I’m learning to row this summer, with seven other beginning students and a newby coxswain, the person who sits in the back, er, stern of the boat and calls out commands.
Did you see the U.S. women’s team rowing for gold at the Olympics? They moved as one: tight, controlled, fast, disciplined, with lean arm muscles rippling.
They looked nothing like us.
We beginners flail around on the Mississippi River, impossibly fast this summer with all the spring rains and full of debris. “Watch out for the log,” the coxswain will bellow into her megaphone, but of course we can’t see it because we’re all rowing backwards.
The only thing in view is the barge coming up fast downriver, or is it upriver? But it doesn’t matter, because rowers aren’t supposed to say anything. We’re just supposed to row, and leave the instructing to the cox.
We’re not supposed to turn our heads, either, because the head weighs 20 pounds and throws off the balance of the boat. The cox will call you out on the head turn, or the coach will—another instructor with a megaphone, this time in a motorboat puttering six feet behind you.
“Six,” she’ll shout. “Drop your oar earlier.” “Six,” she’ll shout again. “Six.” “Six, drop your oar earlier.” “Six.”
And then I realize: I am six. In rowing, you’re a number, not a name. Crap! I think, and try and try again to drop my oar earlier, perfectly in synch with the person directly in front of me.
Naturally I started thinking about how rowing is like building a business. You’re all supposed to be pulling toward one mission, but the individual variables get in the way.
Someone on your staff is showing off, pulling mightily instead of working as a team. The economy is unpredictable, with shifting currents and unidentified objects surfacing daily. People are giving you tons of contradictory advice, unsolicited or not: bankers, accountants, business gurus, fellow owners, your spouse, your management team. “Six, do this.” they shout. “Six, try that.” Oh, you realize, that’s you.
And did I mention you can’t see anything, because you’re facing backwards? ‘
To graduate from our learn-to-row class, we competed in a regatta. There were two beginner teams, and our team was determined to keep our discipline. We would remember all the technical details that we had been practicing: outside wrist straight, inside wrist rotating. Twist the body and thrust the arm parallel to the rigging. Don’t turn the head.
Our stroke, the person in the No. 8 seat and the one setting the pace, said she was committed to rowing at a steady rate, not getting caught up in the competition.
And then the race was on, and our two coxswains started trash-talking each other via megaphone. I was thrilled! A basketball player in my youth, I’m a big fan of competitive insults, and I hadn’t known that was part of this game.
We started rowing like mad, following our stroke who went faster and faster. Everything we learned flew out of our heads. I whiffed a bunch of times with my right oar, missing the water altogether. (So much for dropping my oar earlier.)
Adrenaline rushing, we rowed all out, using heart and muscle and a last-minute shortcut maneuver by our cox (completely legal, our coach insisted later) to beat the other team.
Sounds like what you’re doing to build your business, right?
