Juice worth the squeeze.

Pun totally intended. The weekend was full of ups and downs...and blood?

Let me start from the beginning as to not confuse my passionate followers...

This past weekend were our last two races of the fall season. Bittersweet, but not as much as it will be in the spring where I'll have to bawl my eyes out on the dock as I give my senior speech along with the other rowers getting ready to graduate next semester. God, I don't even wanna think about it.

Our first race was last Saturday. We're usually known for taking this invitational regatta home with us considering many of our team's boats blow shit out of the water. Granted, it's only a 1500 meter sprint and we're not usually competing against several teams. Just a few. But we try not to go into this race being all high and mighty because that's where karma sets in and we end up not doing so hot if we think like that. Plus, I was still assuming that the hosting team of this race still had those big, giant, Central European women recruits that freak out when there are free bagels and cream cheese being offered to the athletes before races begin. They are realllllly good. The giants, I mean. The Central European giants are really good at rowing. My first race was in the Women's Varsity 4. We didn't do so hot, letting Sarah Lawrence walk us (which never, EVER happens) but you win some and you lose some. Considering the circumstances, we put that race behind us and concentrated on the Women's Varsity 8 race. We were only going up against the hosting team, Dowling College. Yeah, the team with the big, European giant bagel eaters.

The mystical cystical was still around. Kinda trying to show itself off through my uni and racing shirt. Kinda embarrassing. I tried to not let it bother me during my race, making sure my spandex weren't laying directly on top of it, forcing me to row in agony and pain. I was going into my last chance at getting gold at Dowling, something I was never able to do in the past. I, along with other members of the rowing team, believed that this 8 was solid, strong, and pretty fucking fast. I remember my friend Boober Muff Dive (still, actual nickname is pending) saying in a somewhat Valley Girl accent, "I like really wanna medal." So the biffle nugget Kay Flay and I kinda went into the 8 race with the same mindset. We knew how capable our boat was of beating Dowling.

A majority of the 8 boat consisted of, ironically, novice rowers. Newbie boat nuggets that never sprinted 1500 meters on the water before. Me, Kayla, our coxswain Tor, and a freshman recruit were hot-seating the novice 8 that was coming back to the dock*
*Hot-seating is a term that means a few of the rowers who are in a boat that is coming back from a race are racing again and some are switching out. The people switching out with different ones coming in are hot-seating. Smell what I'm steppin' in?


The novice 8 came back with gold. Okay, okay, maybe we really do have a chance at getting me, Kayla, and Tor, the only senior females on the team, a gold medal. We rowed up to the start and before I knew it we were jumping off the starting line at a rate of 40 strokes a minute. I've never did a start at such a HIGH rate. Not even at practice when we rowed in the boat together did we get that high. We were running on pure adrenaline at this point. And when we settled into a pace, that was even high too...between 34 and 36 strokes a minute. Shit son.

It seemed like we were neck and neck the entire time with Dowling, with us being a little farther up then them. I coulda swore their bow ball (the end of their boat) was lined up with my seat (I sat 5 seat, which is in the middle of the boat). Someone caught a crab in the bow but we got it together within a stroke and still kept a slim lead ahead of them. Tor called the finish sprint early just in case Dowling pulled some shit outta their back pocket and decide to walk us (pass us) at the finish. We turned it on and beat them. I got my medal. It only took 4 years. During the middle of the race, my oar knocked into the mystical cystical, which hurt. Did it pop? I didn't care because like my title said, the juice was TOTALLY worth the squeeze. I couldn't have won my last Dowling race if it weren't for the amazing calls Tor did to make sure we stayed ahead the entire time, and the girls who pulled their fucking hearts out. Thank you all :)

Seniors finally get medals :)

Women's Varsity 8 champs <3

 My biffle nugget's dad flew in from Minnesota to see her race and he filmed the whole race, which was good because I'd like to see how we looked up against the not so big, giant Central European giants. I think they all graduated. Or their VISAs expired. Also, we made the Dowling coxswain cry. Also, our coaches said that was the first time a Varsity 8 beat Dowling. Good on us!

Cheaaahh

Not only did we leave with gold medals, we also won the most Women's Points, making Women's Rowing Champs at Dowling. The head coach, Bob Saget look-a-like, said it was the first time the women's team won the most points and he was really happy to know he can hang that plaque up in his office.






The next day was Fall Mets. Our fall season home race. We host it at the island we practice at. Since its uber crowded every year, the crooks don't come out for it. Good. Tougher competition = woof. Teams like Army, Fordham, Sacred Fart, and our arch nemesis Fairfield are some of the tough teams to beat. Despite our losses, our 4 did beat Sarah Lawrence this time. We made a few changes to the line-up, which worked out so much better. I'm sure our team will come back harder, better, faster, stronger...maybe minus the harder part. Long, wooden shafts don't really get me excited during a race, ya know ;)

It was great to see some graduate biddies who I've rowed in the past. It was great to see so many families come out to support us. And the food? Well, let's just say we were living like kings at these races. Thank you to the parents for the wonderful grub and support :)

That night, after checkin' out the spiffy sun burn/wind burn cheekers I got from the weekend of sun, cold, and salt water, I got me some Red Mango fro-yo (3 days in a row is NOT ok) with Boober Muff Dive then we went back to my place to watch some ridiculous old movies.

We watched Tart & Saved!, some of the many weirdo movies I own. We got great quotage outta those movies.

So you know how I mentioned how the weekend was full of blood as well? Yeah, well last night during movie night I went to go pee and the bandage I had over the mystical cystical was kinda gross. I eventually became brave enough to take the bandage off and saw the bubonic plague. Grody. I called a hospital in Bronxville, one that was probably nicer, cleaner, and more efficient at treating people well during emergencies, than the one I went to the first time I saw problems with the cyst.

I went to the ER with my friend Herm who came with. I was the first one there so I only waited for about ten minutes before being seen by a physician's assistant. The hospital was clean and the people kind. After waiting for thirty minutes the doctor came in, took a look, then went to draining the little fucker. But she didn't give me a local anesthetic so I felt. all. of. the. pain. With each squeeze, I teared more and more. Then she squeezed it really hard and I let out a whimper. Like fucking Bambi. I thought I could withstand pain but I got pretty dizzy so she laid me down while a nurse came in to clean the wound and put some gauze and shit on it. I was outta there an hour later. It doesn't hurt anymore, and the swelling went down. Let's just hope my stomach is back to normal soon. At least I got a gold medal out of all of this.

Holla!