It's beautiful. Trust me: it's magnificent.
I did crew for six years in middle/high school. Working out today with a friend, I had to explain to him why I do certain exercises -- because they mimic rowing fitness demands -- which led me to explain the physics and kinesiology of rowing. This in turn sent me into a reverie of physical and emotional nostalgia, which in turn led me to show "an erg" to my buddy -- all of which now leaves me drooling, for the nth time in a decade, over the thought of having my very own erg. Sigh. (Post-Christmas and Chinese-New-Year donations warmly accepted!)
I have never forgotten and will never take for granted the inexpressible and life-changing privilege for me that rowing was. Don't laugh: the mere thought of the excellence and vitality that rowing consummates swells my heart and, at times, such as now, nearly brings me to tears. "Nine hearts beating as one," we would sometimes chant, as a reminder of the essential harmony rowing must attain. "The beauty and the beast," I would say to my friends, trying to capture rowing's perfect balance of raw power and exquisite technique. To my dying day I shall be proud to say that I personally know there are, within the sphere of fallen man, few things finer than a well coached, well maintained and well rowed shell; and for that matter, few things more thrilling than the finish of a bow-to-bow-to-bow race. The goose-bumped reverie I've been in for the past several hours -- not to mention my ongoing, though sometimes neglected, passion for crew -- are enough to make me pursue a doctorate in sports science and kinesiology, sidelighting as a crew coach in ____________.
P.S. While the beauty of the above ergometer is indisputable, I should be fair and warn you that actually using it is unlikely to warm your heart to it. All I said about rowing's excellence and harmony are true -- but not one iota less true than the total aognizing muscular exhaustion that an erg, or any period of sustained rowing, is easily capable of producing. Sweet dreams!