The Shabby Princess: That time I rowed on the river Thames (no really, I did)

About ten thousand years ago, I found myself eight seat or cox in a shell on White Rock Lake. I found a sport I could throw myself into wholly and completely. I could lose myself on the water. I could force a group of 8 girls to take the long way back because I wanted to look at the big houses--they loved when I coxed, for obvious reasons (they showed their love by dunking me in the lake once) (it's gross).

I love rowing. Crew. Whatever. It saved my life. It's something that is so incredibly painful, so much work, so much TIME, but oh so worth it. It's clarity and water, and friendship and heaven and everything perfect. It's something you won't ever "get" until you've done it.

I will proudly say "I rowed crew in college", but, it doesn't mean anything to anyone. Until it does. Until you meet someone who looks at you and says "So did I! What seat were you?" and you discuss the early mornings, and the blisters, and the bruises, and the unis and the catch, and the oars and you can talk about it forever because once it's a part of you, it never leaves.

Ya know, just rowers on the Thames. WHY NOT

That happened to me twice this summer. I had a client at pure barre who rows and we would talk about it endlessly. She invited me to come out with her, which I couldn't do because of timing, but, it got me thinking.

Then, I met someone who shook me to my core and who, like me, rowed crew in college. Who, we figured out, was even at some of the same regattas and heads as I had been all those years ago! SERIOUSLY.

For example, we were both at this race. And we both hated it.

I moved to London, where, obviously, preppy white people sports abound and I decided I would try my hand on the water again. I told a special someone about it, as I was so excited about the possibility, so was he, saying: "This is so awesome, I'd love to see you row!" which melted my heart.

I got the news I was two seat the following day and immediately texted, and then once it was over, I couldn't wait to get home to tell him all about it. Because he gets it. And thus, gets me. (we legit talked about it until 2am my time--nerdy rowers are nerdy)

Catching the early morning train from Waterloo to the boathouse. Oof.

This weekend was one of the best in my life. I sat in a shell, rowed by some of the most talented, brilliant, dedicated women I've ever met--who all attend King's College London, and we rowed for two hours on the Thames. It was, honestly, a dream come true. A dream I never thought I'd have again. Sure, my rhythm is off and my catch was miserable, but, it felt amazing. My body knew what to do when my brain could get out of the way.

My body hurts like it hasn't hurt in ages, and I love it. I feel so lucky. Lucky to be hurting, lucky that my darling Molly is finally here, lucky for technology that allowed the two most important people in my life to meet from 5,000 miles away (yay Skype!). But, this weekend, I felt myself again. I felt what I did ten years ago, the first time I launched off and the first time I fell in love.