Why I Rowed Across the Sea (Despite Hating Boats)

A personal story about pain, psychology, and the pursuit of longevity

By Jack Harland

I’ve always been fascinated by human psychology.
What drives people to do what they do - especially when it comes to endurance challenges?

We know it’s going to be painful. Possibly dangerous. And yet some of us are drawn to these experiences as if they hold a hidden reward. A deeper reason that only those who go through it get to understand.

And interestingly, the science suggests that might actually be true.

So why do something like this?

For as long as I can remember, I’ve struggled with lower back pain. I know, everyone says that. But in my case, it’s been a consistent presence, thanks to double scoliosis and a 40-degree curve in my thoracic spine. This puts a ton of pressure on my lower back - especially on the left side.

So in a moment of what can only be described as questionable logic, I decided the best way to deal with that pain...was to sign up for an endurance rowing race.

Now for some context:
I don’t particularly like the sea.
I definitely don’t like small boats.
So naturally, I agreed to row across open water in a boat that is both very small and very much at sea.

Still, something deep down told me it would be worth it.

Training

Six months out from the race, the words “fail to prepare, prepare to fail” became my inner monologue.
I’d never rowed.
The last time I’d been to a gym, the world didn’t know what COVID was.
And I’m not naturally strong.

Safe to say: I was miles away from where I needed to be.

In my experience, the training was far tougher than the actual race. It was months of gym sessions. Rehab. Sore muscles. Stress.

Most of all, the fear that my back wouldn’t hold up and that I’d let the team down after all the prep.

But I got into a rhythm.
Put my head down. Kept showing up.
And slowly, progress started to appear.

Everyone says it, but I’ll say it again because it’s true: Consistency is everything.
Do the reps. Clock the hours. You’ll get better.
I hope I carry that lesson with me into the rest of life.

Managing Injury & Optimising Recovery

Because of the training load - and my not-so-straight spine - I was constantly managing little injuries, flare-ups, and inflammation.

I’m lucky. I run a clinic built around recovery and health optimisation. But I genuinely don’t think I could’ve made it through without daily support from HBOT, Red Light Therapy, and PEMF.

These three modalities - each backed by clinical research - help support cellular repair, reduce inflammation, and improve energy production (ATP). Which, when you're training hard, matters a lot.

Alongside that, I tightened up my nutrition with help from Maryke Gallagher, our Lead Dietitian. She built a plan to help reduce systemic inflammation, support mitochondrial health, and keep my recovery on track.

I’m increasingly convinced that cellular energy is one of the biggest levers for long-term health and performance. It’s also one of the most overlooked.

Here’s a quick breakdown of the modalities I used:
Pulsed Electromagnetic Field Therapy (PEMF) uses pulsed electromagnetic fields to enhance circulation, reduce pain, and even support muscle and bone health - critical pillars of staying active for life.

Red Light Therapy uses targeted wavelengths to energise your mitochondria, boosting collagen, reducing inflammation, and enhancing recovery. A simple yet powerful way to slow cellular ageing and keep your body and mind operating at peak.

Hyperbaric Oxygen Therapy (HBOT) increases oxygen availability by up to 20 times at the tissue level. In a pressurised environment, your body absorbs 100% oxygen - accelerating healing, reducing inflammation, boosting ATP production (cellular energy), upregulating stem cell activity and promoting neurogenesis. It’s not just about living longer - it’s about sustaining the vitality to truly live.

The Race

To be totally honest, we weren’t expecting to do that well.

We were up against seasoned ocean rowers (ex-Marines, ex-SAS) people who’d spent half their lives in boats. We were just a group of mates, none of whom had ever rowed before this year. But somehow, against all odds, we won the first leg of the race: from Ibiza to Mallorca.

That was a huge moment for us. It gave us a sense of belief.

The second leg - from Mallorca to mainland Spain - was a different beast. One of our crew members blacked out from exhaustion in the middle of the night, which was scary. There’s not much you can do out there except keep them warm, give water, and wait. Still, we pushed through and finished third - just 45 minutes behind the leaders.

But honestly, the most powerful part of the race wasn’t the result. It was the experience:
- The laughter between friends.
- The 2am chats under the stars.
- The dolphins swimming beside us at sunrise.
- Even getting slapped in the face by a flying fish in the middle of the night, which then got stuck between my feet in the boat. (Yes, that actually happened.)

All of it, every moment of pain, discomfort, joy, connection, feels etched into my memory with a kind of golden glow. I’ve never felt closer to a group of people. The bond we built on that boat will stay with me forever.

And although parts of it were brutally hard, I look back on the whole experience with a huge smile. I know it won’t be long before I start planning the next adventure. 

If you’re reading this and thinking about doing something similar—some kind of big challenge that scares you a bit, my advice is simple:

Dive in headfirst. Embrace the discomfort.

The growth, perspective, and memories on the other side are more than worth it.