Men's Journal

Starting to weigh your 2009 New Year’s Resolutions? Consider staging your own private comeback. 

by Brad Wieners. photographs by Justin Cash

(Click here to view slideshow.)

A year ago this September, on a climb of Mount Rainier, a member of our summit team, a New York media executive named Andrew, told us about a vow he had made during a particularly sad, soul-sucking period in his life. He had promised himself that every year thereafter he would attempt one thing that scared him silly or that pushed him beyond endurance. That, he explained, was what made him feel truly alive. Although I’ve rarely been one to swear oaths, I rather liked Andrew’s way of thinking, and so this September I sent myself to the Craftsbury Sculling Center in Vermont, the first rowing camp in America. As intended, I returned home completely spent but satisfied — and with one major corollary to add to Andrew’s fear/exhaustion formulation.

My idea was to return to rowing, a sport I love but rarely find time for, and to take it back up from a fresh angle: as a sculler pulling on two oars rather than a sweep rower cranking on one. Even in college, when I last rowed for real, we joked that ours was “the graveyard of sports.” What we meant then was that our crew was composed mostly of lanky guys who’d lettered in high school basketball, track, or (this being in California) water polo but were unable to make those teams at a Division I powerhouse like UCLA. The rest were guys like myself, who had been the rough opposite of athletic success up to that point. 

At the Craftsbury camp the other rowers were an equal mix of men and women, in their 30s, 40s, and 50s. Many had taken up the sport fairly recently; others were complete novices. A few had blown out a knee or suffered some chronic sports injury and turned to rowing for the same reason many swim: because it’s relatively easy to learn, low-impact, “non-load-bearing,” and it doesn’t involve elbows in the low post or slide tackles. Rowing is a rigorous sport and an incredibly efficient way to keep fit. (To get the same cardiovascular workout bicycling, my college coach calculated, you’d have to pedal twice as far.) But it’s also a sport that affords even a hack a chance at grace, gliding over the surface of a body of water. 

Rustic, old-school New England, the Craftsbury Center is anything but fancy, and not easy to get to, but it’s arguably the best facility in the world for an amateur sculler. The camp I signed on for, Yoga & Sculling, ran four days. The program called for three 90-minute rows each day, plus yoga and a bit of strength training. My first thought when I scanned the level of activity was: no problem. By the second night, I dozed off at 7 pm, my mind a blank, while lying on the floor to stretch my back.

All of the rowing instruction took place in one-man, or single, sculls. Much to my chagrin, rowing a single made it impossible to blame someone else when the boat didn’t set up properly. The single also requires greater alertness so you don’t run into anything. When sculling you advance with your back to where you’re going, so you have to constantly turn your head to check that you aren’t about to spear an embankment or a fallen tree.

The Craftsbury coaches, which include former national team rowers, were for the most part excellent: attentive, assertive without being hectoring, and, crucially, consistent. Our group included 23 rowers, and there were five coaches on the water with us. The coaching team videotaped each camper, later gently picking apart our strokes before the group, sessions I found immensely helpful. 

Taking nothing away from the coaching, the highlight of the weekend was Great Hosmer Pond, or “Big Hosmer,” as the locals call it. Narrow, wooded, sparsely populated, Big Hosmer offered some of the sweetest water I’ve rowed, even when it rained. Drifting to a stop on Big Hosmer after a series of gratifying, powerful strokes, I was transfixed by the reflection on the pond’s surface of the high, dramatic clouds above. That’s why I had fallen in love with rowing in the first place: the waterline aesthetic, but also the delicious fatigue that follows a hard row. 

Still, there were ample reminders of why I had strayed from the sport, too. Rowing is more of a discipline than a game, and there are times when rowing is simply too much work, too much of a war with yourself, to be any fun. And yet, what I realized as I carried my shell up from the dock, and later sat around the dining table with other rowers, was that I missed the company of those who get it — those who know just how absurdly unpleasant it can be and love it anyway. 

And so, yes, my former Rainier climbing partner had it right: Do what you fear, test your limits. But to his annual ritual I would include an addendum: Find a sport for life, one you return to not just for nostalgia but for the sheer delight in knowing something forward — and backward.

UPDATE: This time of year, getting out on the water isn’t exactly anyone’s first choice. Luckily Craftsbury also happens to be one of the best destinations in the country for nordic skiing. The rolling, meandering trails of Craftsbury Outdoor Center wind through woods and gentle meadows, providing exactly the kind of bucolic experience you’d expect from Vermont (Trail fee: $10).

(Click here to view slideshow.)