All hail the mighty Mississippi River!

The weather here has been alternating among warm sunny days, warm rainy days, and cool, breezy days.  Little by little, the warmer days are starting to win out, and that was the case this weekend.  It’s been mostly sunny with temperatures flirting with 80 degrees Fahrenheit.  I typically stick close to the harbor during the winter months, but in warmer weather I venture farther out onto the Mississippi River.

I had a good 60-minute paddle yesterday, going down below the Frisco and Harahan and Memphis-Arkansas bridges before paddling back up the Arkansas side and ferrying back over to the harbor.  All that rain we had earlier in the week also fell in the Tennessee and Cumberland and Ohio River watersheds, and now the Mississippi is on a big rise.  The Memphis gauge reading was 21.5 feet when I paddled yesterday.

By this morning the level had inched up to about 21.9 feet.  Warm temperatures continued, and today they were accompanied by quite a fierce southwest wind.  I'd arranged to meet Adam Davis in the harbor, and with an adequate water level at last, we wanted to do a trip around the Loosahatchie Bar.  It was clear that conditions would be rough out on the river, however, and as we headed from the harbor's mouth up the Mississippi, we left open the possibility of logging our miles up on the protected Wolf River instead.

The going was bumpy with lots of side chop as we paddled upriver along the Tennessee bank.  Nevertheless, I was feeling good about how I was moving my boat, and having a friend with me helped me relax and paddle more confidently.  The water is not as cold as it was a month ago, and that helped too.  When we reached the mouth of the Wolf, we decided to go through with our lap around the Bar.  We continued up the Tennessee bank, and then a bit of a lapse in communication resulted in us getting separated: I started my ferry across the main channel and expected Adam to follow my lead, but he stayed close to the bank and continued upriver.  I made my ferry a slow one, hoping Adam would start his soon.

Once I was in the middle of the river I found myself navigating some small downwind action.  With my attention now fully occupied, I lost track of where Adam was and decided to work my way across a bit faster, and then wait along the opposite bank for Adam to get across and rejoin me.  Once over there I paddled slowly from eddy to eddy, scanning the river for Adam's white boat.  For the longest time I didn't see him, and I rued my mistake of letting us get separated without making sure we knew each other's plan.  Finally I looked way upstream and saw him ferrying across.  Now I had to push the pace to get up where he was so he wouldn't wonder what had happened to me.  Eventually I rounded the northern end of the Bar and found him hanging out at the top of the Loosahatchie Chute.  It turned out that he'd paddled much farther up the Tennessee bank than I'd expected before making his ferry.

We proceeded down the Loosahatchie Chute into a headwind.  In the early going the water there was as rough as I'd seen it (I don't often go over there on super-windy days).  As the Chute widened toward the lower end of the Bar, the water smoothed out.  But once we were back on the main channel angling toward the entrance to the harbor, our boats were pitching and bobbing all over the place as the screaming wind churned the river into a washing machine.  I spent the final approach to the harbor trying to keep my boat moving over all the slop.  Once we were back on protected water, Adam and I agreed that our outing had been stressful, but fun nevertheless.  My paddling year wouldn't feel complete without at least one trip around the Bar, and I was glad to get that in today.

I had a tailwind and smooth water for the last couple of kilometers back to the dock, and I relaxed and tried to close out my time in the boat with good stroke form.  I realized how grateful I am to have something like the Mississippi River to paddle on.  For a mid-continent dweller who wants to be good at ocean-style surfski paddling, I could do much worse for a place to train.  It's not a downwind paradise like the Miller's Run, but it throws all kinds of different conditions at me, and as a result I'm not too intimidated when I do travel to a place like that.

What's more, the Mississippi is to flatwater for paddlers as cross country is to track for distance runners.  There's a wide belief among runners and their coaches that cross country, with its hills and softer turf, builds core strength in a way that running on a track cannot, and so even many postgraduate runners hoping to compete on the track in the Olympics incorporate some cross country racing into their training years.  I think something similar is true of training out on the Mississippi.  Even on a much calmer day than today, a trip around the Loosahatchie Bar includes a lot of upstream paddling and a long, hard ferry.

So let's hear it for the Mississippi River.  I give it a lot of credit for me being as good at this sport as I am with the modest degree of talent I've got.

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Some time off to behold the cosmos

There's no question I'm in a training lull these days.  I'm not doing nothing--I'm still getting in the boat several days a week and trying to get in some bike riding, too.  But there have been other things going on that need my attention, and I'm hoping that if I can beat back some of that nuisance stuff, I can get into a more substantial athletic routine with plenty of time to be fit for the next competition.

Last week I paddled on Tuesday and Saturday, and so far this week I've paddled Sunday and Tuesday.  The sessions were mostly steady paddling with lots of thought given to moving my torso as a unit with my hips.  Some days I've felt sluggish and slow, and other days I've felt sharper.  I felt quite good this past Tuesday, and I threw in a couple of lengthy surges just to remind my body what it feels like to push the pace.

Of course, we had that solar eclipse on Monday this week.  Here in Memphis the moon was supposed to obstruct 97.7% of the sun, but having been disappointed with a similar percentage here during the 2017 eclipse, I decided to drive a couple of hours west into the path of totality.  I knew that I should count on investing the whole day, more or less, given all the warnings about traffic snarls caused by me and everybody else who had the same idea.  I got an early start, crossed the Mississippi River on the Hernando DeSoto Bridge, and picked up U.S. 64.  My destination was the town of Bald Knob, Arkansas.  The drive over there was just plain pleasant.  The cloudy skies gave way to sunshine, and I enjoyed watching the picturesque Arkansas Delta go by as I drove along at an unhurried pace.

Bald Knob sits where the Delta meets the Ozark Foothills.  I've driven through it many times en route to races on the White River at towns like Batesville and Calico Rock.  It's a pretty unremarkable place; the main reason it even exists, probably, is the junction of several U.S. highways, a railroad line, and several state highways.  There's not really a town square there or a clearly-defined downtown district.  The city hall is located in a ramshackle little building right on the main highway through town, which it shares with the police department.

But the moon would be casting its shadow there just as well as on nicer towns, so it suited me just fine.  I arrived there around 10 AM, and since the total eclipse would be occurring just before 2 PM, I had plenty of time to explore a little.  I parked behind a gas station and took my bike off the car, and spent the next 80 minutes or so checking out the backroads nearby.  I was hoping to find a road that would take me all the way to the White River, but every road I tried turned to gravel, and I lacked confidence in the "slick" tires on my bike.  So I just zigzagged around on the country roads, and then rode back into Bald Knob and checked out what little there was to see there.  Once the ride was finished I had lunch at a picnic table in the only apparent park in the town, and then it was about showtime for the eclipse.

For some 80 minutes, the eclipse didn't seem much different from any other eclipse I've seen.  The daylight got gradually dimmer, but it didn't really get dark, even when the moon obstructed all but the tiniest sliver of the sun.  But then the moment of totality arrived, and I knew then that my trip was worth it.  The landscape went dark except for what I heard one person describe as "a 360-degree sunset."  Up in the sky there was a black circle with a fiery ring around it.  The moment lasted maybe a couple of minutes where I was.  Then a sliver of sun reappeared, and we were back to the kind of eclipse I'd seen a few times in the past.

My main concern now was to get home ahead of the worst traffic.  I figured most Memphians had probably traveled to places like Greer's Ferry Reservoir and the Spring River, and since I was at least half an hour closer to Memphis than those places, I believed that if I left right away I'd beat most of them back.  Turned out I was right: except for a brief stretch of heavy traffic on Interstate 55 at Marion, I had smooth sailing all the way home.  A while later I saw reports on social media of an awful traffic jam in West Memphis.  One friend of mine who had been up in Walnut Ridge, Arkansas, said it took him two hours to travel the last 25 miles back to Memphis.  So I was feeling like I'd pulled off the perfect crime.

Besides Monday's ride, I've also ridden my bike last Thursday and today.  The weather the last couple of weeks has been quite rainy or very windy, sometimes both.  We got a whole lot of rain over the last several days; it was raining Tuesday morning and I briefly considered skipping paddling, but since it was reasonably warm outside I decided to go ahead with it.  A steady light rain fell the whole time I was in the boat, but it didn't really bother me.  Wind is more of an annoyance in my opinion.  Last Thursday I rode my bike on the Greenline out to the Wolf River and back, and the whole second half of the ride was into a headwind.  Even though the ride wasn't but 70 minutes or so, I felt beat to the socks when it was over.  And then it got very windy again today, once the rain finally moved out this morning.  The last mile of today's ride was done into a fierce headwind.

In summary... there's been plenty going on, even if it hasn't been pure training.  I believe that as long as I keep moving, and keep accomplishing at least one decent thing each day, I'll have no problem getting serious again when the time is right.

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Monday photo feature

This image appeared in my social media feed recently.  It's a meme, and I know you're not supposed to think too deeply about such things, but this one got my pedantic juices flowing.  I offer the following observations:

--Whoever created this image must not be a whitewater paddler.  Two of the four states in the "where you never go" category--West Virginia and Idaho--have some of the best whitewater in the world.

--I couldn't disagree more that the Mountain West states and Alaska have a monopoly on "nature."  I honestly think every state in the Union can make some kind of claim to being a nature destination, but for the sake of arguing I would at least add the Carolinas, New Mexico, Maine, and the Pacific Northwest states to that list.

--I must be poor, because I've visited those four deep-orange states many, many times.  Of course, that's largely because the city I live in is nestled right in the middle of that region.

--I'm not rich, but I've been to Hawaii.  Granted, when I visited that state, I availed myself of the Poor Man's Special by staying with my cousin, a colonel in the U.S. army who was living with his family on-base at Pearl Harbor Hickam at the time.  I visited only the island of Oahu.  Airplane is the most viable means of transportation to the other islands, and that would have involved greater outlays of wealth.

--I have lived in two of the cities in the state of Tennessee, and they are both city enough for me.  I don't need to go to those yellow states just to see a city, though I did in fact live in New York City for a couple of years.  Speaking of those yellow states... there's nothing to distinguish California, Maryland, Illinois, and New York State but their cities?  Really?

--I've spent much time in the state of North Carolina, and considering all it's got going for it, I'm puzzled that the creator of this meme could think of nothing better to do with it than lump it together with Florida and Arizona as a place for tanning and elderly people.

--I will admit that there is some truth to the characterization of the Great Plains states.  Pretty much every time I've visited this region I've been en route to or from the Rockies or the West Coast.  But several of those times I went out of my way to spend some quality time there, and I didn't regret it.  Meanwhile, I have no idea why New Mexico is lumped into the category of "where you go on the way to somewhere better."

I'm proud to say that I have visited every one of the 50 states.  I have also paddled a boat at least once in 47 of the 50 states, and hope to do so in the remaining three before long.  Those three are Arizona, which, if it's the Lord's will, I'll pick up when I paddle through the Grand Canyon in August and September of next year; Minnesota, an entirely accessible place that I just need to make time to visit with my boat; and Alaska, which might require the same kind of planning that I'm currently putting into the Grand Canyon trip.

In short, I think every place has dignity and value.  I don't care if it's majestic mountains, picturesque seashore, or desolate prairie.  I know this meme is supposed to be just for laughs, but it rubs me the wrong way somehow.  Categorizing the states based on snide generalizations does injustice to the experiences one can have in each of them.

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Waiting for spring to establish itself

While watching the forecast last week to see what weather I could expect at Ocean Springs, I thought I saw that warm temperatures were on the way this week.  It didn't turn out that way, at least for the first half of the week.  It was overcast and chilly Tuesday morning when I went to the river for my first paddle since the race.  I spent 60 minutes in the boat, just relaxing and paddling free and easy.

The next race I’m likely to do might not be until the middle of June.  So I’m dialing back the time in the boat for the next several weeks.  Part of the reason is a lot of non-athletic obligations, but I’d also like to incorporate some other stuff—some bike riding and running, stuff like that.  The latter part of the week brought some warmer weather, much nicer for doing such things.

I spent much of this past week finishing up a big woodworking project, but I did get a little bike ride in on Thursday.  It was more of a cruise around the neighborhood than a real fitness activity.  I was hoping to do a more substantial ride Friday afternoon, but I was called away to give my mom a ride when she discovered a flat tire on her car.  Oh well… there’ll be plenty of days to ride as the weather gets more consistently warmer.

I was back in the boat yesterday, paddling for 70 minutes.  As usual, I worked on hip rotation.  I'm hoping that eventually the desired body mechanics will come naturally to me, and there have been moments where that's seemed to be the case.  But I didn't feel that way yesterday, and when I paddled for 60 minutes today, I felt even worse.  It felt like I was making myself do it rather than just doing it, and by the end of both sessions I was feeling tired and worn down.

Surely there will be better days in the future.  For now I'm just glad to be getting in some exercise in whatever form I can.

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Monday photo feature

Here's a scene you'll see before just about any canoe and kayak race: competitors milling about waiting for the pre-race meeting to begin.  That's me in the red pants and blue sweatshirt holding a paddle.  To my left are Kelly and Nick Kinderman, my friends at whose home I'd stayed the night before.  The sun will come out eventually, but right now it's overcast and awfully windy.  Photo by Brent Futrell.

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Ocean Springs results

As promised, here are the results of the 2024 Battle On The Bayou race that took place on Old Fort Bayou at Ocean Springs, Mississippi, yesterday.

My G.P.S. device measured the race distance at 13.47 kilometers (8.37 miles), though you might give or take a hundred meters or so, given the messed-up start yesterday.  At last year's race, my same G.P.S. device told me it was 13.56 km (8.43 miles).

As reported in my last post, it was not a day for any course records because of the relentless wind.  My fastest time ever on this course is one hour, 11 minutes, 38 seconds, but I'm happy just to have broken 80 minutes yesterday.

Place        Name         Residence Class Time

1 Scott Cummins Louisville, KY K1 Race men 1:17:54

2 Elmore Holmes Memphis, TN         K1 Race men 1:19:20

3 Jeb Berry         Gulfport, MS         K1 Race men 1:19:24

3 Stephen Lynn/Joey Sturm London, AR         C2 Race men 1:19:24

5 Matt Taylor         Brantley, AL         K1 Race men 1:23:48

6 Nick Kinderman Moss Point, MS K1 Fast men 1:29:32

7 Robert Houck         Fairhope, AL         K1 Fast men 1:34:21

8 Drake Herrick         Lafayette, LA         K1 Fast men 1:34:26

9 Robert Brooks         Biloxi, MS K1 Fast men 1:34:46

10 Grant Guidry         Lafayette, LA         K1 Fast men 1:36:28

11 Nate Payne         Gulfport, MS         K1 Fast men 1:37:36

12 Nova Cross         Ocean Springs, MS         K1 Long women 1:41:05

13 Ray Tipton & partner Gulfport, MS         K2 Rec mixed 1:43:52

14 Stephen Harris Mobile, AL         K1 Fast men 1:47:35

15 Kent Overmeyer & partner Saucier, MS         K2 Rec mixed 1:48:22

16 David Waters         Pensacola, FL         K1 medium men 1:48:33

17 Kelly Kinderman         Moss Point, MS K1 Fast women 1:48:04

18 Karen Kesselring         Hot Spgs Vill, AR         K1 Fast women 1:48:13

19 John Collier         Brandon, MS         K1 Long men 1:50:05

20 Elmer Landry         Lafayette, LA         K1 Fast men 1:50:35

21 Susan Jordan         Lucedale, MS         K1 Fast women 1:53:36

22 Tommy Williams         Monroe, LA         K1 Short men 1:57:48

23 Henry Childres Watson, LA         K1 Long men 1:57:49

24 John Shannon         Monroe, LA         K1 Short men 2:00:08

25 Jessica Roberie Lafayette, LA         K1 Medium women2:03:39

26 Scott Gallagher Marietta, GA         K1 Short men 2:06:49

27 Lauren Drummond Dale         D’Iberville, MS K1 Fast women 2:16:20

28 Kevin Black         Fairhope, AL         SUP men 2:22:14

29 Charlie Lee         Sandy Springs, GA         K1 Pedal men 2:27:25

30 Carsen Crocker Mobile, AL         K1 Long men 2:43:13

31 Eddie Crocker         Mobile, AL         C1 Race men 2:44:13

32 Dirk McCall         Fairhope, AL         SUP men 2:46:04

33 Case Davis         Lucedale, MS         SUP men 2:46:11

34 Chris Hart Diamondhead, MS         K1 Long men 2:48:34

35 Michael Michaud         Ocean Springs, MS         K1 Short men 2:52:24

36 James Davis         Lucedale, MS         K1 Long men 3:10:42

37 Phillip Lee Mobile, AL         K1 Short men 3:32:12

38 Steven Dews         Hattiesburg, MS K1 Short men 3:35:17

39 Stuart Dodds         Ocean Springs, MS         K1 Short men 3:35:30

40 Matthew Dufour & sons         Amite, LA Unlimited 4:14:28

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Another year, another race at Ocean Springs

It was cool and breezy when we woke up yesterday morning, and the word was that we could expect a strong north wind blowing out on the race course.  Nick and Kelly and I headed for the race site at Gulf Hills, near the mouth of Old Fort Bayou at the eastern end of the Back Bay of Biloxi, and found that very state of affairs.

I'd spent the last few weeks unsure of my competition in the race, but by yesterday morning it was apparent that it would be as intense as the weather.  By midweek Jeb Berry of Gulfport, Mississippi, had moved from the double surfski class into the single ski class with me.  Matt Taylor of Brantley, Alabama, who finished some minutes behind me last year, was also signed up, and he's a young guy with plenty of room to improve.  And a late addition to the start list was long-time racing friend Scott Cummins of Louisville, Kentucky.  Meanwhile, veteran canoeist Stephen Lynn had traveled from London, Arkansas, to team up with Joey Sturm in a tandem outrigger canoe, and I knew they would probably be in the mix for that coveted "fastest overall boat" distinction.

As soon as the pre-race meeting concluded we put our boats on the water and began to warm up.  Things got dicey almost immediately, as the starter for the race was a new guy who seemed to have too literal an understanding of when exactly he should start the race.  By the time the meeting had ended there was very little time before the "official" start time, and some racers were still getting situated in their boats by the putin ramp when the starter announced that the gun would go off in 30 seconds.  I was actually in a better position than most--I was paddling back toward the starting area from the mouth of Old Fort Bayou--but I had to make a quick U-turn to get pointed the right way just a few seconds before the starting signal sounded.

Knowing that it was not a fair start, I started paddling forward sort of half-heartedly, thinking we might all be called back for a do-over.  But I didn't hear a thing.  I'd been spotted a lead of at least four or five boatlengths, and I moseyed around the point and up into the bayou, thinking I would let the competition catch up before I started racing for real.  Scott was the first to pull even with me, and he recommended that we just stop for a minute because many racers were nowhere close to being in position when the gun went off.  So we did, and we waited until we had something of a quorum before easing back into a full race pace.

Now it was time to get down to business.  In the early going Scott and I were joined by Matt and Stephen/Joey; Scott said that Jeb was nearby as well but was struggling with the conditions a bit.  And pesky were those conditions indeed.  Even though we had mostly a tailwind for the first couple of kilometers, the chop was coming from our seven o'clock and my boat seemed to be bobbing all over the place.  I tried my best to settle onto somebody's wake--Matt's, then Stephen/Joey's, then Scott's, then Stephen/Joey's again.  Once we'd crossed beneath the Washington Avenue drawbridge and were navigating the bayou's many meanders, we were having to deal with headwinds, beam winds, and a sloppy soup of small waves.

By the 6-kilometer mark I couldn't see Matt anymore, and Stephen and Joey were leading with Scott and me trying to hold a position on their wake.  Eventually they opened a gap on me, and I suppose that letting them do that was my definitive mistake for the race, though it didn't really feel like a big deal at the time.  My attention had been divided between staying on their wakes, keeping my boat upright in the waves, and following efficient tangent lines from one bend in the course to the next.

As we approached the island that we would loop around to head back toward where we'd started, Stephen and Joey continued to lead with Scott hanging close behind, and I was two or three boatlengths back.  I knew I should have been up there riding their wash, but I was feeling good and confident I could make a move once we'd rounded the island.  But as we left the narrow channel between the island and Percy Miller Park and entered a more open stretch of water, Scott made a move of his own, taking the lead and pushing the pace.  In retrospect I realize I should have anticipated such a move from Scott: it was his first time on this course, and he was going to wait until he knew for sure where he was going before taking command.  Whatever the case, the next thing I knew, he and the OC2 had tripled their gap on me.  I tried to relax and continue taking the best strokes I could, but considering the messy conditions and what was now largely a headwind, I had a feeling it was "game over" as far as competing for the overall win.

I soldiered on just the same, bobbing up and down over waves that were now mostly quartering in on my right bow.  My speed got as fast as 11.9 kilometers per hour when the wind was favorable and down below 9 kph when I hit the wind head-on.

All alone in third place, I knew I was vulnerable to an attack from my rear flank, and I wondered who might be lurking back there.  As I made my return approach to the drawbridge, I stole a glance over my left shoulder and spotted who I figured must be Jeb.  As we passed beneath the bridge I debated whether to keep making him work to reel me in or let him bridge up so we could trade wake rides.  After another minute or so I settled for the latter.

Up ahead it appeared that first place and second place were a done deal.  Scott had opened a gap on Stephen and Joey, and those two boats were well out of reach of Jeb and me.  But then, suddenly, Scott veered off course.  A bunch of marshy islands lie between the drawbridge and the finish line, and Scott, a first-timer on this course, began to move to the right of these islands rather than the left side where the course actually goes.  The pair of canoeists, at least one of whom (Stephen) was also an Ocean Springs rookie, followed Scott.  Jeb and I tried to alert them to their mistake, but we were at least 300 meters back and it was doubtful they would hear our shouts.  Eventually a race official was able to get Scott's attention, and Scott corrected his course to the left side of the islands.  Jeb and I were now closer to the two lead boats, but still not close enough to have any real hope of running them down.

And we had our hands full with the conditions, anyway.  As Old Fort Bayou opens up into the Back Bay of Biloxi, all protection from the wind falls away, and Jeb and I were grinding against as fierce a headwind as I have ever encountered in a race.  The waves continued to pound against the right side of our bows, and they got bigger as we neared the point where we would turn some 110 degrees to the right and have a straight 300-meter shot to the finish line.  Entering this turn I had to fight the wind to move my blade into position for each stroke.  The only thing keeping me from utter despair was that I could tell Jeb was struggling too.  He fell back a couple of boatlengths in the turn, and with the finish line in sight my goal was (a) keep the boat upright, and (b) try to move the boat over the beam waves at least a tiny bit better than Jeb was doing.  I tried to raise the stroke rate into a mad sprint, but the survival instinct restrained me just short of that.

I was so busy trying to hold off Jeb that a funny thing happened: all of a sudden Stephen and Joey were right there.  Less than five minutes ago they'd looked out of reach, but now I was closing on them fast with enough race left that I might actually get by them.  I continued trying to sprint as hard as I could.  Scott, who had finished his race, urged me on.  I moved up and over the OC2's side wake, edged ahead, and... just like that, I was the second overall finisher.  It probably wouldn't have happened if Joey and Stephen hadn't veered off course earlier, but at that moment, I had a reason to feel elated.

I looked back over my right shoulder just in time to see what appeared to be Jeb edging out Stephen and Joey as well, though from my angle of view it was hard to tell for sure.  I understand the race scorers ruled it a tie.

(Stephen later explained that the boat he and Joey were paddling doesn't move so well in shallow water.  There's a lot of shallow water rounding the point into the home stretch, and the water gets shallower in the final hundred meters to the finish line, and that probably had a lot to do with my coming from way behind to overtake them.)

Scott had won the race with a time of one hour, 17 minutes, 54 seconds.  I was not quite 90 seconds back in 1:19:20.  Scott would have beaten me even worse if he hadn't gotten temporarily lost in those last two kilometers, so I'm not feeling inclined to beat myself up too bad for letting him put a gap on me mid-race. Even if I'd stayed on his wake, he probably would have dropped me eventually.  Scott's reached a new athletic peak here in his mid 40s--several years ago he managed to shed a lot of weight, and he says that was a game-changer for him--and I'm happy for him.  All I know is that I was in an upbeat mood as he and I and our fellow racers sat in our boats beyond the finish line, comparing notes from the race.  It was a lovely (albeit very windy) day, I was surrounded by friends, I'd laid down a good solid effort in challenging conditions... all was well.

The complete results are posted here.  I prefer my results in overall order of finish, and as soon as I can I'll share the results in that form in a separate post.

Scott has added his name to the list of overall winners, and that list is pretty short.  I'm proud to be on it, for in 14 tries, I have been the fastest boat at Ocean Springs a mere three times.  Besides Scott and me, the list includes three-time U.S. Olympian Mike Herbert of Rogers, Arkansas, and Christian Massow, a former German national team member who now lives in Texas.  Mike has also taken the overall win in a tandem kayak with his daughter Savanna, and one year Jeb Berry and Nick Kinderman won it in a double surfski.  And that's it: only seven people have crossed the finish line first in either a solo or a tandem craft.

Nova Cross of Ocean Springs was the fastest female finisher, clocking 1:41:05.  The largest class was "K1 Fast," for those surfskis that are a touch wider and slower than the elite-level ones, and the male and female winners of that class were my friends Nick and Kelly Kinderman, who had just hosted me the night before.  Nick's time was 1:29:32, and Kelly's 1:48:04.

I socialized for a while after the race.  Once the awards had been handed out, I had to hit the road because the handbell group I play with had a gig scheduled for this morning.  I made it home about 9 o'clock last night, good and tired but satisfied with my latest racing trip.

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It's about time for some racing

Apparently spring started earlier than usual this year: I understand the vernal equinox occurred Tuesday, the 19th.  Most years it happens on the 20th or 21st.  In any case, it was a nippy start to spring here: the temperature dropped down around the freezing point overnight, and it wasn't much above 40 degrees Fahrenheit when I got to the river that morning.  At least it was sunny, and the southwest breeze wasn't too bad.

As I warmed up, my rotation felt really good, like I was transferring the power from my legs to my torso very efficiently.  Then I did another set of those 12-stroke sprints at 2-minute intervals, and it remained a challenge to keep all my mechanics in order.  On any given sprint there would be maybe four or five strokes where it all fell into place just as smoothly and fluidly as could be, but the other seven or eight strokes were a little raggedy, like I was relying too much on my arms and shoulders for power.  Like I said before, it's a good thing I race mostly at a much lower stroke rate, and I think it'll help me paddle well at that rate if I can get in even just a handful of good strokes when I paddle faster.

Yesterday I paddled for about 40 minutes--I don't know the exact time because I forgot to take my watch down there with me, but I paddled a distance that I usually cover in about 40 minutes.  I did another six 12-strokers, and felt a little more locked in mechanically--not perfect, but better.

This morning it was time to hit the road.  I headed south into Mississippi, and after an hour or so of driving I stopped to do a 40-minute paddle on Enid Reservoir, conveniently located just off Interstate 55 in Yalobusha County.  I got loose and did four more of those 12-stroke sprints.  Then I continued on my way, arriving in Ocean Springs in the late afternoon.  I checked in at the race HQ, and now I'm staying for the night with my friends Nick and Kelly in the countryside north of Pascagoula.  They made me a lovely meal of chicken meatballs in Alfredo sauce, and I hope those calories will serve me well tomorrow.

I mentioned several weeks ago that I haven't put in as much training volume as perhaps I have in the past for a race like this.  If that's a bad thing, well... it's too late to change it now.  The best thing I can do at this point is go in rested and focused.  But I really don't think it's that bad a thing.  One thing I've always been pretty good at is making every session count.  Whether it's 40 minutes, 60 minutes, 80 minutes, whatever, I'm not just drifting around out there.  I'm paying close attention to what I'm doing with my body from start to finish.

I guess I'll find out tomorrow just how prepared I am.  It looks like there's some decent competition in town, so I'll do my best to get a good night's sleep and be ready in the morning.

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Monday photo feature

Here I am on the bank of the Mississippi River up at Dubuque, Iowa.  It's the summer of 2017, and I guess one reason this is a good photo to post now is that there was a solar eclipse on its way to North America that summer, just like there is again now.  I remember seeing signs advertising that 2017 eclipse as I drove up through western Kentucky, which was in the path of totality.  This year western Kentucky is in the path of totality again, as is southeastern Missouri and northeastern Arkansas.  Maybe I'll take a little day trip on April 8 to see what it's like to have the moon directly between me and the sun.

All this eclipse talk is only very tangentially related to this week's photo feature, of course.  But some weeks the inspiration for what to post comes easily, and other weeks... not so much.

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Speed work

I did a gym session on a rainy Friday morning.  By yesterday the rain had moved out and it was partly cloudy and cool.  I paddled for 60 minutes, and with a race just a week away I was looking to increase the speed a little.  I did kind of an unstructured workout where I just did some sprints defined by landmarks in the harbor: the length of the marina, the distance from one set of bridge pilings to another or from one barge mooring to another... stuff like that.  I think I did eight sprints in all, and they ranged from around 20 seconds long to a little over 30 seconds long.  I paddled at sub-maximum intensity; I didn't have my cadence sensor with me, but I think I was in the 90- to 100-strokes-per-minute range.  My recovery times varied depending on how long I had to paddle to get to another landmark--anywhere from 2 minutes to 4 minutes.  My main focus during the sprints was to paddle with good stroke mechanics at those higher stroke rates; right now that matters more to me than whatever cardiovascular value the sprints had.

This morning it was overcast, and some rain fell as I drove back to the river.  Down there I found a pretty stiff north wind blowing.  Fortunately the temperature wasn't too bad: it was a little below 60 degrees Fahrenheit.

I paddled for another 60 minutes, and in the middle of it I did six 12-stroke sprints at 2-minute intervals.  These are basically the same as my 8-stroke sprints, just stretched out a little so I can get the feel of getting the boat up to speed.  I don't want to make them much longer than 12 strokes because the idea is to work the ATP/CP energy system, not the lactic acid system.  Again, I took the best strokes I could.  I do think I'm rotating my hips better than I used to, but it's not automatic.  During the sprints there were strokes here in there where I felt like I nailed it, but at other times I felt sloppy.  It's a good thing that very little of my race next Saturday will be done at such a high stroke rate.

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Hard training has some internal rewards, too

Tuesday was my last hard workout day before the race at Ocean Springs a week from Saturday.

Tuesdays have been my "heavy-duty" days during this period since the training camp in Florida.  Each Tuesday morning I've done a gym session followed immediately by a trip down to the riverfront for an in-the-boat workout of some sort.  I'm happy with how I've mentally handled these challenges.  I spent Monday this week dealing with a whole slate of nuisance matters in my non-athletic life, and by the end of the day I was feeling utterly beat down and thinking "Geez, tomorrow is a workout day... will I really be able to get it done?"  But then Tuesday morning, after rolling out of bed and allowing myself to wake up slowly over coffee and breakfast, I found my sense of purpose and carried out my gym and paddling duties with efficiency.  I've managed to do that pretty much every Tuesday for the last couple of months, and I feel good about that.

The workout in the boat was a tough one: after warming up and doing three 8-stroke sprints, I did four bridge-to-bridge sprints.  For some reason these bridge-to-bridgers always feel harder than doing four 500-meter pieces using my G.P.S. device to measure the distance.  Maybe it's the extra mental energy it takes to get myself to the same starting position for each piece... I'm not sure.

I gave myself a bit more recovery time than I have in the past for this workout: I started a new piece every 9th minute, whereas in the past I've started every 8th minute or even every 7th minute.  I decided that with a 13.7-kilometer (8.5-mile) race coming up in eleven days, I didn't need this workout to be a lactic-tolerance sort of affair.  I just wanted to put together four good, consistent efforts.  And that's what I did: my times were 2:05, 2:04, 2:06, and 2:06.  I aimed for 90 to 100 strokes per minute; the low 90s was what I seemed to settle into.  Each piece was tough, and after the second one I was hoping I could just hang on and paddle with decent form for the last two, but I managed to perform pretty well in those just the same.

I've mentioned in past posts how good the endorphin rush feels after a hard workout, and I was feeling that again Tuesday.  I'm not getting any younger, and it seems my athletic ability may have declined a bit in recent years, but I'd like to keep at those activities that give me that feeling for as long as I'm able.

By this morning I was still feeling some of the physical fatigue from Tuesday's workout.  I went out and did a medium-intensity 60-minute paddle, and I hope getting some blood flowing through all the relevant muscles will help me finish recovering.

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Monday photo feature

That's my friend Amelia Taylor over there on the left.  In December of 2019 she was passing through Memphis and she joined me for some paddling out on the Mississippi River.

Amelia works as a professional whitewater rafting guide, primarily on the Pigeon River near where she lives in east Tennessee.  She is also a veteran of several river trips through the Grand Canyon, and she has now joined "Team Holmes," helping me with some of the plans I must make for my own venture into the Grand in the late summer of 2025.

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Sticking to the plan over a cooler weekend

Friday was a pretty rainy day in the Mid South, and I was happy to stay in and do a gym session.

Some cooler temperatures came in behind the rain, and I paddled yesterday under overcast skies with a Fahrenheit temperature in the low 50s.  There was a chilly north breeze blowing, too--definitely not the kind of day that makes me want to sink my teeth into the business of paddling.  But I sank my teeth anyway, cranking out a decent 90-minute session.  I did it all in the harbor except for a brief loop out onto the Mississippi at the harbor's mouth.  The harbor is pretty much the same kind of water I'll be racing on at Ocean Springs just two weeks from now.  I spent the middle hour (0:15 to 1:15) pushing the pace fairly close to what my race pace should be down there.

The sun finally came out late yesterday, but the temperature remains cool today.  It wasn't 50 degrees yet when I got to the river this morning.  I've long considered 50 degrees my threshold for pogies: if it's colder than that I use them, and if it's warmer, I don't.  Today I decided to go without since it was sunny, not terribly windy, and presumably getting warmer.  It worked out fine.  I paddled a calm 60 minutes, encouraging my body to relax after yesterday's effort.

Daylight Saving Time has begun here in my part of the world.  I set all my clocks forward before going to bed last night, meaning I lost an hour of sleep and now have to adjust to an "earlier" wake-up time.  It never fails to throw me out of whack for a few days, but it'll be nice to have some daylight later in the day.

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Not fit as a fiddle but striving for quality time in the boat anyway

Tuesday morning I did a gym session and then headed down to the riverfront, where I paddled for 60 minutes in a steady light rain.  Fortunately it was warm--almost 70 degrees Fahrenheit.  After warming up and doing three 8-stroke sprints, I did nine times (2 minutes on, 2 minutes off), in which each "on" interval consisted of 60 seconds at 70 strokes per minute, 30 seconds at 80 spm, and 30 seconds at 90 spm.  The workout went well enough, I guess, though I felt a bit sluggish and didn't feel like I was moving the boat all that crisply.  For a couple of days I'd been having more digestive woes--nothing too terrible, just some queasiness in the pit of my stomach.  So that wasn't helping.

My stomach continued to feel weird yesterday but seemed to have settled down by this morning.  I went down to the river and paddled for another 60 minutes, doing a big loop out on the Mississippi.  The weather was calm and I felt about as stable out on the river as in the harbor, so I was able to relax and practice good rotation for the whole hour.

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Monday photo feature

I shot this photo of one of the purple martin houses at the marina on Saturday.  I'd noticed earlier in the week that there were several birds there, and I thought it seemed rather early: I think of purple martin season as more like April through July.  But I vaguely remember my friend Joe telling me something about "scouts" coming in advance to get the house ready before the rest of the family arrives.  Joe is not only a paddler but also the owner of a home on the Memphis riverfront, and over the years he's built up a strong hobbyist's knowledge of the bird life down there.

So... spring is on its way.  Warm temperatures over the weekend are evidence of that, and before long we'll have a bunch of noisy birds flying around the marina, too.

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Keep showing up

Friday sure was a bleak day.  The high temperature was around 55 degrees Fahrenheit, but an overcast sky made it feel a whole lot chillier than that.  I was happy to stay in and just do a gym session.

Yesterday's forecast called for mostly sunny skies, but it was as cloudy as it could be for several hours after I woke up, and I wondered whether the meteorologists were telling us a big fat lie.  But the sun finally started peeking through as I headed down to the river, and by the end of my 90-minute paddle it was indeed mostly (if not completely) sunny.  The temperature was headed toward a high in the mid 60s.

The race down at Ocean Springs is just three weeks away now, and it looks like I'm not going to be anywhere near as "trained up" as I can be.  For the last month or so I've been doing one interval-type workout a week and one slightly longer-distance session a week, and otherwise just paddling at medium intensity while I try to bring about some improvement in my stroke mechanics.  But this past week I was encouraged by something British track and field athlete Josh Kerr said.  I can't remember the exact quote, but Kerr, who won the men's 1500-meter run at the outdoor world championships at Budapest last summer and the men's 3000-meter run at the indoor worlds at Glasgow this weekend, was making the point that consistency is his strongest asset.  His success isn't the result of a bunch of brutal workouts, he said; he simply misses very few training days.  I'm happy to be able to say the same thing: since getting home from Florida in January I've stuck to a nice steady routine, getting in the boat four times a week and doing a couple of gym sessions each week as well.  It hasn't been elite-level training, but it has been a consistent effort.  I've long believed there's value in that, and reading what Josh Kerr said was a nice boost to my confidence that I'm not just wasting my time.  Maybe I'll race well at Ocean Springs, and maybe I won't, but if I don't I shouldn't beat myself up over not having "done enough."

Yesterday's paddle was mostly a steady affair, about an hour of it done in the harbor and the other approximate half-hour done out on the Mississippi.  This morning the clouds were back in the sky, and I returned to the riverfront grasping for reasons to be upbeat.  At least it was warm: the temperature was rising toward an afternoon high in the 70s.  And once I was in the boat I had a good session, maybe the best so far in terms of transferring power from my legs to my torso by way of the hip rotation.

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A good workout and some Grand news

Tuesday morning I did a gym session and then headed for the river.  Once again there was a screaming wind from the south and it looked like there might be some decent downwind action out on the Mississippi.  But I'll refer you to my comments last week on that topic.

Anyways, I had a workout to do.  After warming up and doing three 8-stroke sprints in the sheltered area on the west side of Mud Island Marina, I pointed my boat north and did three 1000-meter pieces in the harbor with the wind at my back.  I started a new one every 12th minute.  I aimed for 80 strokes per minute during each piece.  My times were 5:11, 4:57, and 4:58, and yes, those efforts were very wind-aided, but the fact that I was having to paddle up and over waves in some areas of the harbor offset the wind advantage somewhat.  I think the main reason that first piece was so much slower than the other two was that I did it in the section of the harbor between the Memphis Queen Line boats and the Hernando DeSoto Bridge, where the waves tend to be at their biggest.

In any case, it was a good substantial workout.  I felt pretty good about my hip rotation; as I mentioned in my last post, the rotation isn't automatic for me yet--each time I paddle I'm still having to say "Oh yeah, I'm supposed to be rotating my hips"--but it's encouraging to see that it's no longer so awkward for me that it's slowing me down to a crawl like it was a few weeks ago.

I didn't do any training activities yesterday, but I received a bit of big news: I am among the lucky winners of permits to run the Colorado River through Grand Canyon next year.  My launch date is August 27, 2025, the day before my 58th birthday.  Even though I'm in my fifth decade of paddling, this will be my first true multi-day wilderness river trip.  At this time I have absolutely no idea who will be in my group, what kind of raft support we'll need for carrying food and camping gear, what the daily schedule will be, or how many days total we'll be on the river.  It's a good thing I've got 18 months to make myself an expert in all these areas (well, actually 15 months--I have to complete the trip application and provide a participant list with the National Park Service by May 29, 2025).  I've always been terrible at rounding up groups of people to do anything, so I don't know where my up-to-15 companions are going to come from, especially since I'll need some people with expertise in remote wilderness paddling trips.  People I know who have taken Grand Canyon trips in the past assure me I'll have a hundred best friends as soon as the word gets out I've got a permit, so I guess I'll find out soon how true that is.  For now, I'm just excited to have this adventure waiting for me on a distant horizon.

The other thing that happened yesterday is a front came through with a mass of colder air behind it.  So I donned more layers and put the pogies back on my paddle down at the river this morning.  All told it wasn't too bad; if it hadn't been for a pesky east-northeast wind, it would have been a nice morning to paddle.  The sun was shining more than I'd expected and the temperature was rising toward 50 degrees Fahrenheit.  I paddled for 60 minuets and worked on--you guessed it--rotation from the hips.

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Monday photo feature

It's the spring of 2017, and I'm charging up Old Fort Bayou at Ocean Springs, Mississippi, with Jeb Berry breathing down my neck.  I think Doug Heller took the picture.

The "Battle On The Bayou" canoe and kayak race has taken place at Ocean Springs each March since 2010 (excepting the pandemic year of 2020).  The 2024 edition is slated for March 23, and that's just three weeks from this Saturday.  I plan to show up down there and do whatever I'm capable of doing.  Jeb, who hails from Gulfport, Mississippi, is signed up to race in a double surfski, and I expect his partner will be his teenage son Thaison.  Anybody who'd like to join us can register here.

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Trying to get it right, and more

The weekend arrived with sunny skies but cool temperatures and chilly breezes from the north.  I did a gym session Friday morning.  Yesterday I got in the boat and did a longer steady paddle--100 minutes.  I went to the north end of the harbor first, then paddled all the way back to the harbor's mouth and up the Mississippi just above the Hernando DeSoto Bridge.  I'd been feeling good and paddling with good mechanics for the first 75 minutes or so, but barge traffic out on the river created bumpy conditions that messed with my balance and control, and I was probably just getting tired, too.  Back in the harbor I tried my best to pull myself back together for the last couple of kilometers back to the dock.

In general, I think I'm seeing some improvement in the hip-rotation component of my stroke, but I'm not at all sure whether somebody outside my body will see it.  It was Coach Chris Norbury who first informed me of my false rotation down in Florida last month, and I'm fearful that the next time he watches me paddle he'll tell me I'm doing all the same wrong stuff I'd been doing before.  In my lonely sessions here on the Memphis riverfront all I can do is strive for that magic connection between my legs and my torso the best I can.  And again, I think I'm doing it better, albeit not with every single stroke.  In other words, I'm getting it right more often than I used to, but in the spirit of this post several months ago, I need to keep practicing until I can't get it wrong.

By this morning the wind had shifted to the south-southeast.  The March winds have arrived a few days early.  I went out and paddled for 60 minutes, practicing my stroke mechanics at a variety of easy-to-medium intensity levels.  By the time I finished it was about 66 degrees Fahrenheit and rising toward a high in the 70s.  Another weather pattern we don't normally expect in February.

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Paddling hard in a couple of different ways

I started up a new gym routine Tuesday morning: some oblique abdominal exercises and some lunges with dumbbells in addition to the rotation drills I'd already been doing.

After that I went down to the riverfront to paddle on a lovely calm sunny morning with the temperature above 50 degrees Fahrenheit and rising.  I warmed up and did three 8-stroke sprints, and then did a workout of nine times (2 minutes on, 2 minutes off).  During each "on" interval I aimed to paddle at 75-80 strokes per minute; I tried my best to synchronize my hip rotation with my leg drive and use my arms as little as possible to pull the paddle, instead letting my torso follow my hips.  The workout was a tough one.  I was feeling it in my quads, and the lunges I'd done earlier were probably part of the reason for that.  By the third or fourth interval I was wondering if I could really get through all nine.  But I focused on one piece at a time, and soon enough it was over.  Back on the dock I was exhausted but savoring the endorphin rush.

The warm temperatures continued yesterday, but the wind picked up, too.  By the time I got to the river this morning there was a rather ferocious south wind blowing.  I paddled right into the wind until I was at the mouth of the harbor, and gazing out over the Mississippi I saw some pretty legitimate downwind conditions--not Miller's Run caliber or Columbia Gorge caliber, but decent rideable stuff nevertheless.  Unfortunately, I just don't feel entirely safe going out there on days like today.  The water is cold this time of year, and a flip while paddling by myself could put me in a situation I really don't want to be in.  So I stayed in the harbor, and that's definitely one of the downsides of living in a place where paddling companions of any kind are hard to find, let alone ones with the interest in and aptitude for downwinding.  In the harbor the waves were about as big as I have ever see them there, but not full-fledged downwind conditions.  Still, I've heard the Mocke brothers say many times that a paddler can get help even from small bumps, so I looked for patterns and worked a variety of angles on them.

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Monday photo feature

I've been paddling regularly on the Memphis riverfront for some 30 years, and in that time I've spotted all kinds of things floating in the water.  And it's not beneath me to occasionally pluck something out and bring it home, especially if I find it close to the marina.  I've got an old ice chest, a couple of trash cans, a few of those 5-gallon paint buckets (they come in handy around the house and the workshop), and even a Hoover vacuum cleaner that worked just fine once I got it dried out.  The Mississippi River giveth, I tell you.

Of course, most of what's floating out there is just plain old litter.  Once in a while I get motivated to pick up as much as I can fit in the space just fore of my surfski's footboard.  The litter problem is much too big for any one person to solve, so I concentrate primarily on stuff that's recyclable, like beer cans and soda bottles.  I know I'm not removing even a thousandth of a percent of what's out there, but at least I can say that in some small way I'm part of the solution rather than part of the problem.

The item pictured above is a first for me: an urn for somebody's ashes.  As I paddled up the Mississippi yesterday morning, just above the Hernando DeSoto Bridge I spotted something among some pieces of driftwood that was definitely no ordinary flotsam.  I hoisted the hefty object into my boat and continued on my way.  Back at the dock I removed the lid and found it half-full of muddy water.  If there were any ashes in there, they were indistinguishable from the Mississippi River sediment.

Initially I thought it might be a valuable finely-crafted piece, possibly made of silver or at least silver-plated.  But once I got it home and took a closer look I realized it was just stainless steel and probably a mass-produced Pier 1 sort of thing.  Oh well, at least it's a sturdy container with plenty of heft to it.  I don't exactly need any more tchotchkes around my house, but I'm sure this item will settle into its niche.

I'll just add this: last night I had supper at a local Chinese joint, and the little slip of paper in my fortune cookie said "You discover treasures where others see nothing unusual."  Pretty timely, hey?

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Brrr.

I did some full stretching and a gym session Friday morning.  That evening the balmy weather we'd been having gave way to some gusty storm showers followed by a mass of cold air.  The temperature dropped below freezing overnight, and when I got down to the river yesterday morning it was 33 degrees Fahrenheit.  The sun was trying to come out, but the sky remained what I would call mostly cloudy.  A frigid north wind was blowing.

A couple of friends of mine have told me I really ought to get an erg machine for winter training, and on days like this I really can't argue with them.  But I haven't taken that step yet, and so there I was shivering on the dock and murmuring to myself "Just get your session in.  Don't expect it to be fun.  Someday it'll be nicer outside and then you can enjoy it."  I paddled for 60 minutes in the northern half of the harbor, which is somewhat more sheltered from the wind than the southern half.

Last night it got even colder, and it was 23 degrees when I got up this morning.  It was just 33 again by the time I got down to the river.  But there wasn't a cloud in the sky, and there was just a light breeze coming from the west-southwest.  So it was a significantly nicer day to paddle than yesterday.  I was in the boat for 90 minutes, paddling out of the harbor and up the Mississippi to the mouth of the Wolf, and then back. Work continued on my stroke mechanics: I think I'm starting to get a better feel for the hip rotation I'm shooting for, but it's definitely still sometimes, not all the time.  It's easier on still water than out in the swirly currents of the big river, and I also seem to revert to "false" rotation whenever I get tired or distracted.

It was 41 degrees outside by the time I was driving home.  So it was still quite a chilly day.  It is still February, after all.

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Sunshine

After a few dreary rainy days, the sun finally came out again Tuesday morning.  Having been idle and/or feeling crummy for a few days, I was keen to re-inject some positivity into my athletic life.  After some stretching and a gym session here at home, I headed down to the river.  I warmed up and did three 8-stroke sprints, and then did twelve 30-second sprints starting every 3rd minute.  I didn't have my cadence sensor with me, but I'm pretty sure I was doing between 90 and 100 strokes per minute during the sprints.  It had been a long time since I'd paddled at that intensity level, and I found myself struggling a bit with the breathing.  I tried to relax and keep my breath in rhythm with the effort, and of course I also focused on good hip rotation.  I'd been working on that a lot during slower paddling sessions, but it takes practice to do it well going fast, too.

It was a fairly hard workout, but I felt good when it was over.  It was chilly when I got down there, but I think it was over 50 degrees Fahrenheit by the time I finished, and paddling under a deep blue sky was just what the doctor ordered after the days of heavy rain.  And I almost always feel good after a more intense workout--endorphins are a real thing, folks.  I spent the rest of the day in an upbeat mood, and that should be motivation I need to keep a good training routine going with my first race of the year less than six weeks off.

The sunny skies and warmer temperatures continued yesterday and into today.  It's supposed to rain tomorrow and then get cold again, so I'm trying to enjoy the nice weather while it lasts.  This morning I paddled for 60 minutes, steady with a few surges.  The hip rotation still isn't feeling entirely second nature, but it seems maybe a bit less uncomfortable than it used to be.

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Monday photo feature

This is a screen shot from an old VHS video I bought back in the early/mid 1990s.  At the time I was determined to practice whitewater slalom any way I could in my whitewater-poor part of the country, and the video showed a bunch of stroke drills that an athlete can do on flatwater.  In the photo above, Dana Chladek, a U.S. team member in the 1980s and 90s, demonstrates "SWEEPS Weaving a Line."

I did lots and lots of these drills in the harbor downtown and on Patriot Lake over on the east side of town.  Now, 30 years later, I'm still doing a lot of drills, although these days they're oriented more toward effective rotation at the hips for maximum stroke power.

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Ups and downs in water levels and energy levels

On Tuesday morning I did a gym session and then headed down to the river.  I paddled in the harbor for 60 minutes, and during the 40-minute period from 0:10 to 0:50 I did a little workout of (1 minute on, 2 minutes off).  For each "on" period I kept the stroke rate in the 70s; I didn't have my cadence sensor with me, but when you're doing one-minute pieces it's easy enough to count your strokes.  The workout felt good and it was nice to have something besides the hip rotation to occupy my attention.  I came away feeling good about what I'd done, and it's seemed like that hasn't often been the case lately.

The Mississippi River had crested over the weekend around 22 feet on the Memphis gauge.  Over the 30 years or so that I've been paddling regularly on the Memphis riverfront, that's not a remarkable level, but it sure feels high compared to the levels we'd been having since last summer.  It's dropping now and the current forecast says the level will be back in the single digits in a few days.  Hopefully some more rain will fall in the Midwest soon and keep the river up.  There's something satisfying about paddling atop a mass of freshly-fallen rain.

It's been a while since I've provided an update on the aches-and-pains front, and I guess that's because I haven't been feeling too bad lately.  But there are definitely little things I'm dealing with.  That pain in my right clavicle that was so bad a couple of months ago isn't gone, but it's not as bad as it was.  Meanwhile I'm having soreness in my wrists and forearms, and I suspect that's being caused more by chores in the woodworking shop than by paddling my boat.  Some days I have some stiffness in my lower and upper back, and some days I don't.  Maybe the best news is that the pain I was having in my hip flexor in December seems to have run its course.  That means I've got the option of incorporating some running into the routine again, though I'll probably wait until the weather is consistently warmer.

I've also had a few days this week where my digestion felt out of whack-- sort of a low-grade unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach.  As of this writing I think it's doing better, but it's lasted long enough to make me start thinking of morbid scenarios like some terrible cancer of the stomach or colon or intestines.  I sure hope that's nothing more than my silly imagination.

I was back in the boat Thursday doing another 60 minutes in the harbor.  It was mostly a steady paddle this time in which I focused, as usual, on hip rotation.  On Friday I stayed in and did a gym session.

The weather was cool but sunny when I paddled on Tuesday and Thursday.  By Saturday it was just the opposite: a bunch of rain had moved into the Mid South, while the temperature was up in the 60s on the Fahrenheit thermometer.  I went down to the river Saturday morning and found it shrouded in fog, and the fog seemed to thicken as I paddled out of the harbor, up the Mississippi to the mouth of the Wolf River, and back down.  Coming downriver I stayed within sight of the left bank just so I would know where I was, and so I wouldn't be surprised by any silent barge rigs.  It wasn't until I was maybe 400 meters from the Hernando DeSoto Bridge that I was able to see the bridge's steel trusses.  Once I was back in the harbor the fog was thick for several hundred meters, and then, suddenly, I came out of it.  By the time I was back in my car, maybe a half-hour later, departing the riverfront, the fog was all gone from the river.

As for how I felt in the boat Saturday, well... I felt lousy.  I was sluggish and slow, and the low visibility out on the river had almost a vertigo effect.  I guess I've always struggled to have some giddy-up during the gloom of January and February, but I think it might be worse than ever this year.

I was out of the boat yesterday because the handbell group I play with had a gig.  I'm also busy with a fairly complicated project in my woodworking shop.  I'm hoping that spending some time with those things for a bit will be a good way for me to hit the reset button.

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