Not many people grow up saying, “I want to be a rower.” It’s not exactly a mainstream sport—there are no Friday night lights, no bleachers full of fans, no highlight reels playing on ESPN. But those of us who’ve done it? We know it’s one of the toughest, most unique, and strangely beautiful sports out there.

I started rowing in high school. I was, well, just okay at other sports. I never really found my calling, but I knew it was out there. One afternoon, as fresh as a freshman can be, I walked through an indoor rowing practice. It only took a second, and I was hooked.

While my classmates were heading to soccer practice or prepping for track meets, I was down by the water—lifting boats over my head, taping up blistered hands, and learning to move in perfect sync with a boat full of girls just as determined (and tired) as I was.

I only rowed for one year in college – during my freshman year – but that single year showed me just how much this sport demands from you, body and soul.

Rowing Is Hard. Like, Really Hard.

Rowing isn’t glamorous. It’s early mornings, Unisuits, freezing fingers, and workouts that leave you shaking. It’s relentless repetition. It’s not a sport that lets you coast—not even for one stroke.

You train your mind to ignore the burn in your legs and the fire in your lungs. You learn that your limits aren’t fixed—they’re stretchable, bendable, and always further than you thought.

It’s Also Completely Addictive

There’s something magical about gliding across the water at sunrise—when the lake is glassy and the only sound is the rhythmic splash of oars. There’s a peace in it. And power. And when the boat is moving as one, you feel it—not just physically, but emotionally. It’s the kind of harmony that can’t be forced. It has to be earned.

You don’t row for glory. You row for the feeling. And maybe a sunrise or two.

The Lessons Stay With You

Rowing taught me discipline in a way no other sport ever had. It taught me how to suffer quietly and celebrate as a team. It taught me that strength doesn’t always look loud—it can be silent, fluid, and deeply grounded.

• I learned how to lead from the middle…well, the bow, technically.
• I learned how to keep pushing when no one’s watching.
• I learned how to trust people—really trust them—with your success, your pain, your pace.

Even though I only rowed for a short (was it though?) window of time, it shaped so much of who I am now. I still think in terms of rhythm and recovery, tension and release. I still push past “comfortable” more often than not. And I still miss the way that lake looked at 5:30 in the morning, even when my body was begging me to stay in bed.

Rowing Isn’t Just a Sport—It’s a Mindset

It’s a metaphor, really—for life, for relationships, for the balance between effort and surrender. You don’t get very far if you’re not in sync. You won’t make it to the finish line if you burn out in the first 500 meters. And nothing great ever happens if you give up when it gets hard.

So no, rowing doesn’t get much of the spotlight. But it doesn’t need it.

The water was our stadium. The rhythm was our anthem. And those long, quiet stretches of pain and perseverance? That was where the real growth happened.

And p.s., yes, I (we) get very uncomfortable when watching someone attempt to row on an Erg (rowing machine) at the gym when they have no idea what they’re doing. Sometimes, it’s just painful. So grab your ice pack, you’ll need it.