The Allegheny River stretches before me, serene and still. A blue heron dances along the water's surface before soaring overhead.

I, however, am thrashing in the water, paddling ferociously inside a 40-foot boat before my paddle goes flying behind me.

So much for a zen-like debut on a dragon boat.

The Steel City Dragons, one of two dragon boat programs in town, are introducing me to one of the "fastest growing sports in the world that no one has ever heard of."

A half hour into the evening workout at the Fox Chapel Yacht Club, I am sprinting -- or at least trying to sprint. But I cannot keep up with seasoned dragon boaters who stab their paddles into the water with short fierce strokes. Mercifully, no one snarls when my paddle goes airborne, whizzing by a muscular man behind me.

Dragon boat racing is a centuries-old Chinese tradition. It is also one of the most democratic sports around -- septuagenarians can pile into the same boat as rippling 20-year-olds, newbies like myself can paddle behind nationally competitive dragon boaters, and laborers can paddle next to doctors.

"It is very simple. Someone says 'go' and you go," says coach Larry Wentzel, the intense coach of the racing team.

"We are mostly middle-aged people in their 30s and 40s. We race against teams that are 20 years younger and probably 20 pounds lighter," Wentzel says. "We beat them on a regular basis. It's all about going with the boat. It is a very cool feeling when the boat goes."

But before I can get the feel of a sleek canoe-like craft with a dragon head on the bow and a tail on the stern, I must learn the basics of the stroke.

I crawl into the recreational team's boat to receive my first lesson, which the group offers free to anyone who wants to try the sport. (For those who commit, it costs $50 for the rest of the season, which runs until November. The full season, which began in April, costs $110).

"It is the most unnatural stroke," says Suhail Baloch, the coach of the recreational team.

Instead of a sweeping canoe stroke, the dragon boater attacks the water aggressively, the paddle perpendicular to the water, keeping both arms straight.

I don't have to worry about my weak arms because the rotating movement comes from the core.

Baloch is all sunshine and jokes as he nudges us to do what feels so unnatural. We are all doing great, he tells us.

"You will be able to bounce a nickel against your belly," he says.

And when we start to tire during intervals of hard strokes, he says, laughing, "Are you breathing? That is the most important thing."

Then I am switched to the racing boat to see what it feels like to paddle with people who devote three evenings a week to dragon boat racing and travel to races. (Ordinarily, they would not throw me to the wolves this quickly. Paddlers decide themselves when to move up from the rec team).

I have no time to ponder whether I can keep up with the big boys and girls. We are off.

"Power up for tens," shouts Wentzel, his order for intervals of 10 hard strokes.

He is screaming like a drill sergeant inside an adjacent boat. We are pulling heavy five-gallon buckets immersed in the water to make the paddling even more strenuous. The crew grunts and sweats. I am gasping to keep up. My paddle strokes are too long. But it takes four times or more before most people get the hang of it.

Going from the rec team to the racing team is the difference between a leisurely Sunday bike ride and a competitive bike race. I am not worthy. But it is cool to be surrounded by so much sinew and sweat.

"In the next two weeks, you are going to turn into an animal. What kind of animal is up to you. But it's not going to be a bunny rabbit," Wentzel bellows.

Yikes, I just wanted to get my heart rate up and firm up my abs. I hadn't realized I was going to morph into another species.

Wentzel also calls out people who are not keeping their arms straight. "I am sick of doggie paddling," he bellows.

His intensity is a little scary, flashing a look more menacing than the one on the glittery gold dragon baring its teeth.

But Wentzel wants to win on race days, and that is the point.

"If you are embarrassed by being called out in a crowd, don't get in my boat," he says. "People get mad at me. They call me names. I don't care. If they become better paddlers, I have done my job. It's all in fun."

For all his Marine-style bluster, his troops seem to like him. He has mellowed in recent years, they say, and even hands out compliments.

Mary Brenholts, a serene woman from Swissvale sitting next to me, laughs at one of his bellows. "He reminds me of my dad trying to teach me eighth grade algebra," she says. "His intensity and focus is contagious."

Only one out of four first-timers come back for more.

Perhaps that is because it an intense, hard workout -- especially on race day.

"If you don't think you are going to die during a race, you aren't paddling hard enough," Brenholts says.

Marty Silverman, a 52-year-old who lives in Squirrel Hill, likes dragon boat racing as a team sport. "It is not like baseball and volleyball and you miss the ball. If you miss a stroke with your paddle, the boat will still go."

So my presence in the boat won't slow it down much.

The difference between the recreational team and the racing team is a time commitment. Anyone who is willing to travel to practice three times a week and go to races can join the racing team if they want to. There are no tryouts.

"I put them in races," Wentzel says. "You gotta remember, [at] the Steel City Dragons our charter is to get people in the boat. It is not about making people crazy or scared."

Dragon boat racing came to Pittsburgh in 2002. The city's Urban Redevelopment Authority used sister-city funds -- specifically with Pittsburgh's sister city of Wuhan, China -- to purchase the two boats. In 2005, Steel City Dragon Boat Association formed as a nonprofit and has grown the program from 20 to 140 paddlers and five teams. Three Rivers Rowing Association also runs a dragon boat racing program with various teams.

This is the ultimate team sport: the way to make a dragon boat fly is to paddle in unison. Happy paddlers are in-synch paddlers, making the boat go 10 miles per hour during a 500-meter race.

"Anytime you put 20 people in a little container and hand them a stick, you sit back and see what happens," says Wentzel.

Occasionally, he says, a teammate might snipe at the other one, "What are you doing? Get in stroke." But usually they get along well. The team's unity is one reason they won a silver medal at the Philadelphia International Dragon Boat Festival two years ago.

"Everyone is nice. You have to work together," says Lynne Franks-Meinert, the chairwoman of the Steel City Dragon Association. "There are no politicky, gossipy, behind-your-back things."

One of the myths of dragon boat racing is that the hypnotic pounding of the drum on the bow -- the "heartbeat of the boat" -- keeps the paddlers in unison. By the time the sound travels to the end of the boat, there's a delay. So the boaters stay together by watching the first paddler on the left side of the boat, called the "stroke seat," occupied by Franks-Meinert. The coach of the breast cancer survivor's team, she works out two or three hours a day at the gym. Paddling in a dragon boat, she says, is like doing stomach crunches.

The first three rows of the boat control the rate and tempo. The real power of a dragon boat is in the middle -- the "engine room" -- where grunting, muscular guys attack the water like gladiators. The last three seats of the boat are called the "rocket section," where the small, strong people paddle to provide speed in the race.

Finally, after an hour and half, the practise ends. I am totally wiped. But it is a nice tired. I can see where people could get hooked.

My crew gives me a big "hip hip hooray" for not giving up.

You have to love a sport where your teammates cheer you your first time out, even if you are totally inept.