This morning Joe and I paddled for 80 minutes in the rain. Even though it was the misty variety that sort of oozes out of the sky, the rain was quite heavy at times, and we got drenched. Fortunately it wasn't that cold, and it actually made for a beautiful scene.
A couple of easy paddles like this each week is what I'm planning for the next few weeks. I also want to try to keep up some "active recovery" activities--stretching, soaking in the tub, stuff like that. I'm hoping that the aches and pains that have dogged me for much of this long season will have a chance to subside for good as a result.
I'm taking a little time off from strength work, but I'll start that back up before long.
Tuesday, October 27, 2015
Monday, October 26, 2015
Monday photo feature
Normally he's my training partner, but at this moment he's my nemesis: Joe Royer is hot on my heels as we make a buoy turn at the 2006 "Bacall" race at Key Largo, Florida.
Saturday, October 24, 2015
Thoughts on the last race, and on the season
I closed my 2015 season with a brief immersion into a more surf-ski-centric world, and that gave me all kinds of things to think about. I've spent the past week trying to organize the jumble of ideas in my head.
In every sport I've ever tried, I've been fascinated with the things that separate the elite athletes from everybody else. There are surely more such things than I'll be getting into here, but I can think of one thing that's relevant in both slalom racing and surf ski racing. There's no question the elite athletes are strong and speedy: when I was racing slalom C1 in the 1990s, I expect nearly every last one of the top C1 guys could have beaten me easily in a 50-meter sprint in our C1s across flatwater, and I expect every elite-caliber surf ski athlete could beat me easily in the same sprint in our surf skis. But of course, slalom races take place on whitewater, and surf ski races take place in rough open-water conditions, and in both cases there's more to making a boat move than just speed and strength. The elite athletes in these disciplines have an incredible degree of balance and control. Where I would be throwing down a brace to avoid a flip, a top athlete would have the body control to plant just as good a forward stroke as he would on flatwater. I got schooled in this area many times in my slalom days, and I was schooled again at the North Shore Cup last Saturday.
Mind you, I haven't exactly ignored these issues in my own training. I believe the winner of any competition at any level is the person who does the little things better than anybody else, and several times this year I was that person. And each time, I felt as though I'd earned the right to be that person, having done all kinds of stroke drills and balance drills and strength work that my competitors either hadn't done or hadn't mastered quite as well as I had.
But that brings up another theme of this trip: I got a healthy reminder that being a "big fish" in one part of the country does not mean there aren't many people just as good or better in other parts. Going into the North Shore Cup I knew enough about guys like Austin Kieffer and Reid Hyle and Jesse Lischuk to know that I would not figure into the race up front. But then there were another dozen or so guys and gals I didn't know much about, and I honestly didn't know if I would be the fourth-best guy or the twentieth-best guy in the field. It turned out a fair number of racers were quite a bit better than I, at least on Saturday.
My guess is that these folks are in their boats a few days a week like I am, and work assiduously on their skills just like I do. That they are faster in their boats than I might be because they train more than I do. Maybe they have better training groups than I do, competing with one another and sharing ideas and collectively raising their performance to a higher level. Maybe some of them have coaches to keep an eye on what they're doing and help them improve faster than they would coaching themselves. Or maybe they're just better athletes than I am--stronger, speedier, more powerful, more agile.
And so, I come back around to the question that I ask myself all the time, and am occasionally asked by others: why do I do this? "To win" is ultimately not the answer, even though I do feel a lot of satisfaction when I win. Fascination with the process is what really keeps me going--the hours spent in my boat on the water in the outdoors, working on one skill one day, another skill another day, sometimes enjoying the company of a friend or two, sometimes relishing the solitude. Eventually, once I've taken a little break and recovered from the wear and tear of this past season, I'll start preparing for another, and I will incorporate whatever lessons I've gleaned on this most recent trip. I don't know that my future competitive results will be any better than they have been in the past; at age 48, I should probably be happy if I can just keep them close to what they've been in the past.
I'll conclude this post with one last encouraging thought. I have a friend who is a career musician and music teacher, and he told me recently that as a teenager and young adult he was obsessed with perfection, really beating himself up every time he made even the smallest mistake. Then, at some point in his life, he came around to accept the fact that he would never be perfect, and that he should relish the things he was doing well rather than dwell on the mistakes he was making. Once he adopted that attitude, he found that his performances became much more consistently good, and as a teacher he has consciously focused on the good work of his students rather than trying to hammer out their mistakes.
Our sport requires such a variety of skills and techniques that nobody can possibly master every single one of them. Even at the elite level, the winner is usually the person who has mastered the set of skills that most closely suits the conditions on the course that day. There's no question I am good at some things, so-so at some other things, and terrible at some other things; in the interest of my overall happiness I'll try my best to enjoy the things I do well while taking those other things one or two at a time.
In every sport I've ever tried, I've been fascinated with the things that separate the elite athletes from everybody else. There are surely more such things than I'll be getting into here, but I can think of one thing that's relevant in both slalom racing and surf ski racing. There's no question the elite athletes are strong and speedy: when I was racing slalom C1 in the 1990s, I expect nearly every last one of the top C1 guys could have beaten me easily in a 50-meter sprint in our C1s across flatwater, and I expect every elite-caliber surf ski athlete could beat me easily in the same sprint in our surf skis. But of course, slalom races take place on whitewater, and surf ski races take place in rough open-water conditions, and in both cases there's more to making a boat move than just speed and strength. The elite athletes in these disciplines have an incredible degree of balance and control. Where I would be throwing down a brace to avoid a flip, a top athlete would have the body control to plant just as good a forward stroke as he would on flatwater. I got schooled in this area many times in my slalom days, and I was schooled again at the North Shore Cup last Saturday.
Mind you, I haven't exactly ignored these issues in my own training. I believe the winner of any competition at any level is the person who does the little things better than anybody else, and several times this year I was that person. And each time, I felt as though I'd earned the right to be that person, having done all kinds of stroke drills and balance drills and strength work that my competitors either hadn't done or hadn't mastered quite as well as I had.
But that brings up another theme of this trip: I got a healthy reminder that being a "big fish" in one part of the country does not mean there aren't many people just as good or better in other parts. Going into the North Shore Cup I knew enough about guys like Austin Kieffer and Reid Hyle and Jesse Lischuk to know that I would not figure into the race up front. But then there were another dozen or so guys and gals I didn't know much about, and I honestly didn't know if I would be the fourth-best guy or the twentieth-best guy in the field. It turned out a fair number of racers were quite a bit better than I, at least on Saturday.
My guess is that these folks are in their boats a few days a week like I am, and work assiduously on their skills just like I do. That they are faster in their boats than I might be because they train more than I do. Maybe they have better training groups than I do, competing with one another and sharing ideas and collectively raising their performance to a higher level. Maybe some of them have coaches to keep an eye on what they're doing and help them improve faster than they would coaching themselves. Or maybe they're just better athletes than I am--stronger, speedier, more powerful, more agile.
And so, I come back around to the question that I ask myself all the time, and am occasionally asked by others: why do I do this? "To win" is ultimately not the answer, even though I do feel a lot of satisfaction when I win. Fascination with the process is what really keeps me going--the hours spent in my boat on the water in the outdoors, working on one skill one day, another skill another day, sometimes enjoying the company of a friend or two, sometimes relishing the solitude. Eventually, once I've taken a little break and recovered from the wear and tear of this past season, I'll start preparing for another, and I will incorporate whatever lessons I've gleaned on this most recent trip. I don't know that my future competitive results will be any better than they have been in the past; at age 48, I should probably be happy if I can just keep them close to what they've been in the past.
I'll conclude this post with one last encouraging thought. I have a friend who is a career musician and music teacher, and he told me recently that as a teenager and young adult he was obsessed with perfection, really beating himself up every time he made even the smallest mistake. Then, at some point in his life, he came around to accept the fact that he would never be perfect, and that he should relish the things he was doing well rather than dwell on the mistakes he was making. Once he adopted that attitude, he found that his performances became much more consistently good, and as a teacher he has consciously focused on the good work of his students rather than trying to hammer out their mistakes.
Our sport requires such a variety of skills and techniques that nobody can possibly master every single one of them. Even at the elite level, the winner is usually the person who has mastered the set of skills that most closely suits the conditions on the course that day. There's no question I am good at some things, so-so at some other things, and terrible at some other things; in the interest of my overall happiness I'll try my best to enjoy the things I do well while taking those other things one or two at a time.
Monday, October 19, 2015
Surfing Carolina style
After breakfast yesterday morning, Rick and I headed for the Isle of Palms. We left my car at the Fort Moultrie beach access, drove north and picked up Eric Mims at his house, and parked Rick's truck at the 57th Street beach access.
The wind was blowing slightly offshore but was creating some nice waves. Eric, as both the local and the person with by far the most ocean-paddling experience of the three of us, offered his advice on launching through the shore break and maintaining a safe distance from the shore as we rode the downwind southward toward my parked car. And off we went.
My confidence was shaky after Saturday's epic struggle, and it took me several tries to get myself going through the shore break. I was also wicked sore in my midsection, and I winced each time I sprinted to catch a wave. But soon enough I was getting a decent ride, and I began to relax a little.
Eric, who has become an outstanding downwind paddler since moving to the Charleston area several years ago, glided off into the distance ahead of us, and for the rest of the session it was Rick and me toiling for those all-too-elusive rides. The conditions were somewhat confused and every ride we got took a fair amount of work. Adding to my difficulty was my lack of a surfing rudder: the shorter rudder on my boat is wonderful for the mostly-flat conditions I encounter in the Mid South, but here in the Atlantic I found myself rudderless each time I was on the crest of a wave, sprinting to catch the sweet spot.
But somehow, I held my own. Having surfed a few towboat wakes on the Mississippi late this summer, I was working on an experience level that wasn't absolute zero. All told, I think I got perhaps three long, sweet rides and a lot of little two-second boosts. I would catch something and glide past Rick, and then he would catch something and glide past me. On and on it went until we brought it home in the protected waters of Fort Moultrie.
And with that, I plan to start heading back west today. I still have many thoughts about this weekend of intense surf ski action that I have yet to process fully and articulate here. I will try my best to say more about it in the next couple of days.
And with that, I plan to start heading back west today. I still have many thoughts about this weekend of intense surf ski action that I have yet to process fully and articulate here. I will try my best to say more about it in the next couple of days.
Monday photo feature
Reid Hyle of Rockledge, Florida, fends off the challenge of Jesse Lischuk of Lock Haven, Pennsylvania, to win the 2014 North Shore Cup. The 2014 edition took place in November, and the temperature at race time was about 30 degrees Fahrenheit. Jesse armed himself with pogies and a ski cap, while Reid settled for three or four layers of shirts. Photo by Vadim Lischuk; stolen from the North Shore Cup web page.
The 2015 North Shore Cup took place this past weekend--about a month earlier than last year--and the weather was cool and breezy but nearly 40 degrees warmer. I was thankful for that because I got very wet during the course of the race.
Sunday, October 18, 2015
Results are up; I'm still digesting it all
The results of the 2015 North Shore Cup are now posted here.
It turns out I was the 13th fastest overall finisher. I was 11th among the men; the women had a separate start and so I wasn't racing them head-to-head, but two of them posted faster times than mine. One of them was Alex McLain of Byfield, Massachussetts, a 26-year-old flatwater sprint racer who did yesterday's race in an ICF K1 (a Legacy). I'm very impressed that she was able to keep that boat upright at all, let alone cover the course five minutes and two seconds faster than I did.
Memphian Kata Dismukes finished third among the women, and was only nineteen seconds slower than I was.
I spent last night in Mount Pleasant, South Carolina, at the home of Rick Carter's girlfriend Wyndy. Today we're hoping to do some downwind paddling in the Atlantic if conditions are right. It's time to start loosening up my sore muscles.
It turns out I was the 13th fastest overall finisher. I was 11th among the men; the women had a separate start and so I wasn't racing them head-to-head, but two of them posted faster times than mine. One of them was Alex McLain of Byfield, Massachussetts, a 26-year-old flatwater sprint racer who did yesterday's race in an ICF K1 (a Legacy). I'm very impressed that she was able to keep that boat upright at all, let alone cover the course five minutes and two seconds faster than I did.
Memphian Kata Dismukes finished third among the women, and was only nineteen seconds slower than I was.
I spent last night in Mount Pleasant, South Carolina, at the home of Rick Carter's girlfriend Wyndy. Today we're hoping to do some downwind paddling in the Atlantic if conditions are right. It's time to start loosening up my sore muscles.
Saturday, October 17, 2015
Feeling sort of defeated
The 12-mile North Shore Cup took place this morning on Lake Marion near Summerton, South Carolina. I am now exhausted and haven't had a chance to process my post-race thoughts; I have only glanced at the results and they are not yet posted on the Internet. But I'll just say it was quite a different event from any other I've entered this year.
First, there was a high-caliber field, featuring arguably the three best racers in the U.S. right now in Austin Kieffer, Reid Hyle, and Jesse Lischuk. It was my first race this year in which I wasn't expecting to be in the hunt for a podium finish and I had to formulate a different kind of strategy.
Second, there was the course that would take us across the heart of a large lake, and the northeast breeze that would make the conditions rough in a way I haven't encountered in a race in a long time.
The first several miles went well enough: though I was farther back in the field than I'd hoped, I figured at least some of the guys in front of me had gone out too hard and I told myself to relax and use the middle part of the race to start reeling some of them in. Three miles into the race we reached a buoy turn that would send us into the crossing across the heart of the lake. For the next mile or so after the turn, I felt good about my competitive chances because there were a lot of little waves that I was able to catch and ride for several seconds without paddling. This was the closest I came to having some pure, unadulterated fun in this entire race.
Alas, as I advanced deeper into the middle of the reservoir, those waves disappeared and were gradually replaced by right-to-left beam waves seasoned with a mess of confused haystacks. As time went on, I thought less and less about running down this guy or that guy and more and more about simply keeping myself upright. I was soon expending an alarming amount of energy on things other than the forward propulsion of my boat.
In the distance sat a buoy marking a turn in the course to follow along the Interstate 95 bridge. As it drew nearer with infuriating indolence, I kept my eyes on it in the hope that the water conditions in the next section of the course would be better than I was in now.
Finally I reached the buoy, and the conditions beyond it were indeed better, but I was so exhausted from fighting the water in the previous section that my motor control was practically nil. Several dozen meters after the turn, over I went. I climbed back on my ski, took a few more strokes, and flipped again.
During the long crossing I had managed to overtake several racers. One of them was Ted Burnell of Chattanooga, whom I had narrowly beaten at Baton Rouge back in August. I had somehow achieved a fairly commanding lead on him, but my flips threw the door right back open for him. Soon enough, he and another guy overtook me, and it was clear he had a lot more left than I did because my attempt to hop on his stern wake proved feeble and futile.
By now there was less than two miles left to the finish, and I spent it watching Ted and the other guy pull away from me and trying to keep my own boat moving as efficiently as possible. I ambled across the line an hour and 48 minutes and a few seconds after I had started.
I will post a link to the results once they are posted. All I know at the moment is that I was the fourteenth fastest paddler in the field. That, and the results of the race up front: Austin Kieffer of Asheville, North Carolina, claimed a convincing victory over Reid Hyle of Rockledge, Florida, and Jesse Lischuk of Lock Haven, Pennsylvania.
First, there was a high-caliber field, featuring arguably the three best racers in the U.S. right now in Austin Kieffer, Reid Hyle, and Jesse Lischuk. It was my first race this year in which I wasn't expecting to be in the hunt for a podium finish and I had to formulate a different kind of strategy.
Second, there was the course that would take us across the heart of a large lake, and the northeast breeze that would make the conditions rough in a way I haven't encountered in a race in a long time.
The first several miles went well enough: though I was farther back in the field than I'd hoped, I figured at least some of the guys in front of me had gone out too hard and I told myself to relax and use the middle part of the race to start reeling some of them in. Three miles into the race we reached a buoy turn that would send us into the crossing across the heart of the lake. For the next mile or so after the turn, I felt good about my competitive chances because there were a lot of little waves that I was able to catch and ride for several seconds without paddling. This was the closest I came to having some pure, unadulterated fun in this entire race.
Alas, as I advanced deeper into the middle of the reservoir, those waves disappeared and were gradually replaced by right-to-left beam waves seasoned with a mess of confused haystacks. As time went on, I thought less and less about running down this guy or that guy and more and more about simply keeping myself upright. I was soon expending an alarming amount of energy on things other than the forward propulsion of my boat.
In the distance sat a buoy marking a turn in the course to follow along the Interstate 95 bridge. As it drew nearer with infuriating indolence, I kept my eyes on it in the hope that the water conditions in the next section of the course would be better than I was in now.
Finally I reached the buoy, and the conditions beyond it were indeed better, but I was so exhausted from fighting the water in the previous section that my motor control was practically nil. Several dozen meters after the turn, over I went. I climbed back on my ski, took a few more strokes, and flipped again.
During the long crossing I had managed to overtake several racers. One of them was Ted Burnell of Chattanooga, whom I had narrowly beaten at Baton Rouge back in August. I had somehow achieved a fairly commanding lead on him, but my flips threw the door right back open for him. Soon enough, he and another guy overtook me, and it was clear he had a lot more left than I did because my attempt to hop on his stern wake proved feeble and futile.
By now there was less than two miles left to the finish, and I spent it watching Ted and the other guy pull away from me and trying to keep my own boat moving as efficiently as possible. I ambled across the line an hour and 48 minutes and a few seconds after I had started.
I will post a link to the results once they are posted. All I know at the moment is that I was the fourteenth fastest paddler in the field. That, and the results of the race up front: Austin Kieffer of Asheville, North Carolina, claimed a convincing victory over Reid Hyle of Rockledge, Florida, and Jesse Lischuk of Lock Haven, Pennsylvania.
Friday, October 16, 2015
In the Palmetto State
I must be fairly far from home, because all the rivers are flowing to the Atlantic Ocean rather than the Mississippi River or the Gulf of Mexico.
I'm in the South Carolina low country, and I've made camp in Santee State Park on the western shore of Lake Marion, a vast reservoir created by a dam across the Santee River. It's late afternoon, and I've just paddled for 40 minutes on the lake near the campground. I did another set of 12-stroke sprints at two-minute intervals.
The base of operations for tomorrow's North Shore Cup race is across the lake in Summerton. I will head over there shortly to check the place out and see what I can find out about the course.
I'm in the South Carolina low country, and I've made camp in Santee State Park on the western shore of Lake Marion, a vast reservoir created by a dam across the Santee River. It's late afternoon, and I've just paddled for 40 minutes on the lake near the campground. I did another set of 12-stroke sprints at two-minute intervals.
The base of operations for tomorrow's North Shore Cup race is across the lake in Summerton. I will head over there shortly to check the place out and see what I can find out about the course.
Thursday, October 15, 2015
I resurface
I apologize for the radio silence of the last ten days. Although I did manage to paddle a loop of the harbor with Joe on both Tuesday and Thursday, last week was focused on non-paddling activities as I was involved in the annual Pink Palace Crafts Fair here in Memphis. I was out of the boat from Friday through Monday, and I'm not sure that was such a bad thing. Here in the waning moments of the race season I've been feeling weary and ready for a break, and shifting my thoughts to something else for a few days was helpful. I don't think I lost any of the aerobic fitness I'll need for a 12-mile race this Saturday.
And now, here I am on my way to South Carolina for the North Shore Cup on Saturday. I left Tuesday afternoon and spent the night with a friend in Nashville. Yesterday I continued east to the Charlotte-Gastonia area, where my sister's family lives. I stopped along the way for 40 minutes of paddling on Center Hill Lake, a reservoir on the Caney Fork River on the Cumberland Plateau. I did six 12-stroke sprints at two-minute intervals, and felt sharper than I'd expected.
Today I am hanging out visiting family. I hope to get an early start tomorrow for Lake Marion, where I'll make camp and do a few more sprints and try to be ready to compete.
And now, here I am on my way to South Carolina for the North Shore Cup on Saturday. I left Tuesday afternoon and spent the night with a friend in Nashville. Yesterday I continued east to the Charlotte-Gastonia area, where my sister's family lives. I stopped along the way for 40 minutes of paddling on Center Hill Lake, a reservoir on the Caney Fork River on the Cumberland Plateau. I did six 12-stroke sprints at two-minute intervals, and felt sharper than I'd expected.
Today I am hanging out visiting family. I hope to get an early start tomorrow for Lake Marion, where I'll make camp and do a few more sprints and try to be ready to compete.
Monday, October 5, 2015
There's work and then there's play
I went down to the river on a beautiful sunny morning today. I think the temperature had warmed above 70 degrees Fahrenheit by the time I was on the water.
Last week I didn't do any 8-stroke sprints until Saturday because of all my annoying little ailments. I did three of them on Saturday before starting my workout, but they didn't feel sharp at all. Today I did another set of three, and they felt much sharper. Then, as I headed out of the harbor and onto the river, I saw a big Corps of Engineers rig churning upriver and producing some good looking waves. So out I went and threw in another set of sprints and managed to catch several nice rides. And just like that, I got a good "just for fun" workout today, as opposed to Saturday's more formal workout.
Last week I didn't do any 8-stroke sprints until Saturday because of all my annoying little ailments. I did three of them on Saturday before starting my workout, but they didn't feel sharp at all. Today I did another set of three, and they felt much sharper. Then, as I headed out of the harbor and onto the river, I saw a big Corps of Engineers rig churning upriver and producing some good looking waves. So out I went and threw in another set of sprints and managed to catch several nice rides. And just like that, I got a good "just for fun" workout today, as opposed to Saturday's more formal workout.
Monday photo feature
Lee Sanders competes in the spring slalom race on Alabama's Mulberry Fork of the Black Warrior River in 1997.
Sunday, October 4, 2015
Back to work
Yesterday I did a set of eight 2-minute pieces with two minutes recovery in between. Just like in the workout I did last weekend, I shot for a pace at or slightly above what I hope to maintain in the 12-mile North Shore Cup in two weeks.
My body was doing better by yesterday. I still had a small bit of hip discomfort, but otherwise I felt pretty good in the boat.
We're just several days into October, but yesterday could have passed for a November day. It was overcast and breezy and about 58 degrees Fahrenheit outside--not quite the Arctic, but nevertheless an abrupt change from the weather we'd been having. I had to dig out some cooler-weather clothing that I had put away back in May.
Yesterday's workout might be the last substantial session I have before the race. Next weekend I'm involved in the Pink Palace Crafts Fair and will be out of the boat Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.
My body was doing better by yesterday. I still had a small bit of hip discomfort, but otherwise I felt pretty good in the boat.
We're just several days into October, but yesterday could have passed for a November day. It was overcast and breezy and about 58 degrees Fahrenheit outside--not quite the Arctic, but nevertheless an abrupt change from the weather we'd been having. I had to dig out some cooler-weather clothing that I had put away back in May.
Yesterday's workout might be the last substantial session I have before the race. Next weekend I'm involved in the Pink Palace Crafts Fair and will be out of the boat Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.
Friday, October 2, 2015
Bleah
I'm happy to say that the aches and pains I complained about earlier in the week have abated. I'm not so happy to say that some new discomfort has presented itself almost every day this week. The latest has been one of those neck cricks that I think result from sleeping in some weird position; I seem to have had an inordinate number of those in recent weeks. I've also been hurting in my hip area, where it feels like something is out of joint. It's all stuff I've had before and that's worked itself out in two or three days, but right now I'm yearning for even just one day free of pain.
I've paddled pretty easy both Tuesday and yesterday. I'm hoping to get in some kind of workout this weekend if my body feels up to it.
I've paddled pretty easy both Tuesday and yesterday. I'm hoping to get in some kind of workout this weekend if my body feels up to it.
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