By Friday morning my back was feeling better and I was starting to get focused on racing. I left home a little after 9 AM CDT and headed east through Nashville, Bowling Green, Glasgow, Somerset, Richmond. The drive took longer than I thought it would, and I lost an hour when I crossed into Eastern Time. And I was unfamiliar with my destination in the region south and east of Lexington, Kentucky. So I didn't manage to get in a pre-race paddle like I prefer to do. I'm a regimented creature of habit and it gnawed at me a little, but I tried to reassure myself that my performance the next day wouldn't be ruined.
It was getting on toward six o'clock when I arrived at Fort Boonesborough State Park, the site of the race start. I managed to locate Scott Cummins, Elaine Harold, and Lee Droppelman, all of Louisville, with whom I would be sharing a campsite in the park. Once I'd pitched my tent we went to the pre-race supper at a nearby restaurant called Halls On The River. By this time I was hungry enough to eat a horse, but I settled for a plate of catfish with hushpuppies and french fries. A few hours later I would wake up in my tent with some queasiness from all that fried food, but the feeling passed.
By Saturday morning a fifth person had joined our camp: Erik Borgnes of Stevens Point, Wisconsin. I had never met Erik in person but was familiar with his list of impressive victories in high-profile events. He told me he was a regular reader of this blog, and that was as big an honor as any I could possibly earn with my performance in the race.
We had to get our boats and gear in order quickly so that we could drive our vehicles down to the finish and catch the shuttle bus back up to the start. It's always one of the race-day challenges, making sure I pay proper attention to breakfast, hydration, bodily functions, stretching, and race prep while conforming to other people's schedules.
Finally we were back at the start and ready to go. The Bluegrass River Run featured a couple of competitions on the Kentucky River: Scott, Lee, Erik, and I would be racing down to the Valley View ferry, a distance of about 19 miles. Elaine was entered in the six-mile race, which also started at the state park but finished at a riverside restaurant called Proud Mary's beneath the Interstate 75 bridge.
After a few pre-race words from director Gerry James (also a reader of this blog, I was thrilled to learn), we put our boats on the water and got started promptly at 9:30 EDT. Scott, Lee, Erik, and I separated ourselves from the field and spent the early miles in a four-boat pack. The pace seemed comfortable to me, but I had to assess whether it was something I could sustain for the entire race, and this is where my unfamiliarity with the river and the race was a handicap. The best information I had was that Scott had won last year's race in about two and a half hours. I don't normally like to use a G.P.S. device while I'm racing, but this time it might have been helpful to know how far along the course I was and how fast I was getting there... those who snicker at me for being such a Luddite would have had some justification Saturday.
The pace seemed comfortable, like I said, but Lee provided the first clue that it was a little quick when he dropped off our pack several miles in. He remarked after the race that we were "flying."
Scott and Erik and I continued along, trading off the lead. I tried to get all the rest I could while riding their wakes. Scott and I both kept a wary eye on Erik, the most accomplished athlete among us: sooner or later, we figured, he was likely to make his move and break away. Then again, up in Wisconsin the water freezes over during the winter and there was no telling what kind of paddling shape he was in. Erik does have a reputation for staying fit, however.
So there was much to think about as we carried our three-boat chess match down the river. I tried my best to limit my worries to my own self. With four or five trips around the Loosahatchie Bar under my belt this season, I told myself to have faith in the work I'd done.
We passed Proud Mary's at the 47-minute mark. Our long-time racing friend Chris Hipgrave was entered in the 6-mile race and we agreed that we should haze him without mercy if he didn't break 47 minutes.
Erik seemed to make a little bit of a move around 1:15 or 1:20--just a subtle push in the pace as he took the lead. But Scott and I covered the move and we continued as a three-boat pack. By the 1:30 mark I was starting to feel some serious fatigue set in, and again I wondered how much race was left: 45 minutes? an hour? I don't think we were getting much help from the current: my guess is it was moving between 1 and 2 miles per hour, maximum.
At about 1:50, the other shoe finally dropped: with a sudden flurry of strokes, Erik began to break away from Scott and me. I made a feeble attempt to give chase but I knew within seconds I didn't have it in me. Scott went after Erik as well, and stayed with him for perhaps 30 seconds before he got dropped.
As the gap widened between Erik and Scott, I hung several waves back of Scott's stern with the hope of reeling him back in. But my body had had about enough and was shutting down on me. In other words, I bonked. My glycogen stores depleted, simply putting my body through the motions of paddling was suddenly excruciating. I sat there and watched as Scott pulled away from me and Erik pulled away from Scott. In a matter of minutes our tight, cozy, spirited little pack became strung out over at least a full kilometer.
The last 40 minutes of my race were pretty miserable. When I've bonked I tend to start wallowing in self-pity and wondering just how pathetic my result will be. During one of my breaks from paddling I looked upriver and could see Lee's boat three or four minutes back, and knew the possibility of him running me down to take third place was real. The Fahrenheit temperature had moved above 80 degrees and with low humidity the heat was deceptive. Several times in the final ten minutes I dipped my hat in the water and put it back on my head.
Erik extended his lead and crossed the finish line at Valley View in two hours, 25 minutes, 28 seconds. I don't think Scott was feeling much better than I was but he held on for a respectable second-place finish in 2:29:34. Somehow I managed to stay in third even though I was doing little more than floating with the current. My time was 2:32:01. Lee had indeed narrowed the gap on me and finished just 103 seconds back in 2:33:44. Michael Alexeev rounded out the top five in 2:36:07. Dan Mecklenburg and Debbie Brax paddled their USCA "pro boat" C2 across the line in 2:38:37.
Chris Hipgrave, a resident of Bryson City, North Carolina, saved himself a lot of grief from us by finishing the 6-mile race comfortably under 47 minutes, clocking 44:49. Elaine Harold was the fastest female and claimed second place overall in 53:16. The complete results are posted here. (Once you've clicked on this link, you have to click on "Results" at the top of the page, and then select the race you want from the "Select an event" menu.)
Somehow I found the energy to carry my boat up to the car and change into dry clothes. I drank some water and began the transition back into normal human existence. We all drove back to Proud Mary's for the post-race party and were served some yummy jambalaya and green beans. I accepted my third-place trophy in good spirits and began the long drive back to Memphis.
I was sore from head to toe, and that was no big surprise. But during the drive I also noticed some sharp pain in my left shoulder, in the deltoid area. The pain was still present when I woke up yesterday morning, and when I went down to the river to paddle it bothered me enough that I stopped after just 20 low-intensity minutes. It's feeling slightly better this morning and I hope it's nothing more than a strain that will get better if I treat it with care for the next few days.
The weekend's race turned out to be a bit longer than I care to do, but there's no reason to regret the experience. The Kentucky River is a beautiful place and I'm grateful to the organizers for realizing it was a worthwhile venue for racing.
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