The model of Perfection for a rower was strong, toned, and white I felt I didn't belong I was short black, and different. I was not meant for this sport but I had something in me that I could not contain or explain. I felt at peace. Every stroke I performed needed to be perfect. One slight change and I could feel the impact of it in the boat. This gave me peace and quieted my mind. The click of the oar, the roar of the wheels coming up to the catch, the stretch of my arms, and the ache in my hamstring, gave me a feeling of accomplishment. My core ached from being engaged, and the sun glistened off the water. I had to find the beauty in something that caused me so much agony. I treasure and honor this sport.