it doesn't end. not here. not now.
on the 31th of july 2004, on sunday night a about 2247hrs, i sat down at my desk and pulled my trigo notes towards me. then by chance my gaze fell upon a battered black notebook nestled on top of my jacket. i then spent the next half an hour writing in that book instead of studying, or should i say, writing before staring into space, metaphorically grasping at sunbeams and starlit memories.
for those of you who don't know, i kept a canoeing log. every single training from the one before the sdba comp in 2003 to my very last race, every detail about stroke and direction, about current and race plans and timings, i recorded. sometimes i wrote reminders to myself, sometimes i wrote promises. it doesn't seem that long ago since last nationals when i came home after crying and sealed a contract with myself that never again must this happen. has it really been seven whole months since i runimated about the implications of becoming a senior with real live noisy juniors and not some imaginary entity summoned by nik? and i wrote about my races. every single one.
but there was something incomplete about this last entry. position: third. direction fine. severe muscle cramp in arms post race. nice last burst. i raised my hand to close my notebook, to end the chapter on the best nineteen months of my life, then i didn't. i was afraid that with that one fell movement, i would destroy all that i held precious.
but does it end here, really? i think all the seniors know what is it i speak of. the silent knife that is thrust into our insides, the inexplicable twisting recoil we feel when we see the juniors now. we're not there. no doubt, we're still and forever will be the team of 2003-2004, but we're no longer ac canoeists. by not training, by not being there, by dancing to a different drum other than the strident tatoo of the dragonboat, we're out. its like a war? damn right. once you're out, you're a civilian. you forfeit the blood fraternity. no matter how you try, you feel left out. excluded from these fellows whom you fought side by side with. and we love each other. and when we can't love fully, we die a little day by day, wilting into nothing but ashes and dust.
does it end here? is it really over? our time as ac canoeists is. we're all alumni now, free to gorge on fried food til we're sick and goodness knows what else. we're gone. we're just a word, or a comma maybe, in the history of the ac canoeing team. that's all we'll be. forever and ever and ever amen.
but history doesn't end. it keeps being rewritten and most importantly, it lives on.
juniors, live for us. take our pain, our tears, our smiles and row for us. do what we can't do for now. breathe the very air and go for the kill. let us fade into the background knowing that we survive, that we live on in you. not just us, but every single canoeist since the club was born. we've made the name. ac canoeist. crazy, manaical rowers with pride. with tradition. who don't know when to quit and who love each other to the death. through you, we descend not into ashes, but embers. ready to be ignited again at a moment's notice. embers, glowing, warm, alive.
so that night, i picked up my pen and added one more line to my notebook before closing it. but this time, i could smile as i closed it.
as i told you all on the 30th, my trophy has ended up somewhere at the bottom of my cupboard alongside the dragonboat medals. its all bronze and silver. no gold, but that is of no matter. the trophy is buff. it shines without really reflecting anything. if i ask myself how this could possibly be the culmination of my canoeing career, i will tell you it isn't. it can't be. if i poured all my memories and thoughts into that cup, it would overflow in a deluge and shatter. but the outside is of little importance. look inside. inside the trophy there are a million bronze and obisidian circles going into infinity. so many layers of time, so many meanings we have given, so many hopes and dreams we've lavished. where do the circles end? they don't. one leads to another, overlapping and melding into a spiral of molten sunlight. the circle doesn't end. not here, not now. look at what really matters. not the outside but the inside. in our secret heart of hearts, in each other, in our seniors and our juniors, is where we live on.
that's what i wrote in my notebook. not the end, but a new beginning.
for those of you who don't know, i kept a canoeing log. every single training from the one before the sdba comp in 2003 to my very last race, every detail about stroke and direction, about current and race plans and timings, i recorded. sometimes i wrote reminders to myself, sometimes i wrote promises. it doesn't seem that long ago since last nationals when i came home after crying and sealed a contract with myself that never again must this happen. has it really been seven whole months since i runimated about the implications of becoming a senior with real live noisy juniors and not some imaginary entity summoned by nik? and i wrote about my races. every single one.
but there was something incomplete about this last entry. position: third. direction fine. severe muscle cramp in arms post race. nice last burst. i raised my hand to close my notebook, to end the chapter on the best nineteen months of my life, then i didn't. i was afraid that with that one fell movement, i would destroy all that i held precious.
but does it end here, really? i think all the seniors know what is it i speak of. the silent knife that is thrust into our insides, the inexplicable twisting recoil we feel when we see the juniors now. we're not there. no doubt, we're still and forever will be the team of 2003-2004, but we're no longer ac canoeists. by not training, by not being there, by dancing to a different drum other than the strident tatoo of the dragonboat, we're out. its like a war? damn right. once you're out, you're a civilian. you forfeit the blood fraternity. no matter how you try, you feel left out. excluded from these fellows whom you fought side by side with. and we love each other. and when we can't love fully, we die a little day by day, wilting into nothing but ashes and dust.
does it end here? is it really over? our time as ac canoeists is. we're all alumni now, free to gorge on fried food til we're sick and goodness knows what else. we're gone. we're just a word, or a comma maybe, in the history of the ac canoeing team. that's all we'll be. forever and ever and ever amen.
but history doesn't end. it keeps being rewritten and most importantly, it lives on.
juniors, live for us. take our pain, our tears, our smiles and row for us. do what we can't do for now. breathe the very air and go for the kill. let us fade into the background knowing that we survive, that we live on in you. not just us, but every single canoeist since the club was born. we've made the name. ac canoeist. crazy, manaical rowers with pride. with tradition. who don't know when to quit and who love each other to the death. through you, we descend not into ashes, but embers. ready to be ignited again at a moment's notice. embers, glowing, warm, alive.
so that night, i picked up my pen and added one more line to my notebook before closing it. but this time, i could smile as i closed it.
as i told you all on the 30th, my trophy has ended up somewhere at the bottom of my cupboard alongside the dragonboat medals. its all bronze and silver. no gold, but that is of no matter. the trophy is buff. it shines without really reflecting anything. if i ask myself how this could possibly be the culmination of my canoeing career, i will tell you it isn't. it can't be. if i poured all my memories and thoughts into that cup, it would overflow in a deluge and shatter. but the outside is of little importance. look inside. inside the trophy there are a million bronze and obisidian circles going into infinity. so many layers of time, so many meanings we have given, so many hopes and dreams we've lavished. where do the circles end? they don't. one leads to another, overlapping and melding into a spiral of molten sunlight. the circle doesn't end. not here, not now. look at what really matters. not the outside but the inside. in our secret heart of hearts, in each other, in our seniors and our juniors, is where we live on.
that's what i wrote in my notebook. not the end, but a new beginning.
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