Page 82 of Racing Hearts

“And what do you see?”

My eyes find Adrian over the rocking waves. He’s paddling steadily in front of me, keeping himself close enough that he doesn’t need to shout for me to hear him. The sun glints off his sunglasses. His hair moves with the flutter of a breeze. His forearms flex, strong and solid, as he rolls through his next stroke.

You. I see you.

Adrian nods. “There you go.”

I flex my fingers against the grips, feel the weight of my seat, let my back and legs move with the rhythm of a pendulum. Waves toss me underneath, but bit by bit, I’m gliding, slicing instead of tossing. I’m finding the calm rhythm of progress.

“Yes!” I hear Adrian yell over the wind.

I pick up the pace, and the bow drives forward. Sunlight glitters in the footprints of my oars as we approach the next set of waves. But this time, as I crest the first one, I focus on my breath. I take a deep inhale. And my boat rises.

“That’s it, Kath!” Adrian yells beside me. “Out of your head! Into your body!”

I pull. And we fly.

. . .

Warm sand pricks the backs of my legs. I’m spread out like a starfish, chest heaving and heart full. Our shells and oars are sprawled near the waterline and we’re surrounded by craggy rocks that slice out from the hillside, carving out our own private beach.

Triumph courses through my humming veins as I, yet again, replay the image of myself sailing over the rise of waves and crashing through the breaks. For the first time in the longest time, the glide of my legs and the rhythm of my oars were unstoppable. Inevitable.

I’ve experienced this magical feeling many times since I started rowing. The one where everything aligns and the boat and I start flying—like we’re working together instead of at odds. Since I can remember, though, I’ve always believed it was something that happened to me. Something that either clicked or didn’t. That it was out of my control.

But Adrian taught me an important lesson today. That feeling is a choice. Not something I arrive at through a checklist or a rubric or a training program. It’s not a place I get to by eating lemon bars or touching my oarlocks.

I get there by getting out of my head and choosing to connect with my body instead.

Those words would have made no sense to me a few months ago, but now they are obvious. Life-changing.

“Kath.”

To my side, Adrian’s watching me, sitting with the crook of his elbows hooked around his knees. His Lycra is damp, clinging to the long lines of his rigid torso. His biceps and quads are still swollen from our exertion. He tilts his head and lifts his chin, eyes lingering on mine.

A tingle traces from my spine to my hairline.

Sometimes, I’m shocked by how easily I react to this man. All it takes is a glance or a tip of his chin and my skin is already buzzing. Maybe that should scare me. But, sitting on this private beach with a pair of skylines over our shoulders, I feel too safe to be afraid.

“I’ve never been more impressed by you,” he says.

My next breath sharpens in my lungs. “Even though I panicked?”

“Especially because you panicked.” I tilt my head in question and he slides toward me until his knee grazes my thigh. “The accomplishment isn’t that you did it. It’s that you did it even though you were afraid.”

“I couldn’t have without you,” I say truthfully.

Adrian touches the inside of my elbow and drags his fingers along the veins of my forearm, like he’s tracing a stencil. I’ve always been self-conscious of how prominent those veins are, but his touch is so soothing that I can’t help but melt into him.

“I can only encourage,” he says softly. “I can’t paddle for you. I can’t change your mind for you. You did that.”

When his eyes raise to mine again, his pupils are heavy. One of his hands is braced next to me, close enough that I can feel the heat of his body rolling off him. I inch my fingers into the spaces between his, drawing up tiny piles of sand underneath.

He swallows. I watch it descend the long line of his throat.

“So, do you admit it?” he asks.

“Admit what?”