I long for the days when night puts off its encapsulating darkness until the last possible minute
I long for the days when early morning smells like rain
And evening smells like an impending thunderstorm
I long for the thrum of blood in my ears and ache of my legs
Taking long strides up the giant steps of Harvard stadium
I long for the early morning bike rides
and sitting outside the boathouse in the sun barely visible downstream
Casting its soft yellow light across the dark river
I can’t wait any longer for the burning sun of mid-afternoon
Glaring down on long and lean bodies in motion
I long for the long Sundays waiting and watching
Cheering for the black and silver
Until it’s my turn to step into a boat, paddle toward the start
I long for the flash of green of the flag and scream of a whistle
The smell of sweat and adrenaline whisked away by the breeze of racing downriver
I long for the time when I get out of the boat
Feeling the vicious sting of defeat or breathing heavily the air of victory
And the wonder of being able to do it again soon
Surrounded by my friends and teammates, put simply, a family