All I Really Need to Know I Learned in the Boat

Most of my memories from college are of the same thing: watching the sunrise over Biscayne Bay as I sat in the bow of a rowing shell. It's been more than 20 years later, and I can still smell the wood of my oar handle, I can hear the turquoise water rushing under the hull, and I can feel the pull of the boat as all eight of my fellow rowers worked in unison to send it moving forward. My life in college revolved around rowing, far more than academics and socializing. And it's only in looking back now that I realize how important being a part of my University's rowing team was for me personally and professionally. Aside from the life-long friends I made and the love (and sometimes hatred) of the sport it instilled in me, it shifted me fundamentally in a positive way.

The Beginning

When I arrived at the University of Miami in the fall of 1997, I had no intention of joining a sport. I was thrilled to explore a new city, to live independently for the first time in my life, and, in a way, to redefine who I was. To start again. And I sure wasn't going to let anything get in the way of that. But I quickly realized that to succeed in college, you need to be a part of things. You need to sign up for clubs, introduce yourself to everyone, and be an active part of the community. And so, slightly on a whim, I decided to sign up for the men's novice rowing team.

I'd rowed with no great success in high school. The program I joined was housed in a barn with holes in the roof on the Saugatuck River in Westport, CT. The boats were dilapidated, the oars were warped, and the competition was negligible. (The club has since become an elite program with a beautiful boathouse, fancy equipment, and is the winner of major regattas around the world.) So, when joining the novice team, I figured it would be an excellent way to meet friends, get in shape, and relearn some of my rowing basics.

On one fateful Friday, one of the novice coaches was showing us how to use an erg (ergometer - your standard rowing machine). She found it hard to fake what poor form would look like and asked me to hop on and show everyone. But I ended up rowing properly, and she asked if I'd rowed before. I answered "yes"​ and was quickly sent to the Athletic Department to speak with the men's head coach.

Within a day, I was given a physical, registered with the NCAA, and given a bag full of Nike gear with Miami Rowing emblazoned on every article of clothing inside. The next Monday, I was introduced to my new teammates, shown the ropes around the athletic department and the off-campus boathouse. I quickly realized just how deep into this thing I'd gotten when my coach told me to be at the boathouse by 6:00 am on Saturday morning. This was going to be a different experience than anything I'd anticipated. But, I'd still have a chance to redefine myself; this time as Adam the Athlete.

The Value of a Team

"You’ve got to look at the guy next to you, look into his eyes. Now I think you going to see a guy who will go that inch with you. Your gonna see a guy who will sacrifice himself for this team, because he knows when it comes down to it your gonna do the same for him. That’s a team, gentlemen..."

This speech, given by Al Pacino toward the end of Any Given Sunday has stuck with me for more than 20 years. Sure, he was giving it to a fictional football team, but it holds true for both rowing and in a professional setting.

On the University of Miami men's team, we fought like family. We'd get angry, we'd feel disappointed, and we'd push each other to the brink. But every single member of the team had the back of all his teammates. We didn't just want the team to succeed, we wanted individuals to succeed. We knew everyone's strengths and we wanted to help them shine.

The best teams I've ever worked on operated in exactly the same way. It wasn't just the desire for the company to succeed - though that was often the initiating factor - it was also for our colleagues to succeed. Sharing success is much better than enjoying it alone. Great corporate teams are made up of people who fit a specific role, and who know how to utilize their strengths in specific ways. It was this Captain Planet-like makeup that drives the notion of "stronger together."

Accountability

I've worked in many different industries, in many different roles, and my one major pet peeve is when someone passes the buck. This lack of accountability, of not recognizing one's faults, and the failure to accept blame, is the root of all evil in corporate America. What can be teachable moments are often discarded onto someone else for fear that one might come across as infallible. But, infallibility is what makes us human, and the ability to learn from failure makes us better.

When we were late for crew practice, we had to run suicide sprints in a sandpit. You haven't felt exhaustion - true pain mixed with extreme fatigue - until you've run up and down a sandpit at full speed many times in a row. But you bet your sore legs that you'll show up to practice on time the next day.

We had a motto on the team: "no excuses" which meant both literally and figuratively that everyone in the boat needed to pull their own weight. Miss a stroke? Better pull twice as hard on the next one. Come to practice hungover? Know for a fact that everyone on the team will push you until you sweat out (or, let's be honest, puke out) all the alcohol you consumed the night before. This was what being a part of a team meant for us: everyone had to be accountable for their own actions. Everyone in the boat was counting on you, and your failure to correct a problem or an issue would create a domino effect that would end up negatively affecting every single one of your teammates. But holding yourself accountable, knowing that you screwed up, and working to overcome up? That made you a legend.

My good friend Albert had the bad luck of sitting in front of me in 2 seat for most of our college career. Funny, incredibly intelligent, and one of the hardest workers I've ever met, Albert became the heart of our team. And every so often, Albert would catch a crab. (This occurs when the momentum of the boat swings an oar around and under the boat, creating incredible drag on the boat, and slowing or stopping it completely.) While others might need the boat to stop in order to fix the situation, or would work at the oar to try and dislodge it while the boat kept moving, Albert went one step beyond. He'd unlatch his oar from the oarlock, send it downstream, and then, knowing he was essentially dead weight in the boat, jump out. Whether it was in the warm waters of Indian Creek or the frigid temperatures of the Chattahoochie in November, if Albert had an issue, he'd solve it quickly and efficiently for the betterment of the team.

We need more people like Albert in corporate America. People who hold themselves accountable for their actions. Those who can admit mistakes, and not only solve them but improve the situation moving forward.

Push Yourself Further

When I joined the men's varsity team my Freshman year of college, I weighed 130 lbs. I quickly lost 5 lbs after a week of weight training, runs, and practices. But when I returned home for Thanksgiving break, I weighed in at 160 lbs. Forget the Freshman 15, I'd gained the Freshman 30. For the first time in my life, I had abs, I had defined muscles, and I didn't look like a heavy breeze could send me into the clouds.

What I came to realize was how capable I was of pushing myself further than I'd ever imagined - both physically and mentally. In the past, when I was presented with a problem, I'd procrastinate. I'd wish it would just go away. But through rowing, it became clear that the only way to tackle a problem was to push yourself through it. Believe in yourself, believe in your capabilities, and know that once you're on the other side, you'll look back with nothing but appreciation.

Recently, I was facing a difficult task of figuring out a statistical problem related to my work, and while numbers were never my strong suit, I knew there was a way to find the answer I needed. And so, I kept plugging away at it. I enlisted the help of other co-workers, friends, and even my much more math-savvy father to come up with the answer. And what once seemed like an impossible task became clear and solvable. I pushed myself through it. I used the resources I had available. I came out the other side with not just an answer, but with an appreciation for discovery.

Question Authority

Paul Dee, then the athletic director at the University of Miami, made an out-of-character stop at our boathouse on a weekday morning. I'd never seen the man at the boathouse before, and only once or twice on campus. He was respected throughout the university as an almost mythical creature who'd turned around the Athletic Department and the university's football program. He was much more fond of spending time with the sports that made his department money, namely the football and basketball teams. So, when we walked into the conference room and saw him standing there, we knew something was up.

The men's team had gone through a series of setbacks in the past few years. Title IX was chipping away at men's sports across the country - and even more so in programs that had huge moneymaking football programs like Miami had. Our numbers had been purposefully shrunk, our coaches had gone through a revolving door, and our equipment was becoming more deteriorated by the day. This, of course, contrasted with the women's program that had an armada of new boats and a roster the size of a navy.

We knew things were looking bleak, but on that morning we were sure he'd come to tell us the program was over. Except he didn't.

"As long as I'm the Athletic Director at the University of Miami, there will be a men's crew program in the athletic department,"​ he said, smiling through eyes still in need of a coffee.

We rejoiced. Our program would continue. We were scrappy, and we'd continue to be scrappy. But at least we'd be alive. We were excited that there was hope, and we spent the rest of the morning smiling throughout a grueling practice, knowing that we'd be all right.

One year later, an article came out in The Miami Hurricane, the student newspaper, saying that the athletic department was cutting both the men's swimming and diving team and the men's rowing team.

Paul Dee was still the Athletic Director at the University of Miami.

Not only was it poor form to read about the fate of our program in the school newspaper before any of us were actually told about it, but Paul Dee came to our practice early the next morning and sort of just shrugged out a "what can you do"​ response to our questions.

What this taught me was: just because they are an "authority"​ doesn't make them right. Dee handled the demise of our team exceptionally poorly, despite us giving him incredible trust. From that moment on, I always looked for a motive in others'​ decisions. Why were people doing or saying the things they do? What was driving an action? How does this benefit them? I still trust people, but I never do so blindly.

When a Job is Done

The first job interview I had out of college was with the Late Show with David Letterman. I was insanely nervous, fearful of what I might say or do to blow this opportunity. When I was brought in, the first thing they asked me was about my work ethic and I smiled.

On the University of Miami men's rowing team, practice wasn't finished until we got back on campus. Races weren't done at the finish line but beyond it. Rowing a head race of 5,000 meters or a spring race of 2,000 meters are two of the most grueling sports activities someone can take part in. Lactic acid screams through your muscles, your lungs burn with every breath, and your peripheral vision deteriorates. All you seek is that finish line. To hear the airhorn blast as you row past it. To know that you're done.

Except, you aren't.

Success in rowing can come down to a matter of seconds. And so, you had to race through the finish line. Our coach called it "kicking the dead dog." Going beyond what was necessary. And we made every effort to leave all we had on whatever body of water we were racing on.

In an office setting, project managers often set due dates. Campaigns, investments, deployments, etc... all go live on this (mostly) immovable date. Once we hit that date, the project ends.

Except, it doesn't.

To do a job, and to do it well, means to go above and beyond. To follow up. To ensure that everything is working. To stay past closing to know that things are buttoned up. You can do a job to completion, but going above and beyond is the difference between a good job and a great one.

The Finish Line

The University of Miami Men's Rowing Team ended officially sometime in the early 2000s. The removal from the athletic department and the subsequent lack of funding meant that it was barely treading water as a club team. Efforts were made to keep it afloat by current and past members of the program, but the expense of keeping it running grew too great.

Since then, my former teammates have gone on to become doctors, financial wizards, CEOs, lawyers, and investors. And while we've all gone our separate ways, the lessons we learned from the boat and from each other have stayed with us ever since.