Rowing

You blink, once twice. Groggy eyes opening up to the darkness that is ever present in the early hours before dawn. You try to ignore the blaring alarm that deafens your eardrums, thinking as you do every morning, why, why do you do this. You finally succumb to the alarm, crawling out of the warmth into the chill that lingers long through to summer mornings. The familiar routine is mundane, dress, eat, brush your teeth then sprint out the door running late as usual, Not quite ready to face reality yet but forcing it upon yourself nevertheless.

The drive is short. Speedometer inching up and up on your car, the deserted roads forgiving of the simple mistake. You arrive. The familiar scene is less dreaded now you’re here, it has always been as such. The love for your sport takes over and you forget the tiredness settled in your bones, almost instantaneously.

Th boat calls to you, the boat you use every day, set up perfectly to match your exact specifications. No more fussing with adjustments. It is as simple as grabbing your oars and carrying your boat to the water.

The walk isn’t far, however, it’s long enough to feel your stiff muscles begging for a rest, they already know the request is doomed, they have after all been trying for years now to no avail. You reach the water toes creeping into the ice-cold water that sends chills through your whole body instantly. The water stay artic year round never once providing you with a relief.

 

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Writing