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I’m from Buffalo, New York. That’s right – the city that had to shovel its way out of 10 feet of snow last year. I was also a coxswain in high school. Yep, you read that right again – I chose an outdoor water sport in a place where water was frozen for half the year.

In high school, we were all responsible for obtaining our own rowing gear for practice. My sisters and I – all coxswains – had a bin stuffed to the brim of old sweatshirts, fleeces, and wool socks. In the cold mornings before practice, we would dig through the pile groggily, trying to find pants that could be layered. Forget about matching socks – we just wanted to stay warm. Fitting in the bow-loaded shell? Three pairs of pants and two sweatshirts later, I had my doubts. But I always managed to squeeze, the cox-box resting comfortably on my pillow-like layers. (At least one of us was comfortable…)

In college, I couldn’t contain myself when rowing gear was distributed for practices. Finally! Proper practice-gear! This was going to be much different from my high-school days of wearing hand-me-down sweatshirts that had grown worn from grimy canal-water splashing onto them everyday. When the cold days came, I layered up, piling blue sweatshirts on top of blue shirts, and laced my blue waterproof sneakers below my blue water-proof pants. Whenever the forecast called for cold rain at practice, we would joke about our blueberry-like appearance. Layered in blue fleece and waterproof shells, we all commiserated about the weather – and the hard pieces on the schedule. You know what they say – the rowers who dress like blueberries together, win together. Or something like that.

The next year, we turned to gray. Ah, the “gr-outfit”. I still have fond memories of the “gr-outfit” of 2013. We would travel wearing gray, practice wearing gray – some mornings during the fall, it seemed like even the sky was always gray. On one bitterly windy day, my coach distributed face-masks to the coxswains. My teammates called me Ninja-Christa that day.

There’s something to be said about the team-bonding that comes from shared experiences. When someone gives you their extra pair of dry socks after a rainy day on the water, or lends you their visor on a sunny day, it’s hard not to think of them as a friend. Combine that kindness with the fierceness that erupts during a grueling race, and it’s basically over – this person is like family now.

Being a Queen B in athletics isn’t just about glory – it’s about guts. You want to win? You want to build a dynasty with your team? You have to earn your blisters first. You have to become faster, stronger, better than you ever thought possible. And it doesn’t hurt to look good doing it...

There is something so beautiful about achieving perfect harmony.

Take an 8+ boat. The goal is to have 8 rowers in perfect sync, catching and releasing their blades rhythmically at the cadence called for by the coxswain. But the catch and release is only the beginning. Lots of magic happens between the catch and release. In an ideal world, blades hover deliberately above the water, squaring up smoothly in unison. Eight handles mechanically pop the blade out of the water at the finish, only to take yet another stroke. You don’t need to see it to know when it happens. You can feel it. Despite intense pain, you reach a state of euphoria. For mere moments you’re in perfect tune with yourself, your team, the water, the universe…

To achieve the sublime, both rowers and coxswain must propel themselves out of their comfort zone. For coxswains, that includes mental exercise that will help them transition to fearless leaders. When I was new to the sport, I tried to memorize my older sister’s coxing tape. I was an overwhelmed novice coxswain; she was a calm, cool, and collected varsity leader.

I listened to her tape on repeat over the next week. I had a race approaching, and wanted to be ready.

When race day came, I entered the starting line, feeling nervous. I calmed myself down by telling myself that I had listened to that old tape a million times, had even memorized bits and pieces, and had practiced quietly in my room before I fell asleep. I called for bow seat to scull it, to lock-in my point, then put my hand down. “Breathe,” I told my crew quietly. “We got this.” I followed my own advice. Sitting perfectly still, I took a deep breath and waited for the call. I worried the rowers could hear my nervous heart beating through the microphone.

Attention…GO!

I counted the first big power move of the race, my eyes flashing between the stroke rate blinking on the cox-box and the fierceness of my stroke seat’s eyes. By the 20th stroke, my nervousness disappeared. I was too focused on the race unfolding around me to remember the words from my sister’s tape—was too focused on the present and the future to worry about the past.

To be honest, I forget the outcome of that race. What I can remember is feeling euphoric as we crossed the finish line. But what I remember most is my stroke seat sliding forward, exhausted and breathless, to pound my fist. The tape didn’t pick up on the pound—or my smile—but I’ll never be able to forget it.

How does the coxswain make the boat go faster? Not simply by calling for a higher stroke rate, or for increased pressure from the legs. The coxswain makes the boat go faster by getting to know the rowers. What makes them tick? What command can tap into that competitive spirit? What call will unite the individuals as one, motivate them to dig deeper and push through mental and physical barriers? These are the hard questions that a coxswain must ask and answer to achieve perfect balance in a boat, both physically and emotionally.

Uniformity is essential to succeed. A natural swing of seamless strokes is what the sport is all about—but achieving perfect harmony is what makes a boat fly, bonds the boat into a sisterhood, and makes you all show up again and again for 6am practice on dark, freezing cold, rainy mornings.