Felix Felicis
Harry Potter fans will get it without clicking.
This morning, while carrying the 8 to the dock, my coach came up next to me and put his arm around my shoulders and gave me a little squeeze which said "I'm sorry I put you in this lineup of not- so-great rowers, and I know you're probably in for a very frustrating row, but I appreciate that you do these things without complaint because you believe that the team comes first". This is why men don't call their friends to talk: We don't need words to convey a sentiment. Talking scares the antelope, and you ladies only mated with those of us who could bring home the bacon. So now testosterone makes us horny and silent.
Despite the warning, the row actually turned out awesome. We had a good cox, with whom, as stroke, I love to work. He trusts my requests, and tunes up the boat accordingly. My crew eventually and miraculously learned to just chill the fuck out on the recovery. The boat won't wobble if none of us freaks out. And once the guys discovered this, they managed to feel the boat, and listen to what it was telling them. We were doing low rates at high pressure-- my favorite -- and there were many times when the only sound between strokes was the trickle of water under the boat. On rate and rhythm shifts, it was as if I was rowing alone: Everyone made the change exactly with me. It was perfect.
My presentation to the client today went off quite well. Everyone on the project is happy. Even the bosses seem to think I may not suck, after all.
After the presentation, my chief partner in crime at work, J, and I stopped at his favorite Mediterranean restaurant in Sunnyvale. As we left the car, I noticed the letter I had to mail. I asked him if he thought I'd find a mailbox. He said 50-50. I brought the letter. We walked around the corner and into an actual mailman. To whom I handed the letter. Which he accepted. Mission accomplished.
My date from Tuesday has accepted the notion of getting together again on Monday. Sunday looks to be a perfect day for skiing. Saturday I row, and Friday morning I have breakfast with classmates, dinner with another classmate, and likely an evening with K.
Life is good.
This morning, while carrying the 8 to the dock, my coach came up next to me and put his arm around my shoulders and gave me a little squeeze which said "I'm sorry I put you in this lineup of not- so-great rowers, and I know you're probably in for a very frustrating row, but I appreciate that you do these things without complaint because you believe that the team comes first". This is why men don't call their friends to talk: We don't need words to convey a sentiment. Talking scares the antelope, and you ladies only mated with those of us who could bring home the bacon. So now testosterone makes us horny and silent.
Despite the warning, the row actually turned out awesome. We had a good cox, with whom, as stroke, I love to work. He trusts my requests, and tunes up the boat accordingly. My crew eventually and miraculously learned to just chill the fuck out on the recovery. The boat won't wobble if none of us freaks out. And once the guys discovered this, they managed to feel the boat, and listen to what it was telling them. We were doing low rates at high pressure-- my favorite -- and there were many times when the only sound between strokes was the trickle of water under the boat. On rate and rhythm shifts, it was as if I was rowing alone: Everyone made the change exactly with me. It was perfect.
My presentation to the client today went off quite well. Everyone on the project is happy. Even the bosses seem to think I may not suck, after all.
After the presentation, my chief partner in crime at work, J, and I stopped at his favorite Mediterranean restaurant in Sunnyvale. As we left the car, I noticed the letter I had to mail. I asked him if he thought I'd find a mailbox. He said 50-50. I brought the letter. We walked around the corner and into an actual mailman. To whom I handed the letter. Which he accepted. Mission accomplished.
My date from Tuesday has accepted the notion of getting together again on Monday. Sunday looks to be a perfect day for skiing. Saturday I row, and Friday morning I have breakfast with classmates, dinner with another classmate, and likely an evening with K.
Life is good.
posted by Kenneth at 6:27 PM
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