"I think you're amazing."

It's funny how these four words have turned up in my life so often.

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When Weiqi and I first discovered "Amazing" by George Michael, a song we both loved.
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I remember signing off with this sentence at the end of a letter, stuffing it in your locker back in the good old days, strangely, not too long ago. And breathlessly anticipating the time you'd go there after school ended, dial the combination, and open it to reveal those sheets of paper with everything I wanted to say to you.
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Scribbled on top of foolscap just last year, back in June, when I sat down and wrote you that first heartfelt note. You liked those lyrics, and you replied, saying so- and that you thought it meant the same to you as it did to me. We did believe that, and it was lovely while it lasted. But, as most good things do, it came to an end. We went our separate ways, I haven't talked to you since, but I do hope you're happy with whatever you're doing right now.
***
And just the other day, after morning practice, she stopped me as I had thrown on my fleece and sweatpants and was getting ready to leave the room back to South Quad to grab my books for class. I was about to leave alone; we had had two practice times that day, and a choice of which to attend. I had come for the earlier one, and stayed to repeat half the workout together with the girls who had come later, of my own accord. It wasn't particularly unusual, since I'd done that several times before. They'd say I was crazy, but I didn't care.

Our eyes met for a moment; a brief but discernible flash in her eye told me that she had seen and knew everything, right from the very first day I had turned up at tryouts. It happened so quickly that I was taken aback as she pushed a folded piece of paper into my hand and sent me on my way. I didn't open it till I was out of Cliff Keen Arena. When I was safely on the other side of the street, I unfolded the paper, to read:

Feng-

I think you're AMAZING.

- V

My eyes blurred and watered, and I stared down at the ground as I quickened my pace back to South Quad, clasping the piece of paper in my hand, as everything came flooding back into my head. The gnawing disappointments of not being boated, not because of lack of will or power, but size, something I had no control over. The solitary hours spent in the erg room, tired but determined to finish the additional self-imposed workout. Unblemished attendance records, despite illness and injury. The feeling of being flung out of my foot stretchers those early days in the fall and almost being dumped unceremoniously overboard. Sitting in the bow in the bitter cold, teeth chattering, not being able to feel my fingers and getting more desperate by the moment. Pulling hard, every stroke, all the time, never letting up, right through the line.

It's true, what I'd learnt back in the Army:
"Rank is what you wear, but respect is what you earn".

Earlier this year, she had come up to the erg I was on, between sets as I was catching my breath in the short pause between sprint intervals. We were about midway through the workout, which was relatively short but extremely intense; an anaerobic Level 1 workout. It was the day after I'd sent her a long, heartfelt email, which tore me up inside as I typed each word. I still remember what she said then as I looked up to catch her eye, sweat dripping down my face and unable to muster enough breath to speak properly-

"You're a fighter, and I like that. Go out there and stake your claim".

I know I posted this quote before, but it basically summed up everything I felt right then, and underlined my motivation:
"The highest reward for a person's toil is not what they get for it, but what they become by it."
- Juhn Ruskin

I knew it would be absolutely impossible for me to be the fastest, or even come anywhere near to reaching those sub-1:40 split times, but did that really matter? Or did drive and character matter more, and pushing yourself till your breaking point? I chose the latter, and never looked back. Say what you want, do what you like- including doing weights for "purely aesthetic purposes"- but for me I choose to bust my ass to challenge my limits, and that's something you can't lay claim to.
***

I'll keep that slip of paper forever, as a treasured reminder.