No reason for the "bluz" today

It seems like every year I'm tired to the point of catatonia after finishing the Bluz Cruz Marathon, but this year's installment seemed tougher than most.  Part of it was simply the duration: whereas last year my time was 1 hour, 56 minutes and change, today it was just over 2:20.  Low water, a pesky south wind, and numerous patches of choppy water slowed the race down considerably.  Two hours is about my limit for subjecting myself to punishment in the boat, and I wasn't happy to have to stretch that out today.

But I won the race, and it's hard not to be pleased whenever that happens.  I spent the early miles of the race in a pack with a couple of tandem kayaks.  Once I had pulled away from them I paddled alone for the middle ten or so miles until the Arkansan Phil Capel, who had found a faster line around a bend than I had, pulled even with me.

The final mile of this 22-mile race is spent paddling up the Yazoo River to a finish line on Vicksburg's riverfront.  Two of the previous three times I had done this race I had bonked as I entered the mouth of the Yazoo, holding on for the wins by virtue of the big leads I had built.  Today I had no such luxury with Phil on my case, and I tried to paddle as efficiently as possible in the last six miles to avoid another bonking episode.  I wasn't entirely confident of the outcome until I was within a half-mile of the finish, but it all worked out okay.

After the race Melissa Morrison, a paddler in one of the tandems I had raced with early on, asked me how I managed to control a tippy surf ski in conditions like we had today.  I wasn't sure how to answer her question at the time, but after spending the rest of the day giving it some thought, I'd say my experience racing whitewater slalom has a lot to do with it.  Slalom racers devote a huge chunk of their practice time to keeping their boats moving in every conceivable type of water condition.  I've carried that idea into my training for open-water distance racing, doing balance and control drills in choppy or boily water whenever I can find it.  I do one of my most simple drills in the harbor at home on windy days when there are small waves: I paddle my boat in beam waves (i.e., the waves are moving from my right to my left or vice-versa) and try to keep my deck perfectly level, without any rocking from side to side.  Even on teeny little waves, I have developed a comfort level that carries over to bigger stuff that I sometimes encounter in races, and I encourage anybody reading this blog to try it.  I'm not a particularly powerful or speedy paddler, and I'm also not getting any younger, so I think this technical stuff is my best hope for staying competitive.