The 2026 Atlanta Erg Sprints was nothing less than pure inspiration. This spectacle of an event is one of the few indoor rowing events in the Southeast that attracts both collegiate and amateur athletes, including athletes with disabilities.
Rowing is a well-known sport around the world. It has bolstered YouTube personalities and social media influencers, like Scottish Rower Cam Buchan and former collegiate rower Shane Farmer (aka Dark Horse) to make a name for themselves. Within a few clicks on YouTube, you could watch Buchan crush a 2k sprint on the erg, then scramble to the nearest trash can and proceed to vomit, totally waxed.
I haven’t gotten to that state yet. But in a 2,000-meter sprint, a feat that initially seems completely doable to those who are not in the know, you give it everything you have to complete the challenge in the fastest time.
Unlike most endurance sports, such as running, rowing is both aerobic and anaerobic, a pulse-pounding dance that can break even though most-gifted athletes. I have seen my heart rate shoot up from 130 to 190 bpm within a few seconds. My dad and I spent months going to town on The Iron Horse, testing our abilities, pushing the limits physically and mentally. It hurts, but the pain tastes sweet in the heat of competition.
Over the past months, I’ve rowed in our bonus room to the rhythm of Shane Farmer’s coaching, matching his strokes per minute, putting perceived power down, fighting the dystonia rattling my core. I have gotten to the point where I am able to stabilize and mitigate my dystonia, laying down more power, pacing at a sub-2:40 per 500 meters.
This, by no means, qualifies me as some big, strong, Para rowing god. These guys are incredible athletes, chiseled, and far better athletes than I could ever dream of becoming. I’m just a writer pretending to be an athlete. Back to Georgia Tech.
Time seemed to contract and expand throughout the day. Echoes of screaming and cheering played a frantic beat against my eardrums. Bodies collapsed onto the gymnasium floor as totally gassed rowers tried catching their breaths amid the static air. If this was a boxing match, it would have been like twenty total knockouts at once. The indelible memory would forever brand the sheer sight of wilted athletes in my mind.
Finally, it was time for my rowing heat. Gloves on. Active Hands slid over them. My dad strapped my hands to the modified grips that slide over the rowing handle. Also, extra straps for my feet. Besides the modified tractor-seat-like chair, these are the most important things that enable me to row. All of that equipment fits into a small wagon we towed through the gym. After a quick warm-up to get the blood flowing, to get my body adjusted to the rhythm of rowing, the other athletes in my heat got on their assigned rowers as I felt a crowd culminate around us.
There were a couple of buddies from my wheelchair football days, settled off to the side in their wheelchairs, looking on. I cannot screw up, I thought. I closed my eyes and took a deep cleansing breath. This is the time when you need to get angry, when you prime your body to go full throttle, when you toe the edge. I opened my eyes. The erg monitor gave the count. You could hear a pin drop against the background silence. My mind was numb. My body was lucid. Instinct held full control over me. Set ready. Attention. Row!
I focused on getting my strokes up, building momentum sustainable for the two thousand meters. I relied heavily on my legs. At 5’9, roughly 120lb, my legs are the strongest components in my drive. Drive the power through your legs, swing your hips, snap that handle at the release, return to the catch! This was the only thing that was going through my head – until I rowed to the midpoint.
Teammates and coaches sitting behind the rowers screamed and cheered intensely as flywheels revved at various paces. I concentrated on the numbers on my monitor. 2:40, 2:34, 2:30, 2:25… My pace was fluctuating. I suddenly realized I was rowing by feel instead of planned pace.
Drive, drive, drive! Immediately, I was in a flop sweat. My gloves were soaked. And, I was rowing by feel instead of numbers. A thousand meters to go, and I started kicking into overdrive. This is where it gets dark.
As my body continued to dance with the machine under me, x-rated thoughts began bubbling to the surface. I thought about the lyrics of “Shadow of the Sun” by Audioslave. As my muscles screamed for relief, I pushed through, concentrating on the heavy metal song.
I treat every event as if it were my last. I forget that I have cerebral palsy and dystonia, almost as if the overwhelming pain erases it. I like that about endurance events. I am free from my disability, free from any impediments, free from any negative thoughts that weigh on my mind.
I reached the final 300 meters and just gave it everything I had. So close to breaking ten minutes, I pushed through the burn in my legs, and tried to make the about-faces at the catch and release quicker. The meters ran down faster. The time, indifferent, steadily ticked. 150 meters. Light it up, I urged myself. The air seemed unbreathable at this point.
