Poetic Rowing

Some years, I train to win.

This year? I trained to survive.

And that’s okay.

No medals. Just waking up when I didn’t want to. Just putting the oar in when everything hurt.

And that’s enough.

Didn’t lie to myself.

I’m simply here— spent, quiet, and content with the man who did not have to be carried.

—anonymous rower One of us