That's no bad thing, as rowing is never going to deliver a SoulCycle-like experience - and Hydrow's inclusive approach makes it much easier to get into the swing of things than be intimidated from the start. It still has that plucky underdog start-up feel to it, partly born out of those live and very chatty rows on the various rivers and lakes around the world rather than the studio-focused spin classes that Peloton is famous for. That approach is very much welcome, but in the same breath we don't feel that the Hydrow ecosystem is as polished as Peloton. Rowing by its own nature isn't as fast-paced as a spin class or trying to smash out a 5k run on a treadmill, so the pace of Hydrow follows a gentler approach even if the result is the same - to get you fit.
But how does the experience translate? We've rowed over 100,000 metres on the Hydrow to find out. We rattle them toward the sun, chant we we we, scream through the empty lots, the unattended construction sites, the side streets and alleys, chase out rival boys, rattle our sticks, slap our sunken boy-chests, chant ours ours ours.Hydrow offers the opportunity to row with real athletes in well-known environments from around the world, all through the product's integrated display. But for now we hold our ground, grip tight to the reins of summer, keep our sticks sharp. They will give us routine, curfew, homework. They will make us visit soft-spoken men who will ask about our thoughts. They will force us into classrooms, into the houses of parents and grandparents, into group homes. We know that when summer ends they will come down on us hard, break our ranks, scatter us and round us up like wild dogs. We watch the world break each day with fire, and we feel its heat at our throats and know that burning is living. We wear the stars in our eyes and the firelight on our faces and the smoke in our hair and let the spider’s-eye moon weave us into half-sleep. We heap junk into a pile and set it alight, gathering close to the knotted heat. We slump onto cast-out couches, upholstery gnawed to the bone, and blanket ourselves with dust. We fill our heads with fumes until our vision flits with static and smoke our lips brown and take motley handfuls of pills-collapsed solar systems of blues and pinks and oranges. We hurl plastic deck chairs into the pool, where they float like jetsam and leave the wreckage for morning.
We watch water bead on smooth skin, navigate its way through fine white hairs.
Pocket smashout crack#
We breach and spout water on one another, belly out of the pool to run slapping across the concrete for another cannonball, feel the arching abandonment of flight, the crack of the water before it sucks us back under. We let our bodies bump together like fish-skin on skin, electrifying and acceptable only in these fluttering moments. The dream of death or the dream of life, suspended in the moments before blood and light. We hold our breath and tumble in the vacuum of the water like we have slipped into the cracks between life and death. We infiltrate the public pool well after midnight, dive into black water streaked by the ghost lights that waver below the surface. We admire him with the largest gap, the biggest tract of blistered gum. We let our teeth rot and drop like unpicked fruit. We leave with waistbands stuffed with melting candy and toxic-green soda. We swarm convenience store aisles like locusts, too many of us for the clerk to track. We rattle chain-link fences and set dogs to barking. We gig frogs along the oily banks of drainage ditches and fling dead skunks on doorsteps. We leave swear words smeared in a slurred hand above urinals-the runes of adolescence-and spatter our shoes with careless piss. We fill our pockets with rocks and look adults dead in the eye as we smash out windows, break the side mirrors off cars. Summer is our proving ground, and we stalk through its dry ribs picking trinkets from the brittle brown grass. We jab each other in the ribs, looking for the little slots that fold a body forward. We carry sharp sticks and threaten the sky with whittled points.
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