Today was my first full, on‑the‑water rowing class. As I mentioned a few days ago, a friend (Mark) and I are taking a Learn to Row class offered by a club in Sugar Land, Texas. I was feeling apprehensive in the last few days because my first attempt at taking a few strokes tethered to the dock on Thursday night felt clumsy and awkward. We’d spent some time on machines and listening to the instructor in the classroom, but there was a part of the mechanics that I couldn’t make any sense of at all. How in the world was I supposed to know when to feather the blade and when to turn it upright? The instructor struggled to explain it to me, but I wasn’t getting it.

I wasn’t looking forward to revealing yet another sport for which I have no talent, especially with the added risk of humiliation-by-immersion. I didn’t sleep well last night. I lay awake in bed for a long time thinking about all the ways I might suck at rowing.

It turns out that my worries were unfounded.

We arrived at the Oyster Creek Boathouse just before 9:30. The club members had already been out for the 8 a.m. club row, and they had boats ready at the docks for our class. We received our assignments; Mark and I would be part of the crew for an eight-seat boat rigged for sweeping—an arrangement in which each rower handles one oar. We took seats three (starboard) and four (port). All the rowers stowed our bottles of water and adjusted the “stretchers” that would hold our feet.

Marty, the club’s athletic director, would serve as coxswain (or “cox”), the crewman who calls out commands over the boat’s PA system from a forward-facing seat in the stern. Two veteran rowers would sit in seat number one in the bow and at “stroke”—seat number eight—to round out the crew’s six students. Marty gave us a few quick reminders and words of encouragement. He admonished us that from here on out, he was in charge, and that we’d traded in our names for numbers. He ordered “Oars out!” for the port rowers. Then into the boat, away from the dock, and we were off!

The veteran rowers took a few strokes to get us clear of the dock, and then Cox started putting us to work rowing in pairs. I waited nervously while One and Two took their turn. Then he called out, “Three and Four at the finish, ready to row,” and there was no time left for nerves. I focused all my concentration on what we’d practiced, and my problem of mechanics vanished. In that boat gliding along in the middle of Oyster Creek, the turning and feathering of the oar blade was perfectly obvious. Worry instantly gave way to delight! Marty said, “Nice work, Three and Four.” Woohoo!

The next hour and half was filled with a lot more of the same—practice, practice, practice, and I won’t bore you with the details. To sum up: there were some rough spots, I got tired, I bruised my left pinky, there were some smooth spots, I made a few good strokes and a lot of sloppy ones, and I had tons of fun. I used muscles I didn’t know I had. I’ll be sore tomorrow or the next day. Did I mention that it was tons of fun?

The lesson here is one I’ve heard many times from my coach friends, but I needed to learn it again. You have to show up. All the worry in the world won’t make you better or worse at tackling the challenges you face. But if you show up, pay attention, focus on the task, and hold yourself open to learning, maybe something good will happen.

Last Saturday I took part in a workshop at Studio NiaMoves called “Exploring Mindful Eating.” Personal chef and food consultant Adam Miles talked about how human beings develop issues with food, and what we can do about it. His premise is that we start out with an instinctive ability to eat right, eat only when we’re hungry, and enjoy what we eat, but that we pick up bad habits, bad information, and a twisted relationship with food as we grow up. We learn to eat the wrong things, for the wrong reasons. But we can unlearn.

Adam is kind, soft-spoken, and charismatic (and slim). Having spoken to him on the phone once, I arrived at Studio NiaMoves already prepared to like him, and he made it easy. He started the session by asking each of us to talk about a food memory from childhood and a food issue we’re dealing with now. This seemed to be a tough exercise for some people, and Adam took care to thank each of us for sharing. When it was my turn, I said that I felt as if I have a good handle on my food issues these days, and that I’d only come to see what new information I might pick up, since there’s always more to learn. (I hope I didn’t sound like a self‑satisfied jerk.)

After the group sharing, Adam talked about his own experience of growing up, putting on weight, developing bad eating habits, and then cycling through lots of fad diets and self-destructive behaviors. He talked about how he got through it by eventually coming up with his philosophy of “mindful eating.” And then he outlined that philosophy. It’s mostly about choosing natural, unprocessed, healthful foods and giving eating the care, time, and attention it deserves in our lives. It’s also about being gentle with ourselves when we stray from better choices.

Toward the end of the workshop, he demonstrated a couple of easy recipes for smoothies—one fruit, one veggie. He surprised me by putting kale in the fruit smoothie and avocados in the veggie one. Although they were palatable, I can’t say that I plan to add them to my regimen. I need something I can sink my teeth into.

He said a lot more, but I was too captivated by listening to Adam speak to take any notes. I’ll just add that enjoying the support of the group and Adam’s energy and enthusiasm were worth the price of admission. I encourage anyone who’s working through issues with food—which is most of us, I think—to take his next class if you get the chance.

Adam doesn’t have a web site, but he expects to offer future workshops at Studio NiaMoves. To receive announcements, subscribe to the NiaMoves mailing list and select the category “Nutrition ~ Mindful Eating ~ Workshops.” Or become a fan of Studio NiaMoves’ Facebook page, or follow Nia’s Kristie Bryant on Twitter.