So apparently, rowing on level 10 isn’t normal. Which explains a lifetime of rowing machine trauma. Let me backtrack.

For my entire teenage and adult life, I’ve hated the rowing machine.

I still do.

But it turns out that might not be because I actually dislike it – it’s because I’ve been sprinting on level 10 like I was on a rowing version of Squid Game and losing meant instant elimination.

And I only found this out TODAY.

Literally yesterday, I finished a workout by hopping on the rowing machine and doing my usual sprints on level 10. I was dying. Gasping. Seeing stars. I thought to myself – “Wow, rowing really is the devil’s cardio.”
And then today, my entire worldview collapsed in the middle of my parents’ living room.

I’m staying with my parents for a couple of weeks and we were having a casual chat when my mum casually drops:

“Did we tell you we had a rowing lesson from an Olympic rower on our cruise?”

They recently went on a cruise and apparently, this rower did a talk on the ship, and my parents asked him to show them how to row properly.

Lovely.

Great.

I’d heard this story before. But this time, they dropped a bombshell:

“He said level 4 on the rowing machine is the one that best replicates water resistance. Most people shouldn’t go above that.”

Level 4.
Excuse me??
LEVEL FOUR??

I blinked. Paused. Then said:

“Umm… you told me that rowing had to be on level 10, anything else was pointless?”

Both of them – in unison –

“We NEVER said that!”

Absolute denial.

Full gaslighting.

And while they both swear they never said it, I didn’t just invent this level 10 energy from nowhere.

Let’s be honest – someone definitely said rowing anything less was a waste of time.

Said with confidence, conviction, and probably while sipping tea.

So I turned to the only other person who lived through the same regime: my brother, Charlie.

Conversation with my brother Charlie

(timestamps and all, for legal purposes)

[2025/08/04, 10:39:08] George 🌸: Charlie
[2025/08/04, 10:40:24] George 🌸: With regards to the rowing machine we’ve always had at home, please clarify – which level on it have we historically, since children, been told by mum and dad is the correct / only acceptable level to row at
[2025/08/04, 10:42:04] Charlie: 10
[2025/08/04, 10:42:10] George 🌸: THANK YOU
[2025/08/04, 10:42:16] George 🌸: They are gaslighting me right now
[2025/08/04, 10:42:23] George 🌸: And saying we NEVER EVER said that
[2025/08/04, 10:50:18] Charlie: Hahahaha
[2025/08/04, 10:50:21] Charlie: Only ever 10
[2025/08/04, 10:50:28] Charlie: Anything less was for weaklings

CASE. CLOSED.

I should stitch that conversation onto a gym towel. Or frame it above the rowing machine as a warning to future generations. Because apparently, not only was level 10 the “rule,” it was delivered with absolute confidence – and has now shaped my entire adult relationship with cardio.

The First Rowing Machine Experience (Where It All Went Wrong)

I remember the first time I ever tried rowing. I must’ve been 12 or 13. We’d just gotten a rower. I gave it a go. Hated it.

“Just do 30 minutes,” they said.

30 minutes?! On level 10?! As a teenager? No. Absolutely not.

However, I gave it go, maybe once, for 20 minutes. I decided then and there: rowing is grim.

And thus my rowing machine trauma began.

Meanwhile, they’d be out in the garage casually rowing for 1–2 hours like it was a fun little hobby. I remember watching them and thinking – how?? what for?? are you okay??

Fast forward a couple decades.

I’m 33 now, and I recently started doing rowing sprints at the end of my workouts. Only a few times a week – 30 seconds sprint, 60 seconds easy, usually 5-6 rounds – but every single time I get off the machine like I’ve just been punished for a crime.
I’ve hated it.
Assumed I was just weak.
Thought maybe rowing’s just not for me.

I haven’t even tried level 4 yet.
But you better believe I’ll be trying it tomorrow.
And if it turns out I actually like rowing at the correct setting, I will be demanding reparations.

So yes, it tracks. I spent my teenage years thinking they were just better than me.
Spoiler alert: they were rowing on level 4/5. While I was on 10.
Of course they looked unbothered. They were basically paddling a lilo.

The Family Fitness Culture

We’re a very fit, very competitive family – but not in a scary, stopwatch kind of way. More like “how many can you do?” followed by applause and someone challenging you to a plank-off.

My mum is nearly 70. My dad’s mid-60s. And he still casually bangs out 30 perfect press-ups like it’s nothing. I’m genuinely in awe of them, always have been.

During COVID, when I was stuck at home and couldn’t get back to the boat for work, the three of us did the full OG Kayla Itsines Bikini Body Guide. In the living room. Start to finish.

And for anyone who’s done Kayla, you already know – that original programme was absolutely savage. We were doing tuck jumps next to the sofa and mountain climbers into the fireplace.
I still can’t hear “bikini body guide” without flinching.

We got so fit, so strong, and so weirdly bonded over burpees and jigsaw puzzles. It was such a wholesome time (minus the global pandemic, obviously).

So yes – fitness is just part of who we are. And the competitiveness? It’s mostly loving chaos.

Until it gets to Christmas Eve, when the extended family comes over, Mum’s had a couple of proseccos, and suddenly Charlie and I are being entered into live competitions in the middle of the living room.

“I bet you can’t do as many push-ups as Charlie!”
“Georgia – show X person that headstand you were doing!”

Me: *dieing a little inside* “absolutely not”.

Like it’s a family-friendly episode of Gladiators, if the arena was our living room and the prize was bragging rights.

These were the quotes I was raised on (always said as a joke, but of course I took them way too seriously and still use them to this day):

• “Nobody remembers second place.”
• “If you’re not first, you’re last.”
• “It’s not how good you are – it’s what you look like.” (That was always said when someone got a new bit of kit — iconic from Mum. I still use it to justify every Gymshark order. And I absolutely stand by it.
• “All the gear and no idea.” (see above)

The Olympic Revelation

So to recap: I’ve avoided rowing for two decades, then recently added it into my workouts, still rowing on 10, still hating it, assuming I was just naturally terrible at it.

Meanwhile, the actual Olympic rower told my parents:

“Most people shouldn’t go above level 4.”

FOUR.
That’s the equivalent of finding out you’ve been sprinting with a weighted vest and ankle shackles while everyone else was strolling through a park.

I haven’t tested level 4 yet.
But I will.
And if it’s enjoyable? I’m suing.

Justice for Me (and My Future Peaceful Rows)

If you’ve ever hated rowing and assumed it was because you weren’t fit enough – maybe it wasn’t you.
Maybe you were just raised in a home where cardio was a personality trait and level 10 was gospel.

To my parents: I love you. But the psychological damage is done.
You will be hearing about this for the rest of your lives.
Possibly in therapy.
Definitely in the family group chat.
And now – permanently on the internet.

If you need me, I’ll be rowing on level 4 tomorrow.
Healing.
Reclaiming my power.
And probably texting Charlie mid-row like: “I knew it.”

RIP to my quads.
Justice has been served – preferably at water resistance level. 😌

Next-Day Follow-Up, Because Apparently I Needed Closure
I went on the rower today. Level 4.
Less resistance. Same internal screaming.

Still hated it. Just… slightly more gently.

The only thing worse than the rower is the assault bike.
Studies have shown it’s 94% trauma, 6% wind resistance.
It feels like purgatory – except sweatier, louder, and somehow personal. If you suggest it mid-workout, I will assume you hate me.

So yes, my lifelong rowing machine trauma wasn’t just me being weak – it was resistance level gaslighting.

And because I refuse to let one evil machine win, I’ve decided to alternate – some days it’s the rower, some days it’s treadmill sprints on a 15% incline.

Do I love either of them?

Absolutely not.

But I hate them slightly less in rotation, and in the gym world, that basically counts as a victory.