Dwadling, Donuts, and Deadlines

Remember that scene from Rocky when Apollo Creed sits in his luxury hotel suite drinking coffee, knocking back Danish pastry, and negotiating the marketing spin for his upcoming bout with the unknown Rocky Balboa while his trainer watches TV in the corner? Over the trainer’s shoulder we see Rocky training in the meat-packing plant…hammering away at a side of beef, the ribs cracking, his hands bloody, his sweatshirt soaked. Riveted to the screen, in a voice seasoned with alarm and admonition, Creed’s trainer says, “Champ, I think there’s something here you might want to see….” Creed waves him away dismissively. The stage is set. 

This morning I sit at my little writing desk with, yes, you guessed it, a cup of coffee and a Danish, writing for this blog while my my guide boat rocks restively at its lines down at the dock. It’s looking up the lake into a bit of a north wind and saying, with increasing alarm and admonition, “Al, I think there’s something else you ought to be doing?” I lift a raspberry cheese dollop to my lips. The stage is set.

Of course, the space between what Creed and I are doing and what we ought to be doing, the danger inherent in the hubris of experience, is the point, right? Creed, as likeably flamboyant as he is, becomes less sympathetic at this moment. The die is cast. 

I’ve put less than 30 miles under my keel in preparation for this thing. My hands are still soft, and unlike Creed, I’m no reigning Heavyweight Champ. I’m a duffer who, in two weeks, will push off to Hammondsport, 400 miles away. If I don’t get cracking soon, this row will be as painful as letting Balboa cut off the ring and get to work in the corner.

At this rate I’ll be doing the training I should be doing for the row while I’m actually rowing to Hammondsport. And maybe this morning I’m thinking of this thing too much as a competition, as a zero-sum game, which it’s not. It’s a row.  But Creed paid a real price for underestimating Rocky and, in the early going, I’ll pay a bit of a price, too, unless I put down the coffee and pick up an oar.