My eyes opened, and the remnants of a hazy dream involving sex and forgiveness fled into the dark corners of my memory where it would be remembered someday or forever lost. I blinked. My head was woozy. 5:22 AM. The alarm was set to go off in eight minutes. I’d beaten it. It was going to be a good day.

As consciousness began to reinstate itself I began my morning routine. Halfway through it the phone rang, and I answered it.

“Outside in thirty.” Right.

I finished the business of the morning, and packed my bag. I opened my front door, and exited. I was met at the stair. No words were spoken. We descended.

The air was cool. The sky was mostly clear and blue. Observations about this optimal weather were made. Light chitchat. Our ride was late. I took advantage of the moment to return briefly to my apartment for a last minute defecation. My stomach informed me that this might be a difficult day. I took note.

Our ride apologized for his tardiness, and we were on our way. We would have been on time if not for the city worker bus parked at the entrance of the park. It was moved, and in we went. Our teammates arrived. Our’s was the first race. A feeling of sleepiness overtook me only to be broken at the start of the race where I awoke with passion and fury. I paddled furiously, angrily. I paddled fast. I paddled hard. Thus it was with all of us. Our resolve heightened by the beat of the drum. Muscles working furiously. Burning. Our rowing was chaotic. Our technique uncontrolled. As we crossed the finish line all of my energy was expelled in a violent shriek of a war cry. It was half a cry of victory, half anger. We came last. Our time sucked.

Our next race was to be in the afternoon. I went home. Bought and took some Imodium AD. Had breakfast. Passed out.

Forty five minutes later I was awake again, and it took me time to shake off the fatigue. It was only when I got off the metro that I began to feel awake enough to do this again. The sun was out, and began beating steadily against my body. The temperature was cool, but it was harsh.

It was then that I found out that the morning race had been more successful than anticipated. I was pleased. One of my accomplishments had been fulfilled. I still had a few more to accomplish. A new resolve instituted itself. There was hype.

We discussed technique and strategy. This time we were going to do it slower. More controlled. Try to push more water behind us with each stroke. The tactic was a dubious one to me, but my experience in the boat was much less than the others so I had no say in the matter.

We got in the boat. I was calm. And the race began.
Once again my body was a machine working furiously, pumping hard, but this time as instructed, slower. More controlled. More emphasis on the precise motions which had been instructed to me. It made sense, and I felt the boat glide further with less effort. The wind was against us but it blew with futility. We rowed hard. We flew. We came fourth this time, beating our previous time by three and a half seconds. It was a great feeling, and the scream which escaped my lungs, was one of genuine triumph. I was certain that objective number two was fulfilled.

Now I am at home. I am tired. I was not programmed to wake up this early in the morning. I have some remorse at the thought of having to give up my Saturday night to my weariness, but I am left with a feeling of contentment, satisfaction. Dragon boating is fun. I’m glad to be doing it. I hope we continue to improve.
 Tomorrow is the final. We will race in heats. Tomorrow we will be placed with people of our level. Tomorrow will be harder. Tomorrow will be fun. I just hope I don’t have to wakeup so early.