After a tough old year I’ve finally booked a holiday – and goodness knows, I need it. Now, being a sensible and cautious sort, I glanced through the terms and conditions of my travel insurance to see what fun and games I might be allowed to get up to when I’m away. The “acceptable activities” are surprisingly adventurous. For no extra charge I can hurl myself off a bridge attached only to an elastic band. I can take husky dog rides, go white water rafting, jet-skiing, scuba diving and zorbing. Heck, I can even go crazy and indulge in some “light manual work” should I feel so inclined.
But listen up, people. Although rowing is a permitted activity, there’s one thing that the policy says I absolutely mustn’t do (not even on payment of a supplement) – and that is race. The policy is quite clear: “rowing (no racing)”.
Admittedly, every time I find myself mid-race, I wonder why on earth I’m putting myself through this level of pain and suffering – and, moreoever, paying good money to do so. Am I (not to put too fine a point on it) quite mad? Why am I hurtling down a river with my legs screaming and my lungs burning when I could be sitting in a wine bar with a glass of nicely chilled sauvignon blanc or doing something really fun like my tax return? The fact that I’m suffering and stressing out of choice… well, it’s not what normal people do, is it? My insurers certainly seem to think not.
And yet… although racing can do terrible things to your mind and body (ripped-up hands, hurty legs, raw lungs, crushing disappointment), there’s something about it that has us coming back for more.
Perhaps it’s not the danger attached to the act of racing that has my insurers coming out in a lather. Maybe racing voluntarily is actually the sign of a dangerous addiction. Now that would make sense.
