Guest Writer: The Journey of a Single Stroke

Evan McClure, Guest Writer

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Freshman Evan McClure is the Mirador’s first guest writer of this school year. If you are interested in being featured online, please submit your writing entries to any Mirador staff writer or email it to mhsmirador@gmail.com. 

The rower begins his routine by leaning, stretching, curling into a ball of flesh and bone. He reaches forward as if he’s reaching something distant, unreachable. Next using every fiber of his strength he prepares to strike. The water is calm; every rower in the boat is silent. The rower is quiet. He must have full concentration. He clears his thoughts, only using his muscle-memory. Sweat trickles down his forehead, but that doesn’t faze him. His goal is simple; his purpose is crystal clear- just row. The rower exhales loudly. His primal instincts kick into gear, he must attack the water now. Drawing in as much of the salty air as his lungs will allow, he opens up, leaning his back tight to the port of the boat. The rower’s high knees lower themselves and his legs extend as if they are a mile long. And he pulls, pulling from the strength of countless generations. His eyes shut tighter than a vault door, his teeth as white as paper. His thick arm muscles flex into rolling hills of skin and meat.The calm water soon turns him into a miniature tidal wave.  The peacefulness of the silent evening is lost to the violent thrashing of the wakes. At the peak of this amazing feat the rower’s elbows are pulled into his body as his back is leaning at 45 degrees backwards. His body has become an explosion of flying sweat particles and flailing hair that goes in every direction. His presence is the envy of the coaches and coxswains alike. The rower finally calms himself, allowing himself to exhale. He curls inwardly as he begins the journey ahead.

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