Inspiring Women Spring 2018

We wove among small craft with single rowers and among grand and elegant wooden boats
trimmed with copper. The course was 32 kilometers, and knowing that we didn’t have the
stamina to complete the entire course, when the prescribed route turned right, we turned left.
The rescue boat appeared immediately and Alessandro asked the guards to accompany us to
the nearby island of Murano since we were cutting a shorter course. They looked at Alessandro
as if he were crazy and told him with a wave of a hand that we should go on alone. I panicked
as I tracked the large waves cascading in front of us, and then I heard our coach say that we
were a team of women who had had problems. With instant recognition, they lifted their red
flag to signal to the large cruisers bearing down on us that we were under their protection. We
paddled again, a single boat of determined women, kept safe by the rescue boat at our side.
As we neared the docks of Murano, the island famous for hand-blown glass, our protectors
motioned to where we should dock. We smiled, waved, and shouted thanks as Alessandro took
control again with, Vai avanti!
A restroom stop, coffee, and cookies. We then formed a line of pink on the bank of our canal
and cheered others as they passed.
With a final warning from Alessandro to make a good impression at the viewing stand (in Italian
something like, “act like you know what you’re doing”), we clambered back into the boat and
took our positions. Knowing that we would soon approach the finish line, we were silent. Cheers
from the thousands of people who watched our floating parade surrounded us, and as we
passed under each bridge, we raised our paddles upwards to greet the cheering crowd. They
all seemed to understand.
The reviewing stand and floating pier came into view, and although my arms ached even after
our shortened course, I felt proud that we had rowed 14 kilometers. The loudspeaker roared,
“The Florence Dragon Boat Ladies have finished the course.” All 22 names were read, “Vanda,
Francesca, Grazia, Cristina, Adrianna,” and the rest, followed by, “They’re survivors of breast
cancer and they hold a message of hope.” With this, we swung our paddles high into the air,
saluting everyone, to choruses of brave ragazze, brave. Then our team grew silent as Suzanna
placed a pink peony onto the water’s surface, “For Anna Maria.” We quietly lifted our oars
once more, for ourselves this time, and spoke in unison, “Anna Maria,” our teammate who died
this Easter. We dedicated our finish to her memory.
I watched the peony float away while my teammates were lost in private thought. I’d never
met Anna Maria, but I had raised my oar, too. I wanted to remember the woman I didn’t know.
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