
Moderator: Van Canna
Rowing is as much a challenge of the mind as it is a sport of the body. You must match whatever rhythm the coxswain calls for and concentrate on your movements to deliver power and produce that rhythm.
One of the chants the boys in the boat used to keep focus and rhythm was “M.I.B. M.I.B. M.I.B..” (No, they weren’t foreshadowing the Men in Black movies.) M.I.B. stood for “mind in boat.” That phrase reminded them to rid all distractions and to concentrate on their primary task from the moment they stepped into the boat to the finish line.
They trained themselves to cast away thoughts about who was watching them from the shore or how the competing boats were faring. “M.I.B.” reduced the world of the oarsmen to their next stroke, their rhythm, their power, the movement of their arms, the shoulder of the man in front of them, and the catch of their paddle in the water.
Nothing beyond the oar existed during a race. Concentration. Focus. Mind in the boat. It was all about the boat.
There is musical beauty when several voices sing in perfect harmony. A similar effect happens in rowing “when all eight oarsmen are rowing in such perfect unison that no single action by any one is out of sync with those of the others.” It is called swing.
The rowers cease being a boatload of individuals and become a single unit. Daniel James Brown wrote that it’s not just a matter of getting oar strokes together; it’s harmonizing every minute muscle action “from one end of the boat to the other.
Only then will the boat continue to run, unchecked, fluidly and gracefully between pulls of the oars. Only then will it feel as if the boat is part of each of them, moving as if on its own. Rowing then becomes a kind of perfect language.
Poetry, that’s what a good swing feels like.” The boys in the boat first found their swing rowing back to the shell house after a trial run at nationals one evening. Everyone was relaxed, everything was in sync, and the boat slid effortlessly in the quiet night.
When your child has died, Christmas can be unbearably difficult. The whole world seems to celebrating, everybody appears to be obsessed with preparations, which seem to go on for weeks.
These confront us at every turn –in shops and streets, on TV, radio, in magazines and on the web and social media. We often feel alienated, isolated by our grief.
As we contemplate Christmas –especially in the early years of our bereavement – we wonder how we will survive. It is normal for parents to feel they just want to ’cancel’ Christmas.
It is a time to be with family, and the enormous gap left by the death of our child is intensified. Christmas cannot be the same as it was because our family is not the same – not complete.
◾Let close friends/family know that you are struggling and need to be able to talk about your child at this important family time.
◾Tell people that you need to have your child acknowledged by others at Christmas – to see their name in a Christmas card or to remember them with a toast during the Christmas meal means so much, but many people would be scared of doing this unless you tell them.
◾Spend time with people who understand. Avoid those who don’t.
◾Be aware that the New Year celebrations can also be difficult. The coming of a new year can feel like we are moving ‘further away’ from our child and the celebrations of others, wishing us a ‘Happy New Year’, can intensify our yearning and grief. We can feel isolated from the celebrations and happiness of others.
Acknowledge these feelings to yourself and others close to you, and perhaps plan the evening of December 31st – whether that is to be alone, or with close, understanding friends who will allow you to be yourself and remember your child at this poignant time of year.
After the death of our child, the Christmas holidays will have shadow, a yearning for what might have been, an added poignancy.
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