My mind starts playing tricks on me, saying shit like you’re not built for balancing boats, callused hands, open water, and regattas—that I don’t belong in this ancient sport so long reserved for schools like Harvard and Yale, Oxford and Cambridge. Places light-years away from the West Side of Chicago. In this moment, I am in a game of tug-of-war between the me in the boat and the me the world expects. But I am not the only one fighting here. My muscles surge with adrenaline as my team pushes forward in unison.
