by Lola Berumen
The first time I ever remember how hectic Kylie Beauchamp’s life could get was on a random Tuesday afternoon during our freshman year of college. I came back to our apartment from what felt like an endless amount of classes and immediately slid my backpack off my shoulders. I always greet Kylie when I walk in and immediately go to her room.
The lights were still on. Her rowing gear was still on. Her backpack was literally still strapped to her torso. And Kylie, my roommate, my friend and the person responsible for steering eight women down the water every morning, was passed out on top of her comforter, shoes and all.
It was funny in the kind of way you laugh before you understand something. And then it was sad. Exhaustion had swallowed her whole. Most people don’t associate that kind of fatigue with coxswains. To the outside world, a coxswain is just the person holding a microphone. They don’t look like athletes. They don’t look like the ones who come home and collapse without even taking off their backpacks.
But in that moment, Kylie asleep before she could even set her things down, was the clearest embodiment of a job most people never think twice about.
“Being a coxswain is a lot of work,” she told me recently, “and being in charge of a boat is a lot of pressure. But it’s pressure that I genuinely enjoy, and I know it’s an opportunity not a lot of people get to have in college. So I try to make not only myself proud, but my teammates and my coaches proud as well…even when it’s hard for me to get out of bed.”
That weight she carries isn’t new. It goes all the way back to the night we first met our freshman year. Strangers who ended up in the hot tub at Lucky Apartments, steam curling around us as we talked for hours about everything. Sometime between laughing about disgusting dining hall food and stressing about our upcoming classes, she mentioned she wanted to try rowing. Not because she was recruited. Not because someone told her she should. But because she was drawn to it. Coming from St. Louis, Missouri, she never had many opportunities to cox a boat before. That night, she was determined to be ready for the challenge, and excited to be part of something bigger than herself.
“I wasn’t recruited,” she told me. “I was a walk-on, but I had the determination to get better with every single practice, every piece, every regatta.” Anyone who knows Kylie could see her determination immediately. She became organized the way only student-athletes have to be: living by alarms, calendars and schedules built around grueling practices that begin before the sun even has the chance to rise. Twice a day she goes. Twice a day she returns home exhausted. And twice a day she still has to be a college student with classes, assignments, friends and a life.
She always leaves our apartment early. Sometimes she “accidentally” slams the door on her way out, although she swears she doesn’t, she does. And she always apologizes with the same phrase she always uses for her life motto: Everything happens for a reason. Maybe even slammed doors.
From an outsider’s perspective, coxswains look calm. Stationary. Comfortable. But their job is a constant cycle of decision-making and command. They are the heart of the boat, the voice every woman in that boat depends on, the one who must see the race before it unfolds and respond in real time.
“As another cox, Kylie is really inspiring,” said Emma Hefner, one of her teammates. “She motivates me and the rest of our team to do our best every single day. It’s a healthy competition where we try to do better than each other. She’s a great leader and an even better person.”
But leadership carries weight that people don’t talk about enough. And for Kylie, that weight has sometimes negatively impacted her. “Although I love what I do,” she admitted, “I’ve struggled with my mental health and my physical health because it’s a lot of work day in and day out. We’re up super early, and a lot of us have a ton of classes and assignments on top of practice. I’ve teased the idea of quitting before, but I know I wouldn’t…because my teammates keep me going, and because of the legacy we hold with such an amazing team.”
Legacy is a big promise coming from someone who once entered the program quietly, without being directly recruited. But three years later, she’s grown into a voice her teammates trust. “I feel like I’ve had a lot of personal growth,” Kylie said. “Through evaluations from my teammates and coaches, I feel a lot more confident now than I did my freshman year.” Kylie’s confidence continues to show.
Sophia Gruenling, who has rowed in boats Kylie has coxed, described it this way: “Whenever I’ve had the opportunity to be coxed by Kylie, there’s a sense of ease. She tells us what we need to be doing and how to look out for other boats on the water. She keeps us motivated and determined to always do our best.” Ease is not usually a word people associate with someone carrying everyone else’s pressure. But Kylie creates it — she not only builds a sense of calm amidst the chaos, she does so humbly.
Emma put it in the blunt, affectionate way that only a teammate could: “I think she’s too humble to say this herself, so I’m going to say it for her. She is a really great leader. Everybody on the team looks up to her. They know she’s going to steer them in the right direction. When we acknowledge she’s doing the best she can, we can do the best we can for her.” There’s something so beautiful about Emma’s reflection. Kylie leads them, but they carry her too.
At the end of the day she comes home. She transforms into the roommate version of herself. The version who takes off her shoes in strange places, who’s introverted until she gets to talk about a topic she’s currently into, who talks for hours when she feels safe enough, who leaves the apartment at ungodly hours, who falls asleep while watching a movie on the couch, who slams the door even when she promises she won’t, who believes everything happens for a reason. Because believing in something is sometimes easier than believing in yourself.
Kylie is both. The girl in the hot tub dreaming about joining the team, and the woman steering the boat with a confidence she earned stroke by stroke. People often overlook coxswains. They overlook leadership that is quiet instead of loud. They overlook pressure that is mental instead of physical. They overlook the person whose voice guides the boat but never touches the oars.
But if you ever walked into our apartment and saw Kylie the way I did that afternoon, backpack still strapped on, rowing gear still on her body, asleep before she could even reach for a blanket, you would understand the truth. The smallest person in the boat carries the most. And Kylie carries it well. After all, I should know.
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