It seems that some athletes are bred from birth for athletic competition; they practically pop out dribbling a basketball or swinging a bat. But there are others who can point to a defining moment or experience when they realized they wanted to be more than average.

For me, it is definitely the latter.

As a rower, finding a college that met my criteria for the highest standards of academics and athletics was a top priority. However, it didn’t start out that way.

It wasn’t until the summer between my sophomore and junior year of high school when I met Harvard men’s lightweight coaching legend, Charley Butt, that I tacked “top Division-I rowing program” onto my long list of requirements for my college of choice. Charley is the person I credit with sparking my desire to row in college, and it’s ironic that today, I interact with him and his lightweight squad on a fairly regular basis as the team’s beat writer.

But it was nothing more than chance that our paths crossed in the summer of 2005.

Back then, I was still adjusting to wearing spandex and thinking “legs, back, then arms” every time I took a stroke, when my parents took me down to the Charles River Rowing Camp (CRRC) in Cambridge.

After I had signed up to row at school that spring, my mother’s Blackberry fingers had been only a quick Google search away from finding me a summer rowing camp near home to attend. Little did my mother know that she was shipping me off to learn from some of the top rowing coaches in the country.

In the beginning, I was only vaguely aware that the docks on which I walked were hallowed grounds, and that the Charles River on which I rowed was spiritual water. But thanks to the creaky boathouse floorboards, the decades’ worth of team pictures adorning the walls, and the dusty silver plates and trophies scattered about, I could sense that the boathouse and river were part of an intimidating legacy.

I felt quite out of my league, since I had only about six weeks of on-the-water time under my belt before arriving at camp. And, it is how I, then a 5’6” girl with no dreams of rowing glory, left camp thinking I could one day be a Division-I rower that is most interesting about my path to where I am today.

In short, it started with Charley.

Charley was my first coach at camp and, although he was part of an all-male coaching staff there, he was one of the most welcoming figures. Before the row, he’d gather us together and speak about what we’d be working on that day. He spoke calmly and slowly, almost as if he was reading a story to us. His directions were very precise, a result of years of experience.

And, once we were out on the water, he’d just let us row. His launch normally hummed along beside us, and when we’d pick up speed, Charley would yell out words of encouragement.

In general, the camp wasn’t about taking hard strokes, putting together the fastest eights, or racing—which was perfect for me because I probably wasn’t ready for that. However, Charley had a way of making you feel like you were inching closer to perfection with each stroke.

At the end of camp, Charley met with each of us to discuss our progress over the week. He asked me if I had any aspirations to row in college. When I said that I hadn’t really thought about that, he said I might want to. Charley thought a bunch of us had real potential and that if I wanted to, I could row for a top team someday.

After camp, I remember going home and informing my parents that not only did I love crew but I also thought that I might want to try and row in college.

Now a senior on Radcliffe here at Harvard, I’ve become pretty accustomed to seeing Charley’s launch zoom by us on the river, tailing his lightweights. He almost never fails to call out a “Go Radcliffe!” through his megaphone.

Each time I see him go by or chat with him for a story, I can’t help but think back to that summer. For me, it’s nice to think back now, in my senior year, on all of those experiences and people who guided me to where I am today.

—Staff writer Jessica L. Flakne can be reached at jflakne@fas.harvard.edu.