You leave the pontoon, with the rest of your teammates cheering you on. You know they have high hopes on you. Your heart beats erratically with the flurry of emotions surging through you; you tell yourself not to be anxious, not to be afraid, not to feel challenged, you earnestly remind yourself over and over again.

The sky is the least inviting, the water is choppy, and the wind is strong. Yet these are not the least on your mind. Your mind is on the race to come. It is the race, which you have prepared so long and so hard for. The wind caresses your arm, and you feel the droplets land sparsely on yourself, as the paddle surges through the water, and up, recover, through the water, up, recover...

It's your turn, as you slow down. You prepare to enter your lane, your heart beating harder than before. You know you are part of it, and you know that it is the time to face your fears; fear of inexperience, fear of fatigue, fear of the pain to come, fear of the result. No matter the confidence, regardless of the training, the fear creeps up to you. You live in full awareness that anything can happen during the event.

The umpire calls all boats hold. Uncertainty looms over you greater than ever before. And you know that you have to stand up to all that is before you. There is no backing out, there is no turning back. And this is a feeling we have not felt guys, you and I. We've been lying asleep these four years, and its the ripe moment to awaken the spirit of sportsmanship within each of us, that which embodies courage, discipline, fighting spirit, gentlemanliness, perseverance and passion.

"Start within ten seconds…"

The horn sounds.

A trigger sends an instantaneous surge of adrenaline into your very being. Everything becomes heightened. Your paddle hungrily digs into the water, and you give a powerful pull, your arm punching down with every ounce of might you can muster. The winds and the water suddenly become transient, and your entire being is thrown into the race.

Now it is just you, your boat. The finish line is no where in sight. You focus on the buoys, on going straight. Your every stroke is the culmination of strength, grit. It is a race of not only muscular endurance, power or stroke.

It is a race of determination.

You fight on. The pain begins to set in, even as your breathing has gotten from heavy inhalations to a furious struggle. You concentrate on keeping your composure. You know that a compromise on your stroke, on your frequency, on your power per stroke, may cost that goal you were striving so hard for.

Your vision condenses with the passing of each buoy. The pain now gnaws at your muscles. You know that not giving your all may cost you that goal. Relentlessly you force yourself to continue, in spite of the escalating fatigue.


You realise that this race is not only about the now. It is about everything that you've done thus far, all the trainings you went for, all the exercises you did, all the times you rowed, all the pain you went through, all the joy, the struggles, the times when personal bests drove you to exhilaration, the times when tiredness drove you to your very limits. You have somehow subtly known and acknowledged it all along, all that you've put into this race. Your hard work, your laughter, your smiles, your blood, your sweat, your tears.

All these things have culminated to a single event. And right at the moment where you are feeling the most drained and tired, this gives you hope.

You realise that you are no longer rowing for yourself, or that goal. You are rowing for God, for his Glory, for the School, for all the team mates who you love and share the same passion for canoeing with. They've placed their faith in you. This hope surges through you, more powerful than any adrenaline, it causes you to forge forward.

At this time, the pain is excruciating. Not just your muscles, but your lungs, your mind are in pain.

Burst.

You give your all.

You cross the finishing line, spent, drained. You've given your everything.

And you lost.


The feeling, that feeling of loss. You stop paddling, defeated. You gave it your all,
but it was just not enough. Those numerous times you trained, when you told yourself you were giving your hundred percent, perhaps those were lies. Perhaps those were a compromise. Perhaps.

You cannot help but let the tears well up. There is no way to escape the sorrow, let alone the defeat. You were not defeated by the winds, nor the water. You were defeated by men, by women, who trained harder than you, who sacrificed more than you, who were more deserving than you.

But in the end, you realise, that you were defeated by yourself. You were the one who chose to compromise, who complacently thought you were giving your all, when in actual fact you were less disciplined, less focused, and less determined.
And my friends, my dear team mates, my fellow canoeists. We are all like that. We have all been in slumber. It is time to wake up. To face up to reality. To reflect.

What has my attitude been. Have I really given my all. Have I really behaved in a manner befitting of my sport. Am I truly a Raffles Canoeist.

Come on guys. We are the present; the batch before us has gone. What shall we do? Are we going to just accept the status quo, or are we going to pick up the pieces bravely? Let us all awaken.

The pain is real, the defeat is real, but so is the strength, the courage, the discipline, the passion, the success. RafflesRow for the Win!

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