading everything he has written; his prose is divine), and there I stayed until dusk, when I ventured out into the whitecaps in my sister's kayak for an hour of surfing and splashing. Hardly a Day One of Training for The Big Row. I toyed with the notion that Day One was A Success in Exercising Good Judgement..but we both know that I simply wussed out. (NEW PARAGRAPH) Yesterday, Day Two of Training, was a different story entirely. I was up at 6:30, on the water by 7, and slogged upwind 14 miles...probably a good deal more because of all the detours I made to stay within the lea of land that would shelter me from a strong north wind. On the way up I was bouyed by the prospect of the huge push the gale would give me when I finally turned for home. Predictably, within five minutes of turning for home, the Unseen Hand pulled the plug on the Great Fan, and within twenty minutes a light headwind developed for the trip home. Punishment, no doubt, for the sloth of the previous day. I crawled into bed last night at 9...fed and watered and a little bit sore after what I believe was a 35 mile-day, somewhat anxious to know how I would be feeling this morning. Could I get up and do it again, as I will have to for 15 days in a row starting August 5? (NEW PRAGRAPH) So here I sit on a perfect day at 10:34 on on Monday morning. The boat is tethered to the dock, the lake is like glass and, truth be told, I feel great. The blisters that I have to work into callouses have started, and the rest of the body parts have raised their collective hands, stating, "All present and accounted for, sir, and reporting for duty." Today, Day Three, will be a shorter day...I'm anticipating 15-20 miles, my strategy being to alternate shorter with longer efforts to "do no harm" to this frail flesh. (NEW PARAGRAPH) On my way to the lake on Friday I stopped in Troy. I wanted to see what the logistics would beat the Troy Dock for launching early on the morning of the 5th. I met the Dockmaster. He would give me no name...just "Dockmaster"...and, truth be told, a title like that might make any of us reticent to lean back on our given names, yes? Some titles say it all in a breath, and "Dockmaster" is one of them. Happily, behind the gruff seems a heart of gold. I asked him how I might launch a small boat at 6:30 on August 5 when he doesn't open the gate until 8. He asked me what it was all about, and when he learned I was embarking for Baltimore, he asked if he might talk me out of it. Ha ha. Line forms at the right, Dockmaster. Anyway, he gave me his number and he'll be there to open the gate and release me like a farm-fed fish to the sea. Like I said...a heart of gold. (NEW PARAGRAPH) So there you have it, Gentle Reader. My serious training has begun, and I am blessed to be able to work out in a place and among family and friends that mean everything to me. The audacious scale and scope of "rowing to Baltimore" is revealing itself a bit more to me each day. I will have no "roll over" time...and I'll be sleeping in places (mostly on docks) that will not especially lend themselves to thumbing another few chapters on a rainy day anyway. I will not have mom along to set my training table (mostly baked beans, corn, steak, and vodka tonics...probably a good thing that this pattern will be broken...). I will not be able to enjoy Peg's calming, supportive presence, nor will I have instant access to the technology to commune with you, my unseen but ever-present companions. But in 12 days I'll be off, because the Dockmaster is coming in early. (NEW PARAGRAPH) Of course, I can't close this entry without thanking you for pushing the Pledge Paddle over the magcal $10,000 mark. To be sure, this is another reason I'll be pushing off, rain or shine. You've helped a lot of kids, and I couldn't be more grateful. More on this later; I've gotta get on the water. Blisters to callouses! Mr. Frei.