I never expected to become a rower.

Like many people who discover rowing later in life, I arrived at the boathouse looking for a fun exercise, the opportunity to meet new people, and a way to spend more time outdoors. Unlike many rowers, I arrived with hemiplegia (left-sided paralysis), the result of a stroke I survived more than thirty years ago.

At first, I wasn’t even sure that rowing would be physically possible for me. But I was willing to give it a try.

Rowing demands balance, coordination, timing, and the ability to move both sides of the body together in a smooth, efficient rhythm. At Gorge Narrows Rowing Club, the manager, the incredible Rachel Davis, took the time to explain the many ways rowing can be adapted for different abilities.

In January, I was introduced to rowing on the beautiful Gorge Waterway in a double shell equipped with pontoons and accompanied by an experienced coach. I learned how to feather and square an oar. Although I understood what I was supposed to do, physically doing it was another matter entirely. It was difficult, inconsistent, and often frustrating.

Still, I knew I liked rowing, and I knew I needed more practice.

I enrolled in GNRC’s Learn to Row program for adults. Every technique took patience. Every small improvement seemed to be followed by strokes that simply didn’t work the way I intended. Learning to row was awkward. I knew what to do, but my body wasn’t always cooperating.

Remarkably, over the course of the 8-session Learn to Row program, something began to change.

One stroke at a time, things started to click.

My catches became cleaner. Feathering and squaring became more consistent. The boat felt steadier beneath me, and my confidence grew. What once seemed impossible gradually became an achievement.

The physical challenges, however, were only part of the journey.

I worried that I was imposing myself on a friendly and welcoming club. I worried that not being able to carry boats to the dock or independently launch and retrieve shells would make me a burden. And I wondered who would want to row with me.

Instead, I found something unexpected.

I found a community.

At Gorge Narrows Rowing Club in Victoria, British Columbia, I discovered a group of people who genuinely encourage participation. Coaches encouraged me to improve. Fellow rowers celebrated progress. Nobody expected me to be the strongest athlete at the club, they simply expected me to show up, do my best, and enjoy rowing.

That acceptance changed everything.

For people living with a disability, one of the greatest barriers to participation is not the activity itself. It is the fear of not fitting in.

The reality is that rowing clubs are filled with people who contribute in different ways. Some coach. Some volunteer. Some organize events. Some mentor new rowers. Some carry boats. Everyone contributes something.

At this point, I have completed the Learn to Row program. I have rowed mostly in doubles, using adaptive equipment, but I have also raced in a quad. I am still learning and developing my skills. I do not always feather and square perfectly, and I occasionally miss a stroke.

But I am a rower.

And that is something I am very proud of.

Rowing has improved my fitness, confidence, and general well-being. I have goals to work toward and challenges to overcome. Most importantly, it has given me a place where I feel welcome.

My experience has also shown me how much potential exists to make rowing even more accessible.

Many clubs already have the culture and willingness to welcome adaptive athletes, older adults, and people recovering from injury or illness. Sometimes the remaining barriers are practical rather than philosophical. Accessible docks, launch assistance, adaptive equipment, and small infrastructure improvements can make a significant difference in who is able to participate.

The benefits extend far beyond a single athlete. Accessible facilities help new rowers, older members, people recovering from medical conditions, and anyone who may need additional support getting on the water.

If someone had told me a few years ago that I would be rowing, learning new skills, and looking forward to every opportunity to get on the water, I would not have believed them.

Today, when I push away from the dock, I no longer wonder whether I belong.

Yet here I am.

I have not found perfection in rowing. I have found something better.

I have found my seat.