Next to LaGuardia airport at Corona Park is some of the dirtiest water imaginable-- so smelly and gross that we jokingly refer to Corona water splashed in your face as a 'shit-splash’. If you were somehow unfortunate enough to get shit-splashed, you would immediately purse your lips to prevent any further ingestion of ‘god knows what’, then hurry to wash your face with soap once on land. This is where I learned to dragon boat. Whenever I go canoeing, and use my peculiar dragon boat technique to haul ass ... I chuckle about the origins of my paddling stroke.
9 AM Saturday morning
We were waiting in front of the YMCA, just kicking it. No, we came here to compete, to kick some ass damn it. We stood there, watched all the dragon boat (db) people congregate on one side. We suspected they were db people cause they were large in the upper body. Our suspicions were confirmed when our fearless leader Good Jean came by. Couldn't leave her hanging like that, so we joined the group and went into the Y.
While the incense burned, we meditated in the Y's lobby. The drummer read a paragraph on the symbolic name of our boat, 'om' (something like o = progression, m= destruction, om =cycle). Unfortunately, I couldn't meditate properly because all I wanted at that moment was for the loud chattering YMCA workers to shut the fuck up so I could've meditated. Then we went to the cafeteria. The lunch tables were the generic kind: you know, the circular plastic seats suspended in air, attached to welded steel bars coming out of the bottom of the table. We were assigned our seats, (the pace-setters were in the front of the table). I was in the back thankfully. Good Jean barked some instructions: 'the catch'-- keep your forearm kissed to your forehead, stick your face in your armpit, reach out as far as you can with your other hand. 'the drive'-- pull the imaginary blade into you, retract the body, swivel your head outward. 'the recovery'-- get back to the catch position. Push your arm out such that your imaginary blade doesn't touch the imaginary water and splash everybody in the imaginary boat, or worse yet, sink the imaginary boat, and drown everybody in an imaginary tragedy. And make sure not to jab someone in the back with your imaginary handles as well, because there would be an imaginary fight where the jabbed would punch the living shits out of the jabber... all the while, keep your elbow high in the air. Did I forget to mention keep your elbow high in the air? "Do you know where your forehead is, Luke!!!" Good Jean yelled... Good Jean is a high school teacher with 5 years experience in db and yelling. My elbow, my arm, everything was in excruciating pain. FYI: that's what happens when you sit on your ass and read books. Reading books makes you weak in the elbows. I thought I could handle any pain after rowing crew, but this hurt like a mother: a big mean sasquatch mother. 'When will it end. When will we stop imagining that we are on a teak wood boat, with imaginary cricket bat paddles, stroking to the beat of the coxswain banging a stupid magic marker on the cafeteria table. We dared not lower our elbows. Imagine the shame and dishonor in lowering your elbow in front of others!
Anyways we stopped. Relief. Not really, she made us do arm circles. uhhh, extend your arms out like you were crucified. then make cute little circles forward, then backward, then forward, then backward, then forward, then fuck another 10 minutes and the circles weren't so fucking cute anymore, and your mind keeps telling you 'don't halt making little circles in front of these people. It would suck if you couldn't make little circles, and they could.' My circles were going slower and slower.
Good Jean caught me: "Luke go faster!" I'm a lazy weak bastard, the slowest circle maker east of the Hudson River. My arms were about to fall off, I wish I could've nailed them to an imaginary cross and just wiggled my wrists. Then she said, "you can do this while watching television, and next week when we're on the water you won't tire so easily" I smiled noticeably 'why the hell are you smiling?' Good Jean demanded, "I don't watch TV' I quipped. ha ha my arms were going to fall off ha ha ha and we stopped. It made me realize how much I love not having my arms extended making circles, or how much my elbow doesn't like to be above my shoulders. Then for our first work out, we went to the basketball court out in back, and ran wind sprints. I was in moccasins. I blame my moccasins whenever I come in last in windsprints. And then we ran more wind sprints. And then we started pushups, situps, and jumping jacks between windsprints. Dragon boat racing is an anaerobic sport. The race is only 250, 500, 1000 meters, and you're cruising at over 100 strokes per minute while cleverly holding your breath. I was going to puke, but I didn't cause there were people watching, it’s not impressive to see a guy puke after running, especially after running 5 widths of a basketball court.
9 AM Flushing Meadow Corona Park
Our first day on the water. This is where all our indoor practices paid off. Well, not really. There was a slight difference between: 1) holding an imaginary paddle, rowing through imaginary water, and experiencing imaginary pain, and 2) holding a real paddle which weighs more than air, rowing a teak wood boat which was 2000 pounds, and experiencing real pain which hurt. Before we begun our practice, we rowed to the end of the lake; about 250 meters from the dock. The first ten strokes were cake... my paddle was slicing through the Corona Park water like a knife through dirty butter. On the 11th stroke I felt I had to stop. I hadn't built up those obscure paddling muscles like the triceps, biceps, chests, shoulders, and back. I couldn't stop immediately though, so I rowed every other stroke... then every other other stroke.... then every other other other stroke... then until Good Jean yelled at me, whereupon I started rowing every other stroke again... then every other other stroke... then every other other other.... then Good Jean yelled at me... then Good Jean yelled at me...then Good Jean yelled at me.
The curious quality about the Corona pond is that the shore is always only 20 yards away from your boat. Meaning, I could've jumped ship and swam to shore, and ran away to freedom... but the water was pretty gross and smelly. I don’t know what this says about me but I'd rather give up my freedom and endure enormous pain than be wet and smelly. Before you knew it, a whole minute had gone by. Only another 49 more minutes of embarrassment, shame, humiliation, pain and we would be free, right? Not exactly. You see, Buck, our veteran paddler/carpool driver would always stay for the 12 o'clock practice. Which meant, I, k., b., and m., and I had to stay as well. Not only did I have to stay, but I had to paddle. I took full advantage of this unfortunate situation and 'paddled me heart out'. No less than four double practices later, I achieved a momentous accomplishment: I had acquired enough strapping tricep, bicep, back, and shoulder muscles to not stop paddling. It was through hard work mental toughness and determination that I got to this stage. The secret to this success? With every stroke I endured, I spelled out another letter or number in my head to distract my mind from the pain. Pretty soon I was spelling out delirious sentences about the future aims of our nation's foreign policy. :
'1'. (dig my blade in)... '2' (dig my blade in)..... '3'(dig my blade in again)...................................................... '100'... 'w'..'h'.'e'.'n'...'t'.'h'.'.e'............'200'...'h'.'e'.'l'.'l'...'a'.'r'.'e'.... 'w'.'e.' 'g'.'o'.'i'.'n'.'g'....'t'.o'...'s'.'t'.'o''p'.......'er'...'t'.'h'.'e'...'n'.'u'.'c'.'l'.'e'.'a''r'...'a'.'r'.'m'..s'...'n'.'e'.'g'.'o'.'t'.'i'.'a'.'t'.'i'.'o'.'n'.'s'... 'w'.'i''t'.'h'....'254' ...'T'.'u'.'r'.'k'.'e'.'y' (my blade is still digging in)... 's'h'i'.'t'.... 's'h'i'.’t’...'s'h'i'.'t'.'.. 's'h'i'.'t'.... 's'h'i'.’t’...'s'h'i'.'t'....
Inevitably, as you can see, the sentences would degenerate into a highly refined form of cursing mantra. But paddling is like a meditation, a spiritual invocation, if you will. The repetitious movements of the body accompanied by swear after swear after swear after swear... First, you reach a level of slight unconsciousness and nausea accompanied by a vision of light at the end of a long dark tunnel overlaying the images of beautiful Corona park, then the Corona park images are shed and a great white light so beautiful and soothing soon appears, light puffy clouds, peacefully cooing doves and angels by your sides, familiar beings that have departed our good earth, a large gate that says 'No Trespassing', a jolly fat bearded man in red tights riding a skinny reindeer... imagine.
Race day: Flushing Meadow Corona park
The whole year's worth of training, our beautiful tanned bodies were all on the line. The 500 meter races were held on Saturday, and the 250 meter races were held on Sunday. Only the first 2 boats to cross the finish line of each heat proceeded to The Dance where the champions and heroes rise to the occasion and the defeated go home wet-- the 6 boat advanced-level seventh annual New York City dragon boat race festival 250m and 500m finals.
We had no idea how fast or slow we were compared to the other teams. Sometimes it appeared we didn't even know our team name. In an effort to cheerlead and inject some pep to our squad, Good Jean would yell, "Who are we?" whereupon we would enthusiastically respond, "Sea Dragons!" And then she would ask again, "who are we?. We'd yell out "Sea Dragons!" once again... After the 10th time, when we had all lost are voices, we were content with who we were, "Sea Dragons", and Good Jean stopped asking for our team name. We did know we were the underdogs, the unsponsored team with more walk-ons than veteran paddlers. While other well seasoned teams looked intimidating with their own boats, big corporate sponsorships, bulging biceps, and coaches.... we had spirit. There was more to our team than paddling. Within four months, our team had brought together a diverse group of people of various ages, backgrounds, professions: a nuclear submarine engineer, Columbia students, restaurant owners, NBA publicist, district judge, light manager for Broadway shows, elementary school teachers from Harlem... We were as committed to learning about each other's cultures, backgrounds, and lives as to winning. And it was Good Jean's foresight, leadership, and charisma that created such an atmosphere for our team: when you believe in your team, know and trust your teammates, you can unite to win.
In our first race, we garnered the best heat time of all advanced boats. Good Jean cried uncontrollably on the boat ride back to the dock. She probably never expected her boat to get to the finish line first. And who would've thought we'd win our first heat by two full boat lengths ahead of the rest of the pack! We were so happy just to be out in front from the beginning that we didn't let down. Later, in the 500 meter finals however, our inexperience showed up in tight racing. Neck and neck down the stretch, we just couldn't muster the extra push past the other boats.
We came to Sunday's races a bit let down from our loss in the 500 meter final. Good Jean would not stand for any of our deflated spirits and attitudes, however. Immediately she had us stretch out, talk, and warm-up. As a team, we regrouped, adjusted, and committed ourselves to a new racing strategy to gain speed. Again, we had the fastest time for the heats. But this time, we knew we had to go into the final better prepared mentally. For the final race, I dared not look out of the boat. I kept my head down and visualized the race while we waited for the start: the 10 long powerful strokes in the beginning and the unrelenting pounding of the paddles until midpoint where we would follow a set of 20 powerful long strokes with a quick sprint til the end.
With a horn, the race started. You could hear the other boats' drums off to the sides and the hectic splashes of water. A mad dash for the finish line. We rowed at over 80 strokes a minute: everyone was in synchrony, extending out, digging into the water, attacking the water, ripping the blade right through, prying the boat forth... primal groans of pain, the release of unconscious wells of power from within. Nobody knew who won because the race came right down to the wire. In fact the judges had to review the videotape for five minutes to figure out the victor.
We were proud of having raced to our potential and celebrated regardless of whether we had won the race. The winners were announced. We had eked out a .2 second margin of victory over the 2nd place boat. We had won the championship and beat out 15 other teams. Never in YMCA history had a team placed in the 500 meter event. In fact, the best showing prior to our team was 3rd place in the 250 meter race. And here we won the 250m and took bronze in the 500m. We were constantly reminded and congratulated by the veterans of the team that they were eliminated before the finals stage the year before.
At the award ceremony, you could feel it wasn't the trophy presentation but rather the road to victory that was the most important memory to take home. It was everyone's determination and spirit that lifted the team to victory. As I looked at all the smiling team members,the hugs, the camaraderie, I could still remember those first YMCA cafeteria practices, the first water practices where I couldn't even paddle 250 meters...
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