I arrived at Taylorsville Reservoir, some 45 minutes southeast of Louisville, Kentucky, in the late afternoon on Friday. I went down to the race site for a pre-race session: two times (4 minutes on/1 minute off) at 60 strokes per minute, four times (1 min. on/1 min. off) at 80 spm, and two times (4 min. on/1 min. off) at 60 spm. The buoys marking the course were already out: we would be doing three laps of a 5-kilometer loop.
After paddling I went up to the state park campground and set up my tent, and then ventured into the town of Taylorsville to see what kind of supper might be had. The choices were few, but I was awfully hungry, and the local Mexican restaurant seemed like a good bet to take care of that. Three beef enchiladas and a tamale later, the meal was sitting heavy in my stomach and I hoped I hadn't made a dietary mistake the night before a race.
The race would be starting at 8:30 AM Saturday morning, so I set my alarm for 5 AM. My body thought it was 4 AM... darn Eastern Time. Once I'd had some coffee and breakfast and visited the restroom, I was feeling reasonably race-ready. I headed down to the race site to get ready.
There were four racers entered who had beaten me at least once in the past, but who I considered to be at my competitive level or "in my league" or however you like to say it. To be perfectly honest, I was feeling confident that I might pull off a win. I mean, with my fancy new Internet coach and all the sophisticated workouts he's been putting me through, I couldn't believe that anybody else was as fit as I was.
We put our boats in the water and warmed up, and when the clock chimed 8:30 we were off. I sprinted pretty hard off the line, but not as fast as Terry Smith of Chattanooga, Tennessee, just to my right. I quickly moved onto his port-side wake, but was unable to match his speed and dropped back to his stern wake. Scott Cummins of Louisville was to our left and he took my place on Terry's side wake.
Meanwhile, 16-year-old West Virginian Corbin Peters was moving up on my left side. Before the race Scott had remarked, "He'll be beating us all in a year or two." But at that moment it seemed that the future was NOW.
I was feeling some oxygen deficiency in my thigh muscles--a sign that I wasn't quite as warmed up as I should have been. More dire than that was that the torrid early pace had zapped the confidence I had enjoyed in the early stages of my race in Louisiana three weeks prior, and in that state I'm prone to making bad decisions. Corbin and I both were struggling with the confused wakes behind Terry and Scott, and when Corbin dropped off the pace about a kilometer in, I decided to stick with him, thinking I could regroup and rejoin the lead pack later. One thing I've learned in many years of racing is that's never a good idea: once "the train" has left you behind, it's very difficult to reel it back in and get back on it. But at the moment my survival instincts were doing all my thinking for me.
Terry and Scott were starting to open a gap on us. As Scott told me later, Terry was dictating the pace and he was just trying to hang on. At about the same time another Chattanoogan, Roy Roberts, came chugging past Corbin and me with the intention of joining the leaders. I wanted to go with him but just didn't have it in me to sprint again at that moment. About a kilometer later Ryan Landis of Corwin, Ohio, whom I'd last seen back in 2018 on the Big South Fork of the Cumberland River, came gliding by. This time I did give chase and I managed to drop Corbin, but I was unable to stay with Ryan.
And so the order was set with the lead pack moving farther and farther ahead with Ryan in fourth and me in fifth, and I realized the rest of my morning was going to be long and lonely. This was not at all the kind of race I'd envisioned myself having. Where was my power? Where was my speed? I told myself to concentrate on posture and good strokes and all that, and at least make a respectable showing, but all the air had gone out of my balloon.
I spent the rest of the race paddling as efficiently as I could and gazing forlornly up ahead. By the third lap the lead pack was well over 90 seconds ahead of me. Ryan was some 40 seconds closer to them than I was, but otherwise he was in the same no-man's-land predicament that I was in: fourth place was his destiny, assuming nobody in the lead pack crashed and burned. Up in front Terry continued to lead while Scott, one of the most tenacious competitors I've ever met, hung on to his side wake (Scott told me later that "hanging on" is all he was doing). Several times it appeared that the pair had opened a gap on Roy, but Roy, who may rival Scott in the tenacity department, always managed to regain contact.
In the end, it was Terry claiming the victory in one hour, 16 minutes, 23 seconds. Scott took second place just three seconds back, with Roy finishing third in 1:16:49. Ryan captured a fourth-place finish that he can be proud of under the circumstances. I brought my own ordeal to a close at 1:19:37.
Elaine Harold of Louisville overtook Corbin en route to the women's title with a time of 1:23:34. Hollie Hall of South Point, Ohio, was the second-fastest lady in 1:25:50.
The complete results are posted here. (Note: Ryan Landis's time is incorrect. He in fact finished in the neighborhood of one hour 17 minutes. There was electronic timing in effect and my guess is that some kind of chip error is to blame.)
I carried my boat back to the car and licked my wounds. I had not felt fresh as the race began and I wondered if I was not adequately rested even though last week was supposed to be an "easy" week of training. One of the perils of using an Internet coach is that the coach can't really know how you're feeling at any given moment, or what your unique competitive priorities might be. And I'm a meticulous sort who likes to follow coach's instructions to the letter, even when it might be in my better interest to back off.
Meanwhile, I would be remiss not to point out that I was beaten by fit, strong, smart, talented athletes. The 56-year-old Terry, with his tall, powerful build, has always been a solid talent, and talking to him after the race I learned that he's embraced his training this spring like never before. Let's face it: even a fantastic race on my part might not have been enough to beat him. The other guys readily admitted that they haven't been doing what Terry has, but they nevertheless did a better job of going after him than I did.
We enjoyed a nice lunch provided by the race organizers, with the awards ceremony following. Then we all parted company and I returned to my campsite for an afternoon nap. I slept for maybe an hour or so, then got back up to prepare myself for my big date! Okay, not that kind of date--I was going to Louisville to see Scott. But hey, Scott knows how to show somebody a good time on a Saturday night. What were we going to do? Surf behind the Belle of Louisville.
The Belle is the oldest still-active steam-powered sternwheeler in the U.S., and its big paddle wheel generates some really nice surfing waves out on the Ohio River. It was scheduled to take passengers out on an evening excursion starting at 8 PM, and Scott and I got ready to take advantage, shuttling a vehicle to Cox Park before putting in at the Louisville Rowing Club. We were both stiff and sore from the morning's race, but we took a nice long warmup and by the time the Belle had set sail, we were ready to go.
The waves were big fun, but we had to work hard to stay on them. Scott said the Belle wasn't traveling as fast as she usually did, and was apologetic about the waves not being as juicy as they can be. No worries on my part--that just gives me something to look forward to the next time I get a chance to surf at Louisville. Scott and I both felt better after the session than we'd felt before. At that moment I definitely needed a reminder that there's still plenty of joy to be found in the sport no matter how poorly I might race.
I bade Scott farewell and made the 45-minute drive back to my campsite in the state park on Taylorsville Reservoir. I crawled into my tent and got a pretty good night's sleep, although I wasn't entirely ready to get up when I did the next morning. I arose at 6:45 AM, but my body thought it was 5:45. Darn Eastern time.
I made some breakfast, broke camp, and headed down to the lake for a recovery paddle. Maks had assigned five sets of (13 min. on/2 min. off) in the "A1" stroke rate zone (about 60-75 spm). I kept the rate in the low 60s and tried to relax and concentrate on good strokes and enjoy the overcast, slightly-drizzly morning. Taylorsville Reservoir was created by the construction of a dam on the Salt River. Situated in hilly terrain, it's one of those lakes that are easy to get lost on, with many fingers branching off the main channel. I used my 2-minute rest breaks to look back and study where I'd come from so I could recognize it on the way back.
After paddling I stopped back at the campground bath house to grab a quick shower, then hit the road. I wasn't headed back to Memphis: every year at this time (excepting last year, of course), my mom and my sister's family and I get together at Dauphin Island on the Alabama Gulf Coast for a little beach vacation. It took me some 11 hours to make the trip down Interstate 65 through cities like Bowling Green, Nashville, Birmingham, Montgomery, and Mobile. The weather was rainy most of the way down, and it really started to pour when I reached Mobile. I grabbed the essentials form my truck, found shelter in our rented condo, and soon was in bed for a much-needed sleep. I slept well, but the way I'm feeling this morning I don't expect I'll be doing much more than lying around like a slug today. Maks has sent me a workout plan for the week but I don't even want to think about that any sooner than tomorrow.
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