A little drama but in the end, a good race

Friday afternoon I carried my boat up from the marina to put it on the truck.  Sliding the boat up onto the roof racks from the rear end of the vehicle, I pushed the boat a little too far forward, and the bow began to fall down onto the hood.  I took off at a dead sprint to try to catch the boat before it crashed onto the pavement.  In the process, I pulled my left hamstring badly.  What was I just saying in my last post about silly fluke injuries in my 40s...?

I spent Friday evening in a state of anguish, wondering how I could meet with such bad luck the day before a race for which I had worked so hard to be perfectly prepared.  When I woke up Saturday morning, the muscle was tight and in great pain.  My wife massaged it for me and I gingerly tried to stretch it out, and then I headed down to the river, anxious to see how bad it would feel in the boat.

The on-water test was not encouraging.  A bullet of pain shot through the muscle each time I took a stroke on my left.  I briefly considered withdrawing from the race, but never seriously.  I continued doing the best warmup I could, and took my position at the start of the 31st Outdoors, Inc., Canoe and Kayak Race.

Then the gun went off, and just like that my painful hamstring was forgotten.  Chalk one up for adrenaline.  And for the fact that the competition commanded my full attention.

Mike Herbert, a three-time Olympian and three-time medalist at the world championships and a Pan-Am Games gold medalist, exploded into the early lead.  Olympic champion Greg Barton strained to stay on Herbert's wake until this burst of world-class starting speed was exhausted.  Herbert and Barton, the two most successful athletes ever to represent the U.S. in international competition, clearly would be the first two to cross the finish line; the only question was in what order.

The second pack included tough-as-nails South Carolinian Pete Greene; Eric Mims, an employee of Barton's as a rep for Epic Kayaks; and many-time U.S. wildwater team member Chris Hipgrave.

I had tried as hard as I could to stay in contact with this second pack during the frenzied start, but couldn't quite keep pace.  I found myself several boatlengths back alongside another formidable competitor, Roberto Ferie.

Even though Ferie was racing in his third OICKR, he remained a somewhat unknown quantity.  He had represented his native Cuba in flatwater kayaking years ago, so there was no doubt of his ability.  The question was his degree of preparation.  Now living in Memphis, Ferie owns Los Compadres restaurant, a business that makes incredible demands on his time.  He also has a small child, so the man could be forgiven for not paddling a stroke in training this season.

But he had acquired a better boat for this race (a surf ski) after paddling his flatwater K1 the first two times, and he seemed to be conceding nothing on Saturday, pushing the pace as we proceeded down the mighty Mississippi.  For my part, I was determined to "leave it all out there" after coming away from Little Rock with misgivings two weeks ago, and I paddled as hard as I dared to stay alongside Roberto and push the pace myself from time to time.

After we passed beneath the Hernando DeSoto Bridge, I dropped back on Ferie's stern wake to gather myself for the final brutal charge to the finish line on the flatwater of Wolf River Harbor.  As we picked our way through the shallow water around the tip of Mud Island, I cut loose and gained a quick boatlength on the restauranteur.

In front of me, Hipgrave had fallen off the pace of Greene and Mims and looked almost beatable.  The trouble was that I was already putting out near-maximum effort and, with the wind now at our backs in the harbor, we were all withering under the mid-June sun.  It was tempting to back off a little and play cat-and-mouse with Roberto for the last 800 meters, but I thought to myself that if I didn't at least try to go after Chris, it would weigh on me in the months to come.  So I kept the hammer down.

In the end, Chris's margin was a little too big to overcome, but I crossed the finish line knowing I had given the race every last ounce of effort that I had.  I gasped for breath and my heart felt like it would explode inside my chest.  As I regained my wind and began my cooldown paddle toward Harbortown Marina, the pain returned to my hamstring.  I didn't care.

I later learned how the race up front had played out: Greg Barton had taken the win in 18 minutes, 3 seconds.  Mike Herbert had kept the pressure on until the turn into the harbor, and ended up second in 18:17.  Not surprisingly, a little time passed after Mike's finish.  Then Pete Greene came in at 19:30, followed six seconds later by Eric Mims.  Chris Hipgrave clocked 19:55 to my 20:03; Roberto Ferie's time was 20:12.  Phil Capel was eighth overall and first among those not paddling race boats (he was in a fast touring boat), finishing in a very admirable 21:27.

All these racers were about two minutes slower than they had been in past OICKRs.  The low water (1.7 feet below zero on the Memphis gauge) flows more slowly than high water, as one might expect; but an even bigger reason for the slow times is simply that the course was longer.  Not only was the start about a hundred meters farther up the Wolf than usual, but also there was more dry land exposed at the southern tip of Mud Island, forcing the racers to paddle perhaps a quarter-mile more than they do at higher river levels.  Happily, the start of the race went remarkably smoothly given the conditions; race director Joe Royer and official starter Lawrence Migliara deserve praise for that feat.

The racers I have mentioned so far were only a small percentage of the overall field.  There were about 200 more boats entered in the race, propelled by women, men, girls, boys, best friends, siblings, parents and children.  The incredible turnout from the community is really what makes this event special year in and year out.  A record of everybody's finish is available here.

The day was becoming hot but it was otherwise beautiful.  I found my spouse and we soaked up the sun and the music of the Bluff City Backsliders.  It was a good day to be alive in Memphis, Tennessee.