Blog 4

The stars dot the dark sky above, the air is crisp on our skin, and my eyes are the combination of tired-yet-awake that new parents and college students know too well. “I’m starting the timer now,” Anna declares as we push off the dock. Her watch reads 3:41 AM. I grip the bow seat oar handles as I follow Anima’s careful rowing stroke, and Sophia stands tall in the stern, steering us through the familiar path past the breakwater. The marina is quiet aside from the “clunk” of our oars moving in and out of the water. We head into the pre-dawn waters for the final 31 hours of our Mediterranean training trip, and we are ready to get the hell out of Italy.

Our team had been rowing up and down the northern coast of the Liguarean Sea for the past eight days. Part of the requirements for competing in our upcoming race are 96 open water hours, 36 consecutive hours, and 24 darkness hours (including dusk and dawn). These “World’s Toughest Row” race requirements*  are designed such that when each team arrives at the start line, they have enough “on the water” experience to navigate the ever-changing conditions of the ocean. Quality over quantity eventually works if you do it enough times, and we are aiming for both. We chose to train out of Genova because it is the nearest qualifying open water to Zurich, where our boat resides. We heard the food is pretty good too. 

From the moment our team touched ground in Italy, we were in a pressure cooker; we had given ourselves just over a week to complete four full days’ worth of rowing in a region none of us had been to before during what we learned is a cyclically windy time of year.

Our three main rows were 15 hours, 51 hours, and 31 hours long, with some shorter bouts in between and lots of time on the dock packing hatches, familiarizing ourselves with the equipment, and practicing drills. 

Our first 15-hour outing was marked by rain, wind, seasickness (classic) and a lot of learning the new territory. We had all arrived in Genova that day via planes, trains, and automobiles and brought the boat straight in the water. The only thing we knew from the weather models on Day 1 was that there would be predictably non-rowable periods of time punctuated with periods of great uncertainty. We will face many of the conditions that we met on the Italian coast – shifting wind patterns, high gusts, rolling swell – on the open ocean. However, coastal regions, often riddled with ferries, cruise ships, sharp rocks, fishing vessels, and various offshore structures, present a much higher risk of collision than the open ocean. Therefore, tough conditions may not always be good practice for ocean conditions, and the decision whether to go out in those conditions must be very calculated for the safety of the crew. The summer ahead is peppered with logistical milestones like boat wrapping, packing, equipment surveys and repairs, and finally, shipping to the start line. This week was our last planned opportunity to train together before meeting at the start line in December, and our first time in open water as a full team. We knew that in order to meet our goals, we would have to get on the water as often as possible for as long as possible. The tasks ahead were daunting; nonetheless, our team radiated with excitement to be reunited for a hallmark week and a half.

The same weekend that we arrived in Genova, so did 400,000 extra people for the 97th Adunata Nazionale degli Alpini, or National Alpini Gathering, to celebrate active and retired Alpine troops, families, and representatives of volunteer associations. This festival rotates cities every year, and the last time it took place in Genova was 2001. The city itself was abundantly full and the marina district was the heart of the celebration. We emerged from our first row in wet rain gear clutching two or three dry bags each, feeling a bit like zombies, and found ourselves surrounded by crowds of people in customary Alpini uniforms sporting green triangle hats with feathers and pins, much like the style of Robin Hood. Ironically, as we made our way through the marina parking lot to hail a taxi, we looked out of place?! We laughed as we made our way through the crowds and all fell asleep in the car ride to our Airbnb.

The looming question of the week was “Will there be enough time to do what we came here to do?” When we were not rowing, we were meticulously checking weather models on our smartphones for the next viable window. Should we not achieve our minimum hour requirements, alternative plans were possible, but undeniably inconvenient. A steady accumulation of anxiety built up in my body throughout the week. In between rowing, my chest was tight as I held my breath close like a hand of cards I didn’t want anyone to see.  Only when I looked to my teammates did I find temporary respite from the stress.  

After a full day storm, 51 hours was the longest foreseeable stretch of time we could fit in before having to come off the water again, and we were determined to seize the wide window. We ate a full dinner of homemade carbonara together and packed our bags for a 2 AM launch. Circadian rhythms had to be disregarded for the entirety of this trip.

Our rowing regime is a well-practiced 2 hours on / 2 hours off shift pattern. During the 2 hours “on” the oars, our main responsibility is rowing. During the 2 hours “off” the oars, our responsibilities consist of everything else – personal hygiene, boat hygiene, land team communications, boiling hot water, repairing ailing equipment, troubleshooting as necessary and only once all of that is complete, we sleep during whatever time remains. The regularity of this routine aids our bodies in adapting to the demanding schedule. However, the Med trip weather required so much vigilance that instead of resting in our cabins during “off” shifts, the two non-rowing teammates were usually sitting on deck with watchful eyes and weather models loading in order to calculate our next moves. This means that we were often awake and rowing for full days at a time. Almost once a day, Anima said, “I don’t remember the last time my eyes were so tired.”

To put oneself in the heart of the wilderness, whether on land or at sea, is synonymous with casting away any notion that you know how the day(s) will unfold. The first half of our 51-hours was fraught with similar experiences  to the week’s inaugural row – high winds, rough waters, and nausea. In these formative moments, those marred by fatigue and discomfort, we have the choice to fray or stay united as a team. Our attitudes and outlooks must be trained like every other muscle in our bodies, and these are the times where we flexed them. We complimented the snacks that Anima and Anna packed, we sang along to song requests on the speaker and noticed the butterflies that floated over us. When opportune windows appeared, we practiced drills like para-anchor deployment and self-rescue. In the vein of ultramarathoner Rachel Entrekin, the number one quality that correlates to success is the ability to roll with it. 

The sun set and rose again, and the second half of our longest row felt like a redemption from the earlier harsh conditions. The pressure of timing eased slightly as we accumulated hours rowing laps around the Portofino coves. We saw a small pod of dolphins and a juvenile sunfish, also known as the “gentle giant” of the sea. We named the sunfish Lucia, Latin for “light”. Lucia moved through the water like a pool floatie with a smile drawn on the front, and we adored her. We built confidence in our routines with each shift turnover and as we rowed offshore for the second night, each of our jaws fell open in awe of the sunset that backlit a cliffside castle. The only word we could utter was, “Wow”.

When we were waiting out storms not on the boat, we huddled in our petite Airbnb. The quarters were a tight two-bedroom apartment with a pull-out coach in the living room/kitchen on a hill with a semi-panoramic view of the coast. While it was quaint, there was nary a moment when one of us wasn’t climbing over the obstacle course of bags, chairs, or someone’s bed. There was so little privacy that when I walked into the bathroom, it was comically unsurprising to find a shower-tub with no curtain.

The stress of the week weighed on everyone in different ways, but we embraced the time we had together. Around the patio table, we discussed boat logo design, passage plan options, packing preferences, and best practices for minute but important details like water-maker repair and period products. We shared stories of adventures gone by and outlooks for post-race futures. We filled the time between rows with action rather than powerlessness, because time is of the essence, and action is part of our team’s essence.

The most notorious reputation of rowing is that of a team sport, and ocean rowing is no exception. Even solo rowers (those who row a mighty boat of one) thank their extended team for their irreplaceable roles in their adventure because no one does this kind of feat alone. Cam and Penny came as our extended team, and they had their roles cut out for them. Due to the Alpini festival, the closest Airbnb we found was 45 minutes drive away from the marina, in a small town with winding roads called Bogliasco. Most of the times that we launched were between 2AM and 4AM, when winds were offshore (blowing from the land towards the water) and gusts were lower than later in the day. This meant that when alarms went off between midnight and 2AM, Cam was also lacing up his shoes to chauffeur us down the hill. When they weren’t shuttling us to and from the marina at the oddest hours of the night, Cam and Penny stood on-call to stake out potential landing spots if seas got rough and prepared feasts of grilled seafood, pastas, potatoes, and abundant salads whenever we were on land for dinner. As legendary UCLA coach John Wooden said, “The star of the team is the team.”

During our last early morning drive to the marina, as we are tightly packed in the back seat of the car, backpacks and canisters of hot water filling every free space, I recall two years ago when we all convened on Zoom for the first time ever to discuss the possibility of building a team to race across the Atlantic Ocean. At that time, the idea of an ocean row was as real as a cloud, visible but distant and shape-shifting. The common thread between the group that showed up to the first video call and those in the car that morning  was that we wanted to be part of a team. We wanted to work together with others to accomplish a lofty dream in a far away place, and we wanted to do it together from start to finish. While each member of our team now has their own specific roles and responsibilities, each decision we make is a collaborative effort that revolves around the central axis of our mission statement: To celebrate and amplify each other’s strengths, empowering us to cross the Atlantic as fast as possible, with collaboration, courage, and curiosity.Through the reroutes and gelato stops, the early and late marina commutes, the sunny days and sleepless nights, I feel this commitment to teamship resonate more and more.I tilt my head back, hug the bag on my lap tight, and doze off for what may be the last time we get close to sleep for another 31 hours. 

Our Med trip concludes in similar fashion to our first training trip back in Burnham: a windy afternoon, a narrow boat ramp, and an all around precarious docking situation. One year ago, loading our boat onto the trailer was the first hard thing that we all did together** and now, we have accomplished innumerable hard things together. After just one more, we pack the boat for its drive back to Zurich, bid swift but sweet farewells to one another and prepare for our respective long journeys home.Our training trip began with jetlag, unapproachable weather and unlikely odds that we could complete the task at hand, and ten vigorous days later, we not only met all of our race requirements, but we solidified enough confidence in our abilities that if we needed to leave tomorrow from La Gomera, we absolutely could.That’s Seabirds magic; that’s amore.

*These are not universal requirements for all ocean rows. Each race has a slightly different set of pre-requisites all built with the participants’ safety in mind. Those not participating in official races exercise best practices and their own judgement on their readiness to launch.

**See Blog 1 for full story