Hall of Fame
The 2016 Blue Crew team, led by Coaches Tessa Spillane, Hannah Woodruff and Seth Hussey, earned the program's first National Championship and first NCAA team National Championship in school history. The NCAA team included Meg Babikian '18, Emilia Ball '19, Kathryn Barth '17, Lauren N. Bazley '18, Kelsey Campbell '18, Sydney Dollmeyer '16, Olivia Duggan '17, Audrey Ellis '18, Anna Hakes '17, Grace Howland '16, Molly Hoyer '18, Sahar Ibrahim '16, Stephanie S. Kim '18, Katie Livingston '19, Loren Lock '16, Jocelyn Reahl '19, Sloane Rice '18, Megan Roberts '16, Sydney Stento '18, Olivia Sukrieh née Thayer '16 and Alessandra Zaldivar-Giuffredi '16. The team finished with a gold medal in the Varsity Eight Grand Final and a silver medal in the Second Varsity Eight Grand Final at the NCAA Championship. The squad won a sixth straight NEWMAC title and the New England Rowing Championships (NERC) championship (won second varsity and novice titles to earn overall points championship for first time in program history). Loren Lock '16 and Sydney Dollmeyer '16 earned All-America recognition, with Lock becoming the second athlete in program history to earn All-America honors a second time. The Blue also swept the awards at the NEWMAC Championships, as Megan Roberts '16 was named Rower of the Year and Stephanie S. Kim '18 earned her second Coxswain of the Year award in as many seasons. The duo was joined on the All-Conference team by Lauren N. Bazley '18 and Grace Howland '16. In addition, head coach Tessa Spillane was recognized as the NEWMAC, National Invitational Rowing Championship (NIRC) and Collegiate Rowing Coaches Association (CRCA) National Coach of the Year.
Olivia Duggan '17:
If there was ever a team that had free speed, it was 2016 Blue Crew. In rowing, "free speed" refers to anything that helps a boat go faster without increasing physical output. For Blue Crew, we took that definition to mean anything and everything. Dress-up days ranging from Avatar: The Last Airbender characters to breakfast foods? Free speed. Fitting 18 people around a single table for post-practice breakfast in Pom Dining Hall? Free speed. Our coxswain Ale yelling, “There are no rules!”, a quote borrowed from a Little Caesars Pizza commercial that, without fail, resulted in our boat gaining seats on every other boat at the 1000 m mark of a race? Definitely free speed. But for as goofy and lighthearted as our team could be, we brought an equal intensity and rigor to every practice, secondary, race, and minute of preparation that went into them. That combination—our ability to deep belly laugh as hard as we went on the erg, all while relentlessly pushing one another—created a sense of belief that carried us through the season and, ultimately, to Wellesley's first national championship. We came into NCAAs ranked sixth in the field and in entirely new lineups from where we had last competed. On paper, there were plenty of reasons to doubt us. But when we arrived in California, I think we all knew we were going to do something that nobody saw coming. That perfect harmony of belief, hard work, and genuine fun is incredibly rare, and is something I'll be lucky if I ever experience again. To be honored for that moment in time, and for all the free speed, grit, laughter, and belief that got us there, is truly special.
Audrey Ellis '18:
My four years on the Wellesley rowing team are, to this day, one of my most cherished accomplishments. Blue Crew taught me things that no classroom could. It showed me how to work hard for something I love, it taught me to show up even when I was tired beyond what I thought possible, but more than anything it taught me the power of a team. My standard for how a team should work together — how people should push each other, trust each other, and show up for each other — will always be measured against Wellesley crew. I've chased that same feeling in every job, every project, every group I've been part of since, and I don't think I'll ever stop. Being inducted into the Wellesley Athletics Hall of Fame for my time with this team means more to me than I can fully put into words. It's a recognition not just of four years of early mornings and hard racing, but of everything crew gave me: resilience, humility, and an enduring belief in what people can accomplish together. I am deeply grateful to Wellesley, to my coaches, and to my teammates. Go Blue!
Molly Hoyer '18:
When I wrote my college essay, I highlighted my two strengths that I thought were most important at that time: adaptability and independence. Then I actually arrived at Wellesley, and I joined the rowing team as a novice, and I learned that beyond adaptability lies resiliency. In the erg room, in the gym, and especially in the boat, I discovered my limits -- and then I surpassed them. Day after day, with the help of my coaches and alongside my teammates (who were often tougher on me than the coaches!), I realized that "ordinary" is a mindset, not an objective, external category. After our first few sessions in the weight room, my fellow novice Meg clicked her tongue, shook her head, and told me, "Molly, you can definitely lift heavier weights than that." She was right, so I began trying heavier and heavier weights, and it became my new ordinary. At the start of my first winter training, the entire team sat down together with our coaches to go over our goals for the winter and spring seasons. Everyone agreed that one of those goals was, of course, to qualify for NCAAs, so that became my new ordinary. At my first NCAAs that following May, after I had pushed harder than I thought possible during the repêchage to qualify for the Grand Final, I told our captain Loren that we must have done too much in the warm-up, because only halfway through the race, my legs had felt more exhausted than they ever had before. She looked me in the eyes and said, "Molly, that's how it's always supposed to feel. Every race." And then that became my new ordinary. Earning Wellesley's first team NCAA championship seems extraordinary, and being inducted into my alma mater's Athletics Hall of Fame feels like an extraordinary honor in return. But we won in 2016 because we knew, beyond a doubt, that what seemed extraordinary at first could be ordinary for us, if that's what we decided. And this recognition, to me, honors the people -- the teams, the coaches, the athletes -- who made that decision, who had the resilience to redefine "ordinary" and "extraordinary" for themselves. The highest honor, to me, is being inducted as part of my team, because I know that I could not be, could never have been, counted among this larger cohort of the Wellesley Athletics Hall of Fame without having been a part of Wellesley Crew.
Jocelyn Reahl '19:
During a period in my life when I felt so sure of who I was and what I was supposed to do, Wellesley gave me the space to grow outside of that narrow box I had defined for myself. Wellesley Crew, especially this Hall of Fame class, was critical to that growth. They showed me endless grace and kindness during my first year and beyond, and I cannot imagine who I would be without them. I am so grateful to be honored in this year’s Hall of Fame alongside them—I would not want it any other way.
Alessandra Zaldivar-Giuffredi '16
One of the greatest lessons I learned during my time at Wellesley and, particularly, through rowing, is that a key element to success is balance. Initially, I understood balance in its literal sense: finding the boat’s set, preserving run, blending different rowing styles, marrying power with precision. Over time, I realized that same principle extends far beyond the boat. Our team succeeded because we learned to balance different personalities, perspectives, and strengths into one rhythm in pursuit of a common goal. We balanced confidence with humility, intensity with joy, and preparation with trust. During my time as a coxswain, I learned that leadership is as much about listening and serving, as it is about directing; it’s as much about showing up prepared, as it is about being adaptable. I grew to appreciate and respect that every person brings something unique, and our greatest strength comes from learning how to move together, while supporting each other as individuals. Balance also means holding space for enjoyment, amidst the hard training. Fun boats are fast boats, and fast boats are fun boats. The most successful crews demand excellence, without losing the joy that made them fall in love with the sport in the first place. As a Division III student-athlete, balance meant being fully committed to the sport, while still nurturing other parts of my identity: studying abroad, playing the violin, learning languages and political science, and building friendships beyond the boathouse. The lessons in and appreciation for balance that I gained at Wellesley have followed me throughout my career as an attorney and in my personal life. I am constantly required to balance risk mitigation and opportunity; conviction with openness to alternative, new and evolving perspectives; and persistent effort with acceptance of what I cannot control. Perhaps the most enduring lesson, is the last one: learning to balance aspiration, preparation, and trust. In Spring 2014, I remember sitting down with the coaches and declaring plainly that my goal was to win NCAAs—after having graduated a dozen seniors the year before, the coaches appropriately deemed that a lofty goal. Later that season, I remember Trinity’s coxswain gliding to victory at NCAAs, her hands running through the water at the finish line. Our assistant coach, Austin, turned to me and said: “You can only do that, when you win NCAAs.” Then and there, I decided that was going to be me one day. Every race since, I visualized putting my hands in the water, as my boat decidedly crossed the finish line, gliding in first. I was fortunate to sit beside teammates and drive an engine of eight rowers, who believed, worked, and pushed each other toward the same incredible goal, so that, sure enough, two years later, that’s exactly what happened. The lesson could be “manifestation and visualization work,” and that may be true. However, the two-year course charted between that moment in the office, Trinity’s win in 2014, and my standing on the podium in 2016, holding two golden trophies was neither linear (so much for, “the shortest distance between two points is a straight line…”), nor entirely within my control. The real takeaway? You aim high, work relentlessly (“empty the *redacted* tank,” anyone?), then let go—trusting your training, your teammates, and the process. And, secondarily, you do not let precedent define your future. As my boatmates and I decided: “There are no rules! We make them. We make this OURS.” Hope coupled with honest dedication pays off and can redefine the future. Coming from an immigrant family that emphasized hard work and excellence, I grew up believing that if something was worth doing, it was worth doing all the way: “well, or not at all.” I still smile thinking about my parents’ understated way of acknowledging our tremendous feat: “Well, at least you won NCAAs.” Beneath the humor and eye rolls, lies a lesson about goal-setting, balancing integrity, effort, and perseverance with trust in the hard work you’ve done. Thanks to rowing, I have learned to stay the course, work hard with integrity, and “dejar que la vida me encamine,” in English, “let life reveal my path.” Looking back, I am grateful not only for championships, accolades, and close friendships, but also for the perspective rowing gave me. It taught me that success isn’t a solitary achievement; it’s a constant act of balancing self and team, intensity and joy, preparedness and adaptability, and effort and trust. This Hall of Fame recognition honors more than a single race or championship. It recognizes a team, two boats, and a period of my life that helped shape the person I am today. Rowing has given me some of my closest friendships, dealt me meaningful challenges, and imparted some of the clearest and most vital life lessons, which I still carry with me today. There is something especially meaningful about returning to Wellesley, after ten years, to honor what we accomplished together as a team and commemorate our part in the College and rowing program’s history. We were simply a group of people with very different personalities, backgrounds, strengths, and paths whose lives intersected, at the right time, and who together found that elusive balance, which allowed us to seize the moment, capitalize on our “free speed,” and cross the finish line together, golden. We built something that remains a part of Wellesley College’s history, far after our crossing the finish line. I am overwhelmingly grateful to my family, especially my parents and grandparents for their sacrifices and wisdom, my friends, my boatmates, my teammates, the coaches, and the generations of Wellesley rowers who came before our 2016 squad, especially those first women on the water.
Sahar Ibrahim ‘16
When I arrived at Wellesley in 2012, rowing was never part of the plan. I came from a tiny school on Vancouver Island in Canada where our only competitive sports team was an outrigger canoe team, and I had spent much of high school on the water through outrigger and ocean kayaking. So, when I saw that Wellesley had rowing tryouts, I thought, somewhat mistakenly, that it couldn’t be all that different. Halfway through the tryout, after Austin made us run a mile (which I had to google to convert into kilometers), I was mildly regretting my decision. I hated running. But then we did an erg test, and I surprised myself. I was strong. I remember that feeling clearly: maybe I could actually do this. That realization changed much more than my athletic trajectory. Growing up, I had been very self-conscious about my body. I was always bigger than many of the other girls around me, and I had learned to see that as something I should be embarrassed about. Rowing completely reframed that. Suddenly, the things I had been most insecure about were the things that made me powerful. I had these enormous, strong legs that could move a boat. I had never been physically stronger in my life, and discovering what my body could do gave me a kind of confidence I hadn't known I was missing. Rowing also taught me what it means to find a limit, and then question whether it is actually a limit. I learned how to sit with discomfort, how to push further than I thought I could, and how much more we are often capable of when we are willing to stay on the edge of what is comfortable. I remember an ECACs race where halfway through the race I felt my body burning up in a way I hadn't before and in that moment, I decided to lean into it and just keep pushing. And I'm pretty sure that's one of the races in which I rowed the hardest and unlocked a new level for myself. To qualify this, I think another thing that being an athlete teaches you is how to distinguish pain that's breaking you and pain that going to make you stronger, and that extends beyond the physical. Had it not been for these moments in which you make a decision to keep going or find a new gear, I wouldn't have found resilience while doing rural electrification work in the middle of the mountains of Central Asia where power cuts, lack of water, and crumbling infrastructure on top of an incredibly demanding job required me to step up to challenges in ways I hadn't before, and I'm better for it. But perhaps the most important lessons I learned from rowing came from the times I didn't get it right. There were seasons when I wanted to be the best without putting in all the work required to be the best. I would arrive at an erg test knowing I hadn't trained the way I should have, perform badly, and then be incredibly frustrated with myself. It took me time to understand that I had other priorities, and that there was nothing wrong with that. I had struggled to admit that because rowing mattered so deeply to everyone around me that I felt it had to matter most to me, too. Learning to own my choices and to understand that outcomes are inseparable from the work that precedes them has stayed with me far beyond rowing. In fact, I think I understand our 2016 NCAA championship differently now than I did then. I remember the race, of course, but the six or seven minutes we spent racing were only a tiny fraction of what it took to get there. The championship was the visible outcome of countless invisible hours: the 4 a.m. wakeups, practices, ergs, lifts, recovery, travel, and the decision to show up again and again. I see that even more clearly now when I run and cycle. Race day is the culmination of months of work, and what matters most is rarely what happens on any single day. It is the commitment, consistency, discipline, and dedication that make the result possible. And that result was never ours alone. It belonged to an entire village: our coaches, assistant coaches, trainers, strength and conditioning staff—especially Becky, whose lift sessions I loved and whose approach I still try to recreate today—our administrators, parents, alumni, and everyone who cheered us on and supported us along the way. It also belongs to the generations of Wellesley women who came before us and helped build opportunities for women's athletics. We get to stand here and accept this recognition, but we are standing on their shoulders. Most importantly, crew gave me a family at a place where I initially felt like I didn't quite belong. There is a particular kind of bond that comes from 4 a.m. wakeups, shared exhaustion, disappointment, laughter, and celebration. Ten years later, the people I remain closest to from Wellesley are still the people I met through crew. So, while I am incredibly proud that we won a national championship, what I am most grateful for is everything that championship represents. Crew taught me to appreciate the strength I had, to push beyond the limits I had placed on myself, to take responsibility for the work behind my ambitions, and to understand that some of the most meaningful things in life happen long before anyone sees the result. Rowing was never part of the plan. But without it, I would not be the person I am today. I am enormously grateful that, at Wellesley, I accidentally found a sport, a community, a bunch of free swag that I still wear with regularity, and a set of lessons that have stayed with me long after I left the boat.
Kelsey Campbell ’18
When I think about my Wellesley rowing career, I am still surprised that it happened at all. I arrived at Wellesley from a landlocked state having never thought about rowing outside of the Olympics. I joined the novice team on a whim because it seemed like a good way to get in shape for track season, but apparently, I was stubborn enough to stick around. As I learned the basics, I quickly discovered I had a bit of a knack for erging. For those of you who aren’t rowers, it's a little like being good at running on a treadmill and then trying to pole vault. There might be similar mechanics, but there’s not a 12-foot oar in your hands. My first full spring season was anything but full. Much of it was spent dealing with migraines, missing our spring break training trip, and watching from the sidelines while my teammates trained and raced. After losing my brother the year before, I was entering college trying to find some sense of normalcy and figuring out who I was in a world that suddenly felt very different. Rowing offered an unexpected kind of stability: show up, do the work, and be part of a team. Much of the world around me was beyond my control, but rowing was something that was mine to determine. But for much of that spring, I couldn’t. The following season after finally recovering, I worked my way into the 2V where we won the national championship. The result felt almost impossible to comprehend. Standing on the podium, singing “Work from Home” with my teammates, I felt both completely at home and slightly like I had wandered into the wrong photograph. The work had earned me a place there; emotionally, I just hadn’t quite caught up to the result. My coach’s voice through the megaphone still comes back to me: “It feels the same!” My immediate thought was, Um, no it doesn’t. How in the world could this feel the same? A leisurely row did not feel the same as a sprint. A 100-pound deadlift did not feel the same as a 200-pound one. By then I had spent enough time rowing to become a quasi-expert in the many nuanced varieties of suffering available. I was confident my coach was wrong. Of course, the things themselves did not feel the same. The weights got heavier, the pace got faster, and the last 500 meters hurt considerably more than the first. I’ve come to realize that those differences mattered less than I thought they did. It all felt hard, and all of it required me to dig a little deeper than I thought I could. What changed was my capacity to do it anyway. What once felt impossible became familiar, and then we moved the goalpost again. Somehow, without noticing, the extraordinary became ordinary. This is one of Tessa’s particular gifts. She made me believe I was capable of more while making it very clear that believing it was not enough; I had to prove it. Her email sign-off has always been, “We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit.” We poked fun at it then. Now, I know she was onto something. By senior year, I had worked my way into the 1V and earned first-team All-American honors. Even now, writing that sentence feels a little surreal. The 4 a.m. wakeups, twice-daily workouts, physical therapy, racing, and sheer volume of work still seem a little unbelievable in retrospect. At the time they felt completely normal. We could spend an evening crammed into a Beebe common room laughing about nothing, then be up at 4 a.m. the next morning doing something that, in retrospect, seems objectively unreasonable. One of my favorite memories of rowing is also one of the least glamorous: being told when to pee before a race. It was timed because apparently even my bladder had a place in the race plan. Strangely, it was comforting. Someone else had thought through the details. My job was to put the oar in the water at the same time as the other seven rowers. Rowing reinforced a slightly unhinged belief that if something is worth doing, I can figure out how to do it. It also taught me that “I can do this” and “I have to do this myself” are very different ideas. I am deeply honored to be inducted into the Wellesley Athletics Hall of Fame. I am even more honored to be inducted as part of Wellesley Crew. When I think about what I accomplished at Wellesley, I am still a little shocked that I did any of it. When I think about what we accomplished together, it makes perfect sense. Looking back, the extraordinary part was never any one of us. It was what happened when all of us did our part.
