04:51. I release a string of expletives unsafe for even Satin's ears.
Today the varsity crew team was in need of a novice rower, who could row (It sounds redundant, but trust me, its not). And as I am always happy to facilitate the team, after much physical abuse, I agreed to come. At first the early hours of the day lived up to my expectations; I pulled on my spandex and sweats in the dark, looked for a water bottle in my room while stumbling like a drunk, and managed to stub my toe on the door frame on my way out. But, always the trooper (and a modest one at that), I pressed on. As I trudged to the gym I took care of the next most important thing: acquiring someone to bitch to. Whipping out my phone I remind my partner in misery that pick-up time was fast approaching. As we arrived at the gym I greeted my novice companion with nothing but a grunt as we piled into a car, hardly checking who was driving. For all I knew Dumbledoor was behind the wheel, and for all I cared it was a baby eating serial killer. Part of me hoped for it, I didn't want to row right now.
But alas, we finished the journey safely. And all flopped out of the SUV and circled up in the field, most too tired to talk in the early morning. After an eternity of waiting the coach emerged from his car and talked with us, it seems that he was running late and in a bad mood. Always keen to social situations, I decided this would be a good time to introduce myself. So I stumbled towards him, still intoxicated with drowsiness, and informed him that he did, in fact, have that last starboard seat practice today. What happened next was too terrifying for words, but I'll try and convey the point. You see, no amount of comic books, or superhero movies could have prepared me for what lie ahead; in the crisp tranquility of the morning, my head coach flipped a shit.
Without warning a torrent of expletives flooded over my body, now paralyzed out of shock. His furry was so intense it would not have surprised me in the least if he hurled a car into the woods, or ate a varsity rower so we had the "correct" number of athletes. After the shit hit the fan and the air cleared Alex apologized for his outburst to the team, explaining that he knew it was going to be a bad day after a hairy centipede crawled on him while he was taking his morning shit (I kid you not).
But once we got on the water, after all the antics and anger, a funny thing happened. Just before our first piece a rooster let out its sharp, piecing cry and I realized something. I was on the water, about to row, and there's no where else I'd rather be. After that the practice was fantastic. The frustration of three weeks of nothing but novice work was washed away by a 32 rating, power in the drive, and a set boat. As we arrived back on the dock, with the sun just having showed its face, my morning seemed complete, and I was ready for the rest of the day.
Would I do it again?
No fucking way, sleep rocks.
JAB
But alas, we finished the journey safely. And all flopped out of the SUV and circled up in the field, most too tired to talk in the early morning. After an eternity of waiting the coach emerged from his car and talked with us, it seems that he was running late and in a bad mood. Always keen to social situations, I decided this would be a good time to introduce myself. So I stumbled towards him, still intoxicated with drowsiness, and informed him that he did, in fact, have that last starboard seat practice today. What happened next was too terrifying for words, but I'll try and convey the point. You see, no amount of comic books, or superhero movies could have prepared me for what lie ahead; in the crisp tranquility of the morning, my head coach flipped a shit.
Without warning a torrent of expletives flooded over my body, now paralyzed out of shock. His furry was so intense it would not have surprised me in the least if he hurled a car into the woods, or ate a varsity rower so we had the "correct" number of athletes. After the shit hit the fan and the air cleared Alex apologized for his outburst to the team, explaining that he knew it was going to be a bad day after a hairy centipede crawled on him while he was taking his morning shit (I kid you not).
But once we got on the water, after all the antics and anger, a funny thing happened. Just before our first piece a rooster let out its sharp, piecing cry and I realized something. I was on the water, about to row, and there's no where else I'd rather be. After that the practice was fantastic. The frustration of three weeks of nothing but novice work was washed away by a 32 rating, power in the drive, and a set boat. As we arrived back on the dock, with the sun just having showed its face, my morning seemed complete, and I was ready for the rest of the day.
Would I do it again?
No fucking way, sleep rocks.
JAB
