Rowing After Cancer: Muscles, Misfires, and Midlife Courage

Met the WeCanRow Boston team last Tuesday, where I showed up as one of nine newbies—all breast cancer survivors, with the nervous anticipation of people who’d just been handed a second life (or at least a really intense gym membership).

During introductions, I quickly realized I was the "cancer rookie" of the group. Most of these women had 10+ years of survivorship under their belts. Me? A shaky 16 months...

This was our first-ever intro to rowing in the BU "tank room"—a glorified pool with sliding seats and mock oars, where we practiced the motion of rowing without the actual risk of capsizing into the Charles.

It was exhilarating, though after 15 minutes on the ergs (those sadistic rowing machines), my back staged a full mutiny. But here’s the thing—so did everyone else’s. And that’s the magic of this team: no one expects perfection. Just effort. And maybe the occasional groan of despair.

"Legs, then body, then arms!" the coach barked, as if we weren’t all moving like overcaffeinated flamingos. 

"Follow the person in front of you!" she added, which was great in theory—until I realized the person in front of me was also flailing.

What no one tells you about survivorship is how lonely it can feel, even when you’re "fine." But here, in this boathouse, there’s no explaining, no sugarcoating. When someone says, "Yeah, my shoulder’s stiff from radiation years ago," you just nod. No pity. No platitudes. Just  "Yep, mine too. Pass the oar."

What’s next? The real rowing starts soon—on the Charles river in May, in actual water that doesn’t come with training wheels. I’m equal parts thrilled and terrified, mostly because I still haven’t decided if I’m more afraid of tipping the boat or being the reason it tips.

P.S. To anyone out there wondering if they’re "ready" for something like this: You’re not. Do it anyway.

(And maybe practice swimming first. Just in case.)

Recovery, and the Fear of Sinking

It’s been a year and a few months since my last treatment. "Cancer-free" for now. You’d think that after such a milestone, life would fall back into place, that I’d bounce back stronger, fitter, and more determined than ever. But, as usual, my body had other plans. And to add insult to injury, instead of losing weight like most people do during cancer treatment or when they start exercising, I’ve managed to gain it. Go figure.

I got back to volleyball. Returning to the court felt like a milestone checked off. The familiar rhythm of the game, the sound of the ball hitting the floor, the camaraderie with my teammates—even if I missed half the balls—it’s been the first step to getting my life back. But outside of volleyball? Well, let’s just say I haven’t exactly been winning any fitness awards.

So, when I accidentally (or maybe it was fate?) stumbled across a Facebook post about We Can Row Boston, I felt a flicker of hope. For those who don’t know, WeCanRow is a program that supports cancer survivors through rowing. Yes, rowing—and yes, specifically cancer survivors. As in, sitting in a boat, gliding across the water, and pretending I’m in some kind of inspirational sports movie. And, I thought, if these aren’t ultra-athletic fitness fanatics but people like me, recovering from treatments, I might actually stand a chance, given my current fitness level...

I decided to try my luck and reached out. To my surprise, I heard back within a day. The email was warm and encouraging, but it also came with a list of requirements: paperwork, a doctor’s note, and—wait for it—a swim test. A swim test. Because apparently, rowing involves water (who knew?).

The training for newbies starts in March, which gives me just enough time to get my ducks in a row (pun absolutely intended). I’m equal parts excited and terrified. Excited because this feels like a new beginning, a chance to reclaim my body and my confidence. Terrified because, well, what if I can’t do it? What if I’m not strong enough? What if, as soon as I step on the boat and tie in my sneakers, the boat tips over and I go down with it?

But then I remind myself: If I can beat stage-three aggressive cancer, I can probably handle a little rowing. And if not? Well, at least I’ll have a good story to tell.

So here’s to new beginnings, to trying something completely out of my comfort zone, and to proving to myself that I’m stronger than I think. Even if I do gain a few more pounds in the process.

Stay tuned.