The day I realized that races are won in training was the day Hurricane Elsa made landfall. That morning, we were on the water, with raindrops the size of quarters falling on our heads. Blinking away the rain and sweat from my brow, I was half-blind, but as the lead man in the boat, I was in charge of rhythm, steering, and keeping the three other rowers in the quad safe.

I had arrived from California to USRowing’s Olympic Development High Performance program in Florida the week before, and I was the sickest I had been in years. Though it was “just” a cold, I felt terrible. However, there was no way that I would miss the opportunity to work with Coach Korzo, who had coached at ten Olympic Games and won gold and silver medals for many different countries.

Amid the downpour, the first thing he asked me was why I was wearing a raincoat. An hour later, we were rowing in the Jacksonville swamp. Coach Korzo was in the launch to our left, yelling at the four of us in his thick Polish accent. We were navigating our way under one of the narrow bridges when he singled me out to tell me I was not hanging off the oar enough: “I’m saving you, my friend,” he said, “if you no fix these things now, you never win a race.”

I realized that this was the most critical moment in my rowing career thus far. I was going to do whatever this small, agitated, brilliant man told me to do. I altered my grip, and by the end of the afternoon, my sculling had progressed more than it might otherwise have in years. While grip might seem inconsequential, it affects the balance, speed, and precision of the boat.

Upon reflection, I can see how I had been training myself to focus on mastering these kinds of details for a lot longer than I had previously realized. It started with the video game Civilization V when I was ten years old. In the game, a player controls a civilization like England from the dawn of man to the modern day. Through war, diplomacy, and the development of different technologies, the player crafts a new story for the chosen culture. Rather than trying to win, I spent hours focused on perfecting specific game mechanics and mastering the intricacies of each society. I watched instructional videos about managing a city correctly and about effective openings, like in chess, for days on end. Then, I combined and built upon each mastered piece to create a “perfect” game.

After spending ninety percent of my free time on a screen for six years, I was tired of not going outside and feeling my body. A friend recommended I try rowing. On my first afternoon out, I was by myself in a single. I was teetering and struggling to fully extend my arms. I did my best not to fall into the lake. I realized I had so much to learn, and I was hooked.

I fell in love with rowing for the same reasons I enjoyed playing video games: both involve small, intricate mechanics that I can master and perfect. One week, I’ll focus on using my fingers to feather the blade properly. Another week, I’ll focus on timing or leg drive.

My favorite time to row is on cold, foggy Saturday mornings. The sky is a dark purple. The oars knock against the locks; we cut peacefully through the morning mist that clings to the glassy water around us. The air is brisk, our breath is visible, but I am warm. As the sun rises from behind the mountains, it illuminates the fog with a warm orange-red glow. We’ve all got stupid grins on our faces as we clunk the oars back and forth.

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Cover photo by Matt Chris Pua