Well, it's been an interesting few days. By the time I was paddling up to the starting line in Ocean Springs yesterday morning it felt somewhat remarkable that I was there.
On Thursday morning I had paddled with Joe in the harbor. I did eight 12-stroke sprints and I was feeling good, the boat moving well. But at the same time, the antibiotics I'd been taking were really starting to wear on my body and disrupt my sleep. At least, I hope it was the antibiotics disrupting my sleep: one problem I have never had is insomnia, and I hope I never do have that problem. I believe the very best thing you can do for your health, along with a good diet, is get adequate sleep night in and night out. It's been at least ten years since I have run a fever or been sick in any significant way, and I think good sleep has had a lot to do with that.
But when I got out of bed Friday morning, it seemed that that run of luck might be coming to an end at an untimely moment. I had slept poorly for the second night in a row, and my body was aching a little as if I might be coming down with something. I went down to the harbor and did a short paddle with a few more 12-stroke sprints, and this time everything felt more labored.
I loaded up my boat and went ahead with the six-hour drive to the Mississippi Gulf Coast. It was not a pleasant drive. By the time I rolled into Ocean Springs my head was throbbing and I was questioning the wisdom of even making the trip. After checking in at the race headquarters I retired to the home of my friend Nick Kinderman, who had invited me to stay with him. Nick is in fact the founder of the Battle On The Bayou race, and having turned the reins over to another director this past year, he was getting to enjoy the event himself for the first time.
I was hoping a good night's sleep would put me back on track, but instead I spent another night lying awake, and as dawn approached I had all but decided there was no way I would be fit to race. But once I was up and moving around, I realized I didn't feel quite as horrible as I'd feared, and I decided to give the race a go.
The gun went off and we all charged off the starting line in the Back Bay of Biloxi next to the Gulf Hills Hotel, headed for the point where we would turn up into Old Fort Bayou. In this first few hundred meters I rode the side wake of female champion-to-be Kata Dismukes, a comely Hungarian who now lives, with her American husband and their children, right here in the Memphis area. We'll gladly claim her as our own for as long as she wants to stay here.
After the turn I moved up alongside Rick Carter of Eutawville, South Carolina, and Jeb Berry of Gulfport, Mississippi. By the time we'd cleared the Washington Avenue bridge some 1600 meters into the race, the three of us had emerged as the lead pack, and we'd stay a pack almost until the end. Perhaps foolishly, I led for most of that time; considering my less-than-perfect health it might have been wise to hang back a bit more. Instead I was hoping to drop my two competitors, and they just wouldn't drop.
I've done this race six times now, and each time I've really begun to feel the fatigue with about three miles to go. At that point I knew I probably wasn't going to drop anybody, and the race would come down to who had the most left at the end.
With about a mile to go Rick threw in a monster surge and took the lead, and I really had to work hard to stay on his stern wake. I sat there thinking, "He can't keep on like this forever... can he?" He finally let up a little, and I hoped that would be the last big move he had left in him. But when we rounded the bend and faced the Interstate 10 bridge, about a half mile from the finish, Rick surged again and opened a several-boatlength lead on me. At that point I knew he had me, for even if he slowed down significantly, and/or even if I'd had more energy left to respond, the gap plus Rick's boatlength would have been a formidable distance to make up in the couple of hundred meters I had left.
Meanwhile, Jeb was right on my stern, and I shifted my attention to holding him off. He made a truly heroic attempt to slip by me at the finish, but I held onto second place by about one second.
The complete results are posted here.
Afterward, Rick seemed genuinely shocked that he had managed to beat me. "What happened to you????" he kept saying. I take that as quite a compliment, but I also think the man might be overestimating just how unbeatable I am; I've never been an Olympic hopeful, I've never qualified for a team of any kind... I'm just a middle-aged guy like him, doing the best he can at something he enjoys.
I should also note that while Rick is a very self-deprecating guy, always cracking jokes at his own expense, I think he's a better paddler and athlete than he gives himself credit for. I watched him paddle during the race, and though his stroke might not be a polished thing of beauty like a classically-groomed Olympic hopeful would have, it's effective enough: he rotates his body, he uses his legs... he does quite a few of the little things that can make a boat go fast. Rick told me after the race that he's gotten a lot of help from well-known paddlers and coaches like Morgan House and Chris Hipgrave, and in my mind that brings up an important point: he's actually willing to listen to knowledgeable people. One thing I've noticed about many people who take up our sport later in life--particularly men who have had great success in their careers or other activities--is that they often don't want to take advice from anybody else, no matter how much they stand to benefit. Rick's not like that. So I'm happy for him to have claimed the "overall winner" distinction yesterday, and I hope he'll get a confidence boost from that.
I finally got a good night's sleep last night, and have felt significantly better all day today. After thanking Nick for his hospitality, I went out for an hour-long recovery paddle in Biloxi Bay along the Ocean Springs beachfront. Actually, the conditions weren't ideal for a recovery paddle: the wind was picking up, and I found myself dealing with an endless train of fair-sized waves. Once I accepted that paddling lightly wasn't going to get me anywhere, I threw caution to the wind and at least had a little fun before the long trip home.
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