By M.C. Sungaila
"Crush her," the teammate of the woman next to me yelled, as I pushed, pivoted and propelled myself on my rowing machine alongside twelve other women. The harbor, visible through the windows of the boathouse we were racing in, spread out behind us. Our flywheels whirred and handles flew in and out. We pivoted our arms and torsos over our legs, gently slid our seats back up to the flywheel, and pushed back out again in a 1-2-3 waltz-like rhythm. A crowd of...
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