It's time to turn the page on the season By Greg Marr As the seasons change, so do our silent sport activities. September gives way to what can be the volatile month of October, when we can have
everything from brilliant, warm days filled with fall color, or an early season snowstorm to tease the skiers. We lose daylight rapidly and with the switch to standard time at the end of the month, there's precious little evening daylight. I look forward to the seasonal changes but always with a little bit of melancholy at what's being left behind. For many of us, the bikes and boats get
stored as winter comes around, and I've had a good season on the bike and in the boat. As of this writing, I've spent some 50 hours on the water rowing this season, almost all of it in the early morning before the power boats take over the Chain O'Lakes where I keep my shell. October, with cooler temps and fading daylight, will limit the opportunities to get out on the water. With luck, I'll paddle a few times in October, and even November, before putting the boat up for the winter. Last year
my last row of the season was greeted with a brief snow shower. I started the year rowing with ice still on the water in places. To shake things up a little this year, I adopted Phil Campbell's Sprint 8 workouts, which are designed to increase human growth hormone. Production of HGH declines as we age yet research suggests HGH increases fat metabolism and aids in the development of lean
muscle mass. Campbell contends "HGH can be increased by as much as 530 percent through sprinting activities," but as we age, sprinting becomes more difficult and carries the potential for injury. Now, I was never blessed with much of a sprint gene anyway, so I was intrigued by Campbell's Sprint 8 workouts. Done running, the workouts are a series of eight, 70 yard sprints. Sprinting, incidentally, doesn't mean running "all out," according to Campbell. "It means running hard enough to get you out of breath on each sprint. The first sprint should be at 30 percent speed (a little faster than jogging). During the sprint, progressively move toward 50 percent speed/intensity. On the second sprint, start at 35 percent speed and
progressively move toward 55 percent speed. To avoid injury, it's important to spend at least 10 yards slowing down." After each sprint, you walk (not jog) back to the starting line, spending a minute and a half to two minutes between each sprint. Campbell suggests not starting with a "hard, all out sprint. While anaerobic fitness training is clearly the most productive type of
training, it's also the most dangerous. Hamstring pulls are a primary target."
To adapt this to rowing, I do a series of about one minute (40 strokes for me) sprints in the rowing shell, with the appropriate rest time between each. Since rowing is a full body workout (with a sliding set, half the power comes from the lower body) and of low intensity, I'll admit that I don't exactly follow Campbell's advice I pretty much go all out from the get go.
Depending on how much time
I have in the morning, I'll sometimes just do the Sprint 8 and head for shore. With a warmup, it takes about 25 minutes to complete. What I like best are days when I can row around for a while after the workout. Sometimes I'll row the entire length of the lakes, which takes a good hour and half longer if I hug the shoreline after which my legs are wobbly when I reach the dock.
Some mornings I'll slowly cruise the shoreline, watching for herons and other shore birds. Other times I'll
keep my eye on the sky hoping to see an eagle. I once glanced up in time to see an eagle swoop to the water, snag a fish and take off with it clutched in its talons.
On a steamy morning last July, I watched the sky as a cold front moved in. Massive clouds ahead of the front were boiling up, seemingly rolling and tumbling into each other. Low rumbles of thunder sounded in the distance, but not seeing lightning, I pressed on. To the south, I could see rain reaching the ground and dark
clouds starting to fill the sky to the north, where I was heading. Watching the storm build was fascinating, and I felt no urgency to get back to the dock. I rowed around an island to a shallow, sandy area, parked the boat and went for a quick swim before heading for the dock. I stowed the boat and was just getting into my car when the sky unleashed a torrential rain.
And then there was this morning. I woke to a thick fog, planning to get in a quick roller ski before work but I knew
what it would be like on the water; I was not disappointed. The lakes were clouded in a moderate gray shroud. The far shore was more mystery than real as I slid the boat onto the water that was as still and reflective as a greenish mirror. The sun was inching above the treetops, struggling to push through the mist. Forty five minutes later, the sun's energy had pretty much done its job on the fog, but not before I had a chance to cut near silently through the fog and mist.
As I was
coming back, I saw a blue heron perched on a swimming platform. I rowed slowly toward it and got within 10 feet. It eyed me warily as I very slowly circled its platform and then glided away. I've done this before with herons and I can only wonder why they don't fly away. My guess is the wide span of my oars and long boat has it thinking I'm some kind of strange waterfowl, more kin to it than a mere mortal in a fishing boat or on shore. Whatever the reason, I silently thanked it for allowing
the close contact.
What a morning it was and what an incredible season it's been on the lakes.
Yes, getting a good workout is fine, but to paraphrase Lance Armstrong, it's not about the boat. The joy is being out on the water, cruising under my own power, enjoying what nature has provided. As much as I look forward to the coming winter, I'll miss the time on the water.
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