I do believe winter has arrived for real. When I put my boat in the water Thursday morning the Fahrenheit temperature was about 25 degrees, and after 60 minutes of paddling it had warmed up to 30 or so.
I own two pairs of pogies: a simple nylon pair that protects my hands from the wind, and a fleece-lined pair for more frigid conditions. The unlined pogies are adequate for a good 95 percent of the winter days we have in Memphis and the Mid South; I don't break out the fleece-lined ones until it's below freezing. Since that was the case on Thursday, fleece-lined it was.
Yesterday was balmy by comparison: about 40 degrees. The unlined pogies worked fine. And yet, paddling yesterday felt like more of a chore than it had Thursday: on Thursday it was sunny and there was little wind, so once I got going I felt perfectly toasty. Yesterday it was overcast with a pesky north wind, and the paddling felt labored and my body not so comfortable. I tell people often that 30 degrees and sunny and calm is much more pleasant than 40 degrees and overcast and windy.
On these cold winter days I usually just do a steady paddle. Sure, I'm working on my stroke--I'm always working on my stroke--but I give myself a break from sprints and drills and stuff. Even in our colder winters we have a good number of days in the 40s and 50s, and the drills can wait until those days come back around.
Today we're back to frigid. A new front came in yesterday afternoon: by four o'clock the temperature had dropped below freezing, and the overnight low was in the teens. With today's high predicted to be about 25 degrees, I was happy to stay in and do the current strength routine. With a new month about to begin, this was probably my last time doing this routine.
More freezing weather is in store for the next several days, with highs in the low to mid 20s and single-digit overnight lows possible. Those fleece-lined pogies will probably be back on the next time I get in the boat. I tentatively plan to paddle tomorrow--I can think of few better ways to start a new year that paddle a boat--and as far as I know my Tuesday morning paddle with Joe is on this week.
Sunday, December 31, 2017
Sunday, December 24, 2017
A day at a time, closer to the start of another race season
I'm doing what I usually do for the Christmas holiday--hanging out at my sister's family's house on the North Carolina Piedmont. We're doing the sort of things I expect most families do: lots of sitting around and visiting and consuming all the seasonal sweets and eats.
But I did find time for a smidgen of exercise this morning. I did an abbreviated version of the current strength routine--that is, I did exercises 2, 4, and 5. Exercises 1 and 3 require dumbbells and I don't have those with me. Normally I go through the routine twice, but today I did it three times since I was doing fewer exercises.
I've continued to get in the boat twice a week--Tuesday and Thursday this past week--and work to get more comfortable with the mechanical adjustments to my stroke. Slowly but surely I'm getting there. Once I'm back home I'll start to dial up the volume toward my usual training workload. I won't be doing as much as a 20-year-old Olympic hopeful would be, of course, but with any luck it'll be respectable for a 50-year-old man.
But I did find time for a smidgen of exercise this morning. I did an abbreviated version of the current strength routine--that is, I did exercises 2, 4, and 5. Exercises 1 and 3 require dumbbells and I don't have those with me. Normally I go through the routine twice, but today I did it three times since I was doing fewer exercises.
I've continued to get in the boat twice a week--Tuesday and Thursday this past week--and work to get more comfortable with the mechanical adjustments to my stroke. Slowly but surely I'm getting there. Once I'm back home I'll start to dial up the volume toward my usual training workload. I won't be doing as much as a 20-year-old Olympic hopeful would be, of course, but with any luck it'll be respectable for a 50-year-old man.
Monday, December 11, 2017
Monday photo feature
I've mentioned that I've been catching up on some out-of-the-boat things lately. That includes the things that provide my livelihood--my woodworking business and my rental properties. But you can always count on me having something frivolous going on to distract me from my "real" job. A couple of months ago I took a class at the Five In One Social Club in which I learned some simple block-printing techniques, and since then I've been gleefully geeking out on that stuff, carving all kinds of little designs and printing them in a variety of colors.
Is this relevant to a paddling blog? Why, of course it is. Don't forget that I am a canoe-and-kayak nerd as well as an arts-and-crafts nerd, and I made sure to carve a couple of paddling-related blocks. The blue kayak above is based on the cover design of the book The Barton Mold: A Study In Sprint Kayaking by William T. Endicott. The black whitewater C1 paddler is based on a photo of German slalom racer Nele Bayn that I saw on the "Planet Canoe" Face Book page. Both blocks still need some touching up so they'll print a little cleaner, but don't forget that I'm a complete amateur at this and will probably stay that way... in other words, I've got a right to do it badly. In any case, I'm having fun with it.
Sunday, December 10, 2017
Laying some good groundwork
The training volume has definitely been lower in this early part of the offseason; I've been paddling twice a week and doing a strength routine twice a week. But I think I'm doing more than simply going through the motions.
In the boat I've been working to incorporate the things I learned in Morgan House's clinic back in October. Making even small changes to your stroke mechanics can be tiring even though the paddling intensity is low. The biggest challenge is staying relaxed: we humans like things that are familiar, and doing something you're not used to makes you want to tense your body and burn more energy than you should. I think the best thing I can do is follow Morgan's advice and work on my stroke just a little bit at a time, every time in the boat, rather than try to get it all right in the space of a day or a week.
I've been doing the new strength routine for a week now. As with most of my routines I get it done in less than a half hour, but it's a good intense workout.
In the boat I've been working to incorporate the things I learned in Morgan House's clinic back in October. Making even small changes to your stroke mechanics can be tiring even though the paddling intensity is low. The biggest challenge is staying relaxed: we humans like things that are familiar, and doing something you're not used to makes you want to tense your body and burn more energy than you should. I think the best thing I can do is follow Morgan's advice and work on my stroke just a little bit at a time, every time in the boat, rather than try to get it all right in the space of a day or a week.
I've been doing the new strength routine for a week now. As with most of my routines I get it done in less than a half hour, but it's a good intense workout.
2018 race schedule (first draft)
Here is how my 2018 race schedule looks right now. As usual, this is a working document. I probably won't make it to every event on this list, and as other events announce their dates I'll be adding them to this schedule.
You can count on seeing me at one event: that would be my hometown race, the Outdoors, Inc., Canoe and Kayak Race. Other events I attend pretty regularly are the ones at Ocean Springs in March and at Vicksburg in April. And of course, I had to register early for the Gorge Downwind Championships because of its registration cap, so that's a go as long as no unforeseen complications arise.
Since I've attended the USCA Nationals the last two years I put it on my schedule for this coming year as well. But I seriously doubt I'll make it there this time. Going out to the Pacific Northwest in July will be an epic trip, and I just don't see myself making a trip to New York less than a month later.
Anyway, here we go: an early look at where I might be racing this coming year.
March
18 Battle On The Bayou. Old Fort Bayou, Ocean Springs, Mississippi. 8.5 miles on flatwater.
April
7 Top Of The Teche. Bayou Teche, Leonville, Louisiana, to Arnaudville, Louisiana. 7.7 miles down a Class I river.
21 Bluz Cruz Canoe and Kayak Race. Mississippi River from Madison Parish Port, Louisiana, to Vicksburg, Mississippi. 21 miles down the largest river in North America.
May
12 Bluegrass River Run. Kentucky River near Richmond, Kentucky. 19 miles down a Class I river.
June
16 Outdoors, Inc., Canoe and Kayak Race. The 37th edition of this classic. 5000 meters down the largest river in North America.
July
16-21 Gorge Downwind Championships. Columbia River, Hood River, Oregon. A race for surf skis and outrigger canoes in the legendary downwind conditions of the Columbia River Gorge.
August
9-12 U.S. Canoe Association National Championships. Onondaga Lake and Erie Canal, Syracuse, New York. Marathon races in a variety of boat classes sanctioned by the USCA.
September
8 Lower Atchafalaya Sprints. Atchafalaya River, Patterson, Louisiana. A series of 3-mile races on flatwater.
You can count on seeing me at one event: that would be my hometown race, the Outdoors, Inc., Canoe and Kayak Race. Other events I attend pretty regularly are the ones at Ocean Springs in March and at Vicksburg in April. And of course, I had to register early for the Gorge Downwind Championships because of its registration cap, so that's a go as long as no unforeseen complications arise.
Since I've attended the USCA Nationals the last two years I put it on my schedule for this coming year as well. But I seriously doubt I'll make it there this time. Going out to the Pacific Northwest in July will be an epic trip, and I just don't see myself making a trip to New York less than a month later.
Anyway, here we go: an early look at where I might be racing this coming year.
March
18 Battle On The Bayou. Old Fort Bayou, Ocean Springs, Mississippi. 8.5 miles on flatwater.
April
7 Top Of The Teche. Bayou Teche, Leonville, Louisiana, to Arnaudville, Louisiana. 7.7 miles down a Class I river.
21 Bluz Cruz Canoe and Kayak Race. Mississippi River from Madison Parish Port, Louisiana, to Vicksburg, Mississippi. 21 miles down the largest river in North America.
May
12 Bluegrass River Run. Kentucky River near Richmond, Kentucky. 19 miles down a Class I river.
June
16 Outdoors, Inc., Canoe and Kayak Race. The 37th edition of this classic. 5000 meters down the largest river in North America.
July
16-21 Gorge Downwind Championships. Columbia River, Hood River, Oregon. A race for surf skis and outrigger canoes in the legendary downwind conditions of the Columbia River Gorge.
August
9-12 U.S. Canoe Association National Championships. Onondaga Lake and Erie Canal, Syracuse, New York. Marathon races in a variety of boat classes sanctioned by the USCA.
September
8 Lower Atchafalaya Sprints. Atchafalaya River, Patterson, Louisiana. A series of 3-mile races on flatwater.
Friday, December 8, 2017
A new strength routine
This past week I started up a new strength routine that I'll probably do through the end of the year. The exercises are as follows:
1. A compound exercise similar to what U.S. slalom racer Casey Eichfeld is doing in this video. Lacking the weight-room equipment he's using, I use a stability ball instead.
2. Hindu squats (demonstrated in this video)
3. Bicep curls with a dumbbell
4. A simple plank on the floor
5. Dips
And now, what follows is something I re-post from time to time, explaining my general approach to strength training:
I've said many times before that strength work is my least favorite part of training, and because of that I've developed a give-and-take relationship with it. I try to follow a few simple guidelines:
1. Keep the routines short and simple. I focus on quality, not quantity. This way I'm not dreading spending a big chunk of my day doing tedious and sometimes uncomfortable exercises. I try to work in exercises for each general area of the body--legs, core, and arms/shoulders.
2. Good technique is more important than the amount of weight. Paddling is a highly technical sport and I think it's important to be precise in the gym as well as in the boat. And on a similar note, let's not forget that I'm a paddler, not a body builder, so those commercial gym slogans like "Exercise your right to look good" don't really resonate with me. I happen to think that accomplished paddlers do in fact "look good," but there's a difference between "show muscle" and muscle that actually performs useful tasks. A bulky body is generally not an asset in our sport, so I do stuff to bring about good lean muscle tone, "prehab" exercises to prevent injuries, and explosive power. Also, at age 50 I'm thinking more and more about the issues of aging, and I look for exercises that emphasize continued flexibility and range of motion.
3. Don't get all upset if you miss a session. Most of the time I try to do strength work three times a week, but if life gets in the way and I have to miss a session, I just tell myself it's not a big deal, and I'll get back on track the next time.
I do my strength work in the comfort of my own home, where I listen to whatever music I want and can play with my cats in between exercises. I've got some dumbbells, a rubber band, a pair of gymnast's rings, and a few other simple things, and that's more than I need for a good routine.
1. A compound exercise similar to what U.S. slalom racer Casey Eichfeld is doing in this video. Lacking the weight-room equipment he's using, I use a stability ball instead.
2. Hindu squats (demonstrated in this video)
3. Bicep curls with a dumbbell
4. A simple plank on the floor
5. Dips
And now, what follows is something I re-post from time to time, explaining my general approach to strength training:
I've said many times before that strength work is my least favorite part of training, and because of that I've developed a give-and-take relationship with it. I try to follow a few simple guidelines:
1. Keep the routines short and simple. I focus on quality, not quantity. This way I'm not dreading spending a big chunk of my day doing tedious and sometimes uncomfortable exercises. I try to work in exercises for each general area of the body--legs, core, and arms/shoulders.
2. Good technique is more important than the amount of weight. Paddling is a highly technical sport and I think it's important to be precise in the gym as well as in the boat. And on a similar note, let's not forget that I'm a paddler, not a body builder, so those commercial gym slogans like "Exercise your right to look good" don't really resonate with me. I happen to think that accomplished paddlers do in fact "look good," but there's a difference between "show muscle" and muscle that actually performs useful tasks. A bulky body is generally not an asset in our sport, so I do stuff to bring about good lean muscle tone, "prehab" exercises to prevent injuries, and explosive power. Also, at age 50 I'm thinking more and more about the issues of aging, and I look for exercises that emphasize continued flexibility and range of motion.
3. Don't get all upset if you miss a session. Most of the time I try to do strength work three times a week, but if life gets in the way and I have to miss a session, I just tell myself it's not a big deal, and I'll get back on track the next time.
I do my strength work in the comfort of my own home, where I listen to whatever music I want and can play with my cats in between exercises. I've got some dumbbells, a rubber band, a pair of gymnast's rings, and a few other simple things, and that's more than I need for a good routine.
Wednesday, December 6, 2017
Another guy getting older but still having fun
The world championships of whitewater rodeo took place this past week at San Juan, Argentina. Spectators there saw a sport that's quite different from the type of paddling I do: competitors execute freestyle moves in the maw of a hole, and their scores are determined by a panel of judges.
The event also included a squirt boat competition. Squirt boats are extremely low-volume craft, designed to perform maneuvers beneath the surface called "mystery moves." The men's champion last week was one Clay Wright of Rock Island, Tennessee. Clay and I go back nearly 35 years, as we attended the same summer camp in the mid 1980s. Like me, Clay is 50 years old, but his "advanced" age didn't stop him from making a better impression on the judges than paddlers 30 years younger.
I'm sure Clay was thrilled to stand atop the podium and be recognized among his peers. But according to this account of the competition, his motivation comes from a much deeper place. This is consistent with the point I made in this post almost two months ago: the top performers in any field, in terms of excellence or longevity or both, derive their greatest pleasure from the everyday process of what they do.
The event also included a squirt boat competition. Squirt boats are extremely low-volume craft, designed to perform maneuvers beneath the surface called "mystery moves." The men's champion last week was one Clay Wright of Rock Island, Tennessee. Clay and I go back nearly 35 years, as we attended the same summer camp in the mid 1980s. Like me, Clay is 50 years old, but his "advanced" age didn't stop him from making a better impression on the judges than paddlers 30 years younger.
I'm sure Clay was thrilled to stand atop the podium and be recognized among his peers. But according to this account of the competition, his motivation comes from a much deeper place. This is consistent with the point I made in this post almost two months ago: the top performers in any field, in terms of excellence or longevity or both, derive their greatest pleasure from the everyday process of what they do.
Sunday, November 12, 2017
Monday photo feature
That's me cruising down a frothy, pothole-rich rapid on the "Farmlands" section of the White Salmon River near Trout Lake, Washington. A lady named Wendy Peterson took this photo in July, 1998. I'd met Wendy and her husband Dan that morning in the campground I was staying in, and we ended up running the river together.
The White Salmon flows into the Columbia River across from the town of Hood River, Oregon. I plan to return to this region almost exactly 20 years after that '98 visit. This past week I signed up to participate in the 2018 Gorge Downwind Championships, a surf ski and outrigger canoe race that takes place each July on the Columbia.
Registration opened this month, and I really would have preferred to sign up much closer to the race date. After all, there's no telling what could be going on next July: I could be injured, or I could hit a rash of unforeseen expenses, or I could have a death in the family, or who knows what else. But registration for the GDC is capped at 600 racers and it fills up fast, and so there's not much I can do but pay the hefty entry fee a full eight months ahead of time and keep my fingers crossed that it will all work out. I certainly hope it does, because I sure did enjoy my trip out there all those years ago.
More going on than it seems
I'll start with a bit of inspirational fare. Eric Jackson, a whitewater rodeo world champion and a whitewater slalom Olympian, has raised his children with this three-step motto in their paddling life:
1. Be happy, be motivated, be helpful.
2. Paddle early, paddle late, paddle hard.
3. Impress with what you are good at, work on what you are not good at, and put your best foot forward on competition day.
Eric's daughter Emily and son Dane, in their twenties now, are both among the world's elite whitewater paddlers. His nine-year-old son K.C. will likely be there himself eventually.
Down here at the non-elite level, meanwhile, I continue to keep a little something going to stave off the early-offseason doldrums. This past week I did the new strength routine on Monday and Thursday. And I paddled a loop of the harbor with Joe on Tuesday and out on the Mississippi a little bit yesterday.
I continued the work on my stroke mechanics yesterday, and I'm happy to say that the adjustments Morgan House suggested in that clinic I took are beginning to feel more natural. The main thing I have to keep reminding myself is that I was already doing a lot of things pretty well and I shouldn't throw those things out. Morgan said as much in this message he wrote me:
In other words, my stroke really doesn't need much more than some tweaking. My shaft needs to be more vertical throughout each stroke, and exiting closer to the boat helps make sure that happens. So I'll continue to work on that but I'll try not to wear out my brain obsessing over it.
1. Be happy, be motivated, be helpful.
2. Paddle early, paddle late, paddle hard.
3. Impress with what you are good at, work on what you are not good at, and put your best foot forward on competition day.
Eric's daughter Emily and son Dane, in their twenties now, are both among the world's elite whitewater paddlers. His nine-year-old son K.C. will likely be there himself eventually.
Down here at the non-elite level, meanwhile, I continue to keep a little something going to stave off the early-offseason doldrums. This past week I did the new strength routine on Monday and Thursday. And I paddled a loop of the harbor with Joe on Tuesday and out on the Mississippi a little bit yesterday.
I continued the work on my stroke mechanics yesterday, and I'm happy to say that the adjustments Morgan House suggested in that clinic I took are beginning to feel more natural. The main thing I have to keep reminding myself is that I was already doing a lot of things pretty well and I shouldn't throw those things out. Morgan said as much in this message he wrote me:
Your technique is not bad and the fundamentals of your stroke are quite good. All of the things I taught during the clinic should be practiced in each training session. It is important, though, to not try and force each aspect of the stroke to be perfect as the kayak stroke is very fluid. Keep your focus on one thing for an interval of time or distance and then change to another thing for another interval and so on. Eventually it will all start to come together.
In other words, my stroke really doesn't need much more than some tweaking. My shaft needs to be more vertical throughout each stroke, and exiting closer to the boat helps make sure that happens. So I'll continue to work on that but I'll try not to wear out my brain obsessing over it.
Monday, November 6, 2017
A new strength routine
After several weeks off from strength work, it's time to start settling into some offseason conditioning. I think the biggest mental hurdle is simply sitting down and picking out the exercises to make up a new routine; once that's done it's easy enough to get right to it on each appointed day. I've carried out that chore once more, and so here's what I'm doing for the next little while.
1. Lat pulls
2. Dead lifts
3. Military press
4. Stability ball drill demonstrated by Jing Jing Li at 2:55 of her video on this page
5. Pullups
1. Lat pulls
2. Dead lifts
3. Military press
4. Stability ball drill demonstrated by Jing Jing Li at 2:55 of her video on this page
5. Pullups
Friday, November 3, 2017
Recommended reading
Regarding this post from a couple of weeks ago: I should point out that the "fascination with the process" concept is not something I came up with myself. Former U.S. whitewater slalom team coach Bill Endicott has mentioned this concept many times in his various books.
The reason I bring this up now is that I've just seen the topic brought up by slalom-racer-turned-English-teacher Alden Bird on his blog. He's written a good review of the book Every Crushing Stroke by U.S. slalom Olympian Scott Shipley, whose influences include Mr. Endicott.
I got myself a copy of Shipley's book shortly after it came out just like Alden did. Even though it's more about whitewater paddling than the sort of paddling I'm mostly doing these days, it's still been a significant influence on my overall approach to training and even to life itself. Longtime readers of this blog have seen me refer to it once in a while. I don't think it's in print anymore but there are probably copies floating around here in cyberspace. I recommend it highly.
The reason I bring this up now is that I've just seen the topic brought up by slalom-racer-turned-English-teacher Alden Bird on his blog. He's written a good review of the book Every Crushing Stroke by U.S. slalom Olympian Scott Shipley, whose influences include Mr. Endicott.
I got myself a copy of Shipley's book shortly after it came out just like Alden did. Even though it's more about whitewater paddling than the sort of paddling I'm mostly doing these days, it's still been a significant influence on my overall approach to training and even to life itself. Longtime readers of this blog have seen me refer to it once in a while. I don't think it's in print anymore but there are probably copies floating around here in cyberspace. I recommend it highly.
Monday, October 30, 2017
Monday photo feature
I'm a little speck in the middle of El Horrendo, a big drop on the Russell Fork of the Levisa Fork of the Big Sandy River. The Russell Fork, which crosses from Virginia into Kentucky near Elkhorn City, Kentucky, sees water releases each October and is a wonderful place to enjoy the fall foliage. Ward Graham took this photo in October of 1997.
Saturday, October 28, 2017
Knowledge is power. At least, I hope it eventually will be.
I got up at 5 AM CDT yesterday and was on the road by six. According to my car's in-dash temperature display it was 63 degrees Fahrenheit at that hour, but the voices in the car's radio were talking about a front heading toward Memphis that would send the temperature plummeting into the 40s by the mid-afternoon. That same front would eventually reach Chattanooga, where I was headed, but I hoped it wouldn't get over there until well after my stroke clinic.
I arrived in 'Nooga around one o'clock eastern time and parked in Coolidge Park, the announced site of the clinic, on the river-right side of the Tennessee River. The clinic was scheduled to start at 2:00, and I started getting worried when nobody had shown up by 1:45. Two o'clock came and went, and it was clear to me that some change had occurred for which I had been out of the loop. (No, I was not able to check my e-mail on my phone. I am about a decade behind the times in the hand-held technology department.)
In a state of panic, I ended up paddling across the river to Ross's Landing Park, and there I finally found the clinic in progress. Morgan House, the instructor, was very apologetic about the communication failure and promised to give me a refund, but I replied that we should just get on with the clinic and worry about that later.
In the end, I got more than my fifty bucks' worth and the refund talk was put to rest. I had just missed the dry-land lecture but was able to get up to speed quickly as we put our boats in the water. My eight or so fellow students included familiar faces Ted Burnell of Chattanooga; Joseph DiChiacchio of nearby Rising Fawn, Georgia; Lauren Drummond of Gulfport, Mississippi; and Myrlene Marsa of Rising Fawn. The temperature was balmy (low 70s) but it was quite windy, and we paddled upstream to find some calmer water on the river-left side of MacLellan Island.
Morgan had been watching our strokes during the paddle up there and he had pointers for each of us once we were gathered back together. His critique of my stroke centered around my exit: I was bringing my blade out of the water too far out from the boat. He told me to bring my stroke-side hand up closer to my head: said hand would now be the top hand for my next stroke, and with it closer to my head I would be set up for a more vertical next stroke. The way I had been exiting, he explained, was setting me up with a more horizontal shaft on my next stroke, and the result would be more of a forward sweep than a pure forward stroke.
Since I first tried using a wing paddle about 20 years ago, I have understood that the blade is supposed to move away from the boat during the course of a stroke, and I guess I had developed a stroke that overdid that detail. Morgan said that while a wing blade is in fact supposed to move away from the boat, it doesn't have to do so as much as mine was doing. My objective, he said, should be to put as much of my effort into the "straight-back" motion of the blade as possible, and keep the away-from-the-boat drift to a minimum.
Another point of emphasis for Morgan was to hesitate between strokes, and allow the boat to glide for that half-second or so. He said we should strive to get all the boat movement we can out of each stroke, and go faster with a lower stroke rate.
After an hour of working on these things, I felt as though I'd entirely forgotten how to paddle, and a day later I'm a bit sore from movements that my middle-aged body hadn't been used to. But that's normal. Every time I've made even a minor change to my mechanics in the past, it's been a tiring process that required much effort and concentration to get used to. And that's what's in store for me now as I head into this offseason. There are definitely some stroke drills in my future. Morgan showed us a few good ones, including the "one-two-three-four-FIVE" drill where you take four easy, relaxed strokes and then take the fifth one as hard as you can; a one-sided paddling drill, something I've done many times before, except that Morgan's version has a more specific focus; and drills that isolate each discrete component of the stroke, such as the catch and the exit.
There's a little uneasiness here, as I wonder whether I'm truly capable of internalizing Morgan's advice and emerging with a stroke that's better than ever. But mostly I'm excited to have a "mission" for this offseason as opposed to just putting my time in on the water.
With things to do back here in Memphis this morning, I started heading back west shortly after the clinic's conclusion. The temperature remained in the 70s all the way to Murfreesboro; then, once I'd turned onto Interstate 840 that bypasses Nashville to the southwest, it began to drop quickly. It took less than a half-hour to sink into the 40s, and soon I was driving through some heavy rain that the front brought with it. By the time I reached Jackson I was out of the rain, and back here at home we're in for a few partly-sunny and cooler-than-normal days. I'll be bundling up a bit when I get back in the boat to start working on my stroke.
I arrived in 'Nooga around one o'clock eastern time and parked in Coolidge Park, the announced site of the clinic, on the river-right side of the Tennessee River. The clinic was scheduled to start at 2:00, and I started getting worried when nobody had shown up by 1:45. Two o'clock came and went, and it was clear to me that some change had occurred for which I had been out of the loop. (No, I was not able to check my e-mail on my phone. I am about a decade behind the times in the hand-held technology department.)
In a state of panic, I ended up paddling across the river to Ross's Landing Park, and there I finally found the clinic in progress. Morgan House, the instructor, was very apologetic about the communication failure and promised to give me a refund, but I replied that we should just get on with the clinic and worry about that later.
In the end, I got more than my fifty bucks' worth and the refund talk was put to rest. I had just missed the dry-land lecture but was able to get up to speed quickly as we put our boats in the water. My eight or so fellow students included familiar faces Ted Burnell of Chattanooga; Joseph DiChiacchio of nearby Rising Fawn, Georgia; Lauren Drummond of Gulfport, Mississippi; and Myrlene Marsa of Rising Fawn. The temperature was balmy (low 70s) but it was quite windy, and we paddled upstream to find some calmer water on the river-left side of MacLellan Island.
Morgan had been watching our strokes during the paddle up there and he had pointers for each of us once we were gathered back together. His critique of my stroke centered around my exit: I was bringing my blade out of the water too far out from the boat. He told me to bring my stroke-side hand up closer to my head: said hand would now be the top hand for my next stroke, and with it closer to my head I would be set up for a more vertical next stroke. The way I had been exiting, he explained, was setting me up with a more horizontal shaft on my next stroke, and the result would be more of a forward sweep than a pure forward stroke.
Since I first tried using a wing paddle about 20 years ago, I have understood that the blade is supposed to move away from the boat during the course of a stroke, and I guess I had developed a stroke that overdid that detail. Morgan said that while a wing blade is in fact supposed to move away from the boat, it doesn't have to do so as much as mine was doing. My objective, he said, should be to put as much of my effort into the "straight-back" motion of the blade as possible, and keep the away-from-the-boat drift to a minimum.
Another point of emphasis for Morgan was to hesitate between strokes, and allow the boat to glide for that half-second or so. He said we should strive to get all the boat movement we can out of each stroke, and go faster with a lower stroke rate.
After an hour of working on these things, I felt as though I'd entirely forgotten how to paddle, and a day later I'm a bit sore from movements that my middle-aged body hadn't been used to. But that's normal. Every time I've made even a minor change to my mechanics in the past, it's been a tiring process that required much effort and concentration to get used to. And that's what's in store for me now as I head into this offseason. There are definitely some stroke drills in my future. Morgan showed us a few good ones, including the "one-two-three-four-FIVE" drill where you take four easy, relaxed strokes and then take the fifth one as hard as you can; a one-sided paddling drill, something I've done many times before, except that Morgan's version has a more specific focus; and drills that isolate each discrete component of the stroke, such as the catch and the exit.
There's a little uneasiness here, as I wonder whether I'm truly capable of internalizing Morgan's advice and emerging with a stroke that's better than ever. But mostly I'm excited to have a "mission" for this offseason as opposed to just putting my time in on the water.
With things to do back here in Memphis this morning, I started heading back west shortly after the clinic's conclusion. The temperature remained in the 70s all the way to Murfreesboro; then, once I'd turned onto Interstate 840 that bypasses Nashville to the southwest, it began to drop quickly. It took less than a half-hour to sink into the 40s, and soon I was driving through some heavy rain that the front brought with it. By the time I reached Jackson I was out of the rain, and back here at home we're in for a few partly-sunny and cooler-than-normal days. I'll be bundling up a bit when I get back in the boat to start working on my stroke.
Monday, October 23, 2017
Monday photo feature
The second torso from the right in this photo is that of Morgan House, a member of the U.S. flatwater sprint team for most of the last decade. A native of Gainesville, Georgia, House is training here with his K4 teammates on the Ala Wai Canal on the island of Oahu. The photo appeared in the Honolulu Star-Advertiser as part of this article on August 13, 2010.
This Friday House will be taking a good hard look at what I and a few other pupils are doing in our boats. The two-hour clinic will take place on the Tennessee River at Chattanooga. The last time I checked there were some spots still available; anybody interested in taking this clinic may sign up here.
My search for this photo began when I typed "Morgan House" into Google Images. All I got was a bunch of pictures of houses. Typing "Morgan House kayak" still brought up a bunch of houses, but it led me to this photo as well.
Sunday, October 22, 2017
Back to school
I'm signed up for a clinic this Friday. It's on the Tennessee River at Chattanooga, and it will be coached by former U.S. flatwater sprint team member Morgan House.
I can't say this is the most convenient time for me to drive someplace five and a half hours away, but I'm doing it because it's been a long time since I've had a pair of expert eyes take a good look at what I'm doing in the boat. And this early stage of the offseason is an ideal time for attending a clinic. The day of the clinic is not when you actually improve what you're doing; the improvement comes in the weeks and months after the clinic, as you incorporate the things you learned into your skill set. So with any luck at all, by the time I line up for a race next spring I'll have spent a solid few months refining my mechanics and technique.
Anyway, when the clinic's over I'll tell you how it went.
I can't say this is the most convenient time for me to drive someplace five and a half hours away, but I'm doing it because it's been a long time since I've had a pair of expert eyes take a good look at what I'm doing in the boat. And this early stage of the offseason is an ideal time for attending a clinic. The day of the clinic is not when you actually improve what you're doing; the improvement comes in the weeks and months after the clinic, as you incorporate the things you learned into your skill set. So with any luck at all, by the time I line up for a race next spring I'll have spent a solid few months refining my mechanics and technique.
Anyway, when the clinic's over I'll tell you how it went.
Wednesday, October 18, 2017
One more thought
So I have declared my 2017 season at an end. "Declared" seems like a funny word, because when we think of sports we tend to think of a regular season followed by playoffs that lead to the crowning of a champion. Athletes in those sports don't "declare" their seasons over; they either make it all the way to the final or are eliminated by somebody else.
Canoe and kayak racing doesn't really work that way. Sure, there's the possibility of making the Olympic team (but only in the disciplines of flatwater sprint and whitewater slalom) or some other national team. That's all but reserved for much younger people than I, however--people at the peak age for human athletic potential. For folks my age there's just an assortment of races over the course of the year, and you pick out a few, and you go and race in them, and when they're over, they're over.
What's my point? Oh, I don't know. I guess it's similar to what I was saying in my previous post: that paddling is just a hobby that I devote myself to and enjoy.
Canoe and kayak racing doesn't really work that way. Sure, there's the possibility of making the Olympic team (but only in the disciplines of flatwater sprint and whitewater slalom) or some other national team. That's all but reserved for much younger people than I, however--people at the peak age for human athletic potential. For folks my age there's just an assortment of races over the course of the year, and you pick out a few, and you go and race in them, and when they're over, they're over.
What's my point? Oh, I don't know. I guess it's similar to what I was saying in my previous post: that paddling is just a hobby that I devote myself to and enjoy.
Takin' away some takeaways
I have done my last race for 2017. So, what wisdom has been gained? What lessons have we learned here at My Training Blog by Elmore?
To begin to answer that question, I'll share an experience from a previous life. I had been a decent high school distance runner, but not a great one, and now, as a college sophomore, I'd been training hard hoping to achieve mere respectability among Division I competition. I was at the Mason Dixon Games, an annual indoor meet in Louisville's Broadbent Arena. I was entered in the 3000-meter run, for which there would be two heats: a "fast" heat and a "slow" heat. My previous PR was just barely fast enough for me to be put in the "fast" heat. I was scared. I didn't think I was going to beat anybody. My heart pounded as I warmed up and timidly stepped up to the starting line alongside maybe twenty other guys. As we embarked on 15 laps of a 200-meter track I hung near the back of the pack, cautiously gauging my body's response to the quick pace. After about four laps it was finally sinking in that I felt pretty good, and when I heard my coach shout "Go by him, Elmore!" I surged past the guy in front of me. After collecting myself for a few moments I realized I was still feeling good, and I surged past another guy. My confidence growing, I began to overtake more guys on each straight while tucking to the inside of each curve. The race went on, and I kept passing people, and then it was over before I'd even realized it. I had no idea what place I'd finished because the field had strung out all around the 200-meter track, but then I saw my coach (actually a graduate assistant who'd been working closely with me) walking toward me in a state of utter giddiness. He told me I'd finished sixth, and showed me his watch. My time was 8 minutes, 52 seconds--more than 40 seconds faster than I'd ever run a 3000 before.
For the next couple of weeks I basked in the glow of my achievement. There was buzz all around the team about how I'd "taken it to the next level." I wouldn't say I let it go to my head--I knew I had to keep working hard if I wanted to keep performing so well--but I was feeling pretty special just the same. But I'd get sort of a harsh reality check at my next race, an indoor 2-mile up at Cincinnati. I had none of the "pep" I'd had in Louisville, and felt flat from start to finish. My time was 10:02. Two miles is about 3219 meters, and so my equivalent 3000-meter time would have been 9:25 or thereabouts.
I was bummed out, but my coach reminded me that bad races happen to everybody and that I'd bounce back soon enough. And he was right. Unfortunately, neither one of us could foresee what was to come: a week or two later I was doing a set of 400-meter intervals and felt an awful surge of pain in my upper left leg. It turned out I had a severe case of iliotibial band syndrome, a fairly common overuse injury for runners. The intensity of training I'd been doing was more than my body was ready for, and this was the price. I was unable to run at all for the next three or four months, and when I finally did start running again I couldn't build any kind of base because the injury kept threatening to return. I'd end up spending the next half-dozen years dealing with one nagging ailment or another, and trying and failing to regain the form of that evening in Louisville. Eventually I shelved my running career and redirected my energy into canoe and kayak racing.
The main point I'm trying to make in sharing this story is that moments of glory are fleeting. You spend all these hours training. You're careful to make sure you're getting enough rest and eating good food. You pay close attention to your technique and your mechanics to maximize your quality of performance and minimize your chances of injury. Then, finally, you go out and accomplish something truly special. And then it's over, and unless you're in a sport with millions of fans and lots of media attention, nobody will even remember it but you. And there's no guarantee you'll ever do something as impressive again.
So why does anybody even bother? Well, I suppose everybody who participates in any sport has his own reason. But I believe that the people who achieve sustained success--and by "success" I mean not only winning major medals or titles but also simply sticking with it for decades like I've done as a paddler--derive deep fulfillment from the process. They enjoy the everyday routine: the workouts, the technique, the intellectual challenges, the solitude, the camaraderie with other athletes.
While sparing you the whole sob story, I'll just say that this past year or so hasn't been the easiest in my out-of-the-boat life. There have been some things going on that have brought me more than my share of stress and grief. I think that's helped me appreciate the ritual of going down to the river more than ever. Rarely this year have I not felt better after paddling than I'd felt before. I've enjoyed working on my mechanics, trying to make each stroke a little better than the previous one. I've enjoyed paddling hard pieces and getting my heart rate up. I've enjoyed cruising along and watching the turtles and the birds and the fish and the beavers. I've enjoyed the beautiful calm sunny days and the days of not-so-ideal weather. I've enjoyed communing with the mighty Mississippi River in all its many moods over its broad range of water levels.
And I've enjoyed mostly good health this year. There were certainly aches and pains here and there, but not once did I have to miss a training session because of a physical ailment.
It all added up to my best competitive season in at least several years. I even had a race reminiscent of that 3000-meter race in Louisville all those years ago: at our race here at Memphis in June, everything just seemed to fall into place and I felt fantastic even as I was paddling as hard as I could. Good performances continued for the rest of the summer.
And that brings me back to the main point. Competitive success is fleeting. Peak form can last only so long. I want to believe I'll achieve it again next year, and the next year, and the next, but there's no guarantee of that. And so, I continue to savor the process. Every time I am physically able to get in a boat and paddle it is a precious gift, and I've got to remember that.
Right now I'm enjoying another nice gift: a bit of time off. Believe it or not there are some positive things in my out-of-the-boat life too, and I'm looking forward to spending a bit more time with those.
Thanks for reading all this, and thanks to everybody who's said nice things about this blog. Nothing makes me happier than knowing that other people might be getting some benefit from this stuff I scribble out on my computer keyboard.
To begin to answer that question, I'll share an experience from a previous life. I had been a decent high school distance runner, but not a great one, and now, as a college sophomore, I'd been training hard hoping to achieve mere respectability among Division I competition. I was at the Mason Dixon Games, an annual indoor meet in Louisville's Broadbent Arena. I was entered in the 3000-meter run, for which there would be two heats: a "fast" heat and a "slow" heat. My previous PR was just barely fast enough for me to be put in the "fast" heat. I was scared. I didn't think I was going to beat anybody. My heart pounded as I warmed up and timidly stepped up to the starting line alongside maybe twenty other guys. As we embarked on 15 laps of a 200-meter track I hung near the back of the pack, cautiously gauging my body's response to the quick pace. After about four laps it was finally sinking in that I felt pretty good, and when I heard my coach shout "Go by him, Elmore!" I surged past the guy in front of me. After collecting myself for a few moments I realized I was still feeling good, and I surged past another guy. My confidence growing, I began to overtake more guys on each straight while tucking to the inside of each curve. The race went on, and I kept passing people, and then it was over before I'd even realized it. I had no idea what place I'd finished because the field had strung out all around the 200-meter track, but then I saw my coach (actually a graduate assistant who'd been working closely with me) walking toward me in a state of utter giddiness. He told me I'd finished sixth, and showed me his watch. My time was 8 minutes, 52 seconds--more than 40 seconds faster than I'd ever run a 3000 before.
For the next couple of weeks I basked in the glow of my achievement. There was buzz all around the team about how I'd "taken it to the next level." I wouldn't say I let it go to my head--I knew I had to keep working hard if I wanted to keep performing so well--but I was feeling pretty special just the same. But I'd get sort of a harsh reality check at my next race, an indoor 2-mile up at Cincinnati. I had none of the "pep" I'd had in Louisville, and felt flat from start to finish. My time was 10:02. Two miles is about 3219 meters, and so my equivalent 3000-meter time would have been 9:25 or thereabouts.
I was bummed out, but my coach reminded me that bad races happen to everybody and that I'd bounce back soon enough. And he was right. Unfortunately, neither one of us could foresee what was to come: a week or two later I was doing a set of 400-meter intervals and felt an awful surge of pain in my upper left leg. It turned out I had a severe case of iliotibial band syndrome, a fairly common overuse injury for runners. The intensity of training I'd been doing was more than my body was ready for, and this was the price. I was unable to run at all for the next three or four months, and when I finally did start running again I couldn't build any kind of base because the injury kept threatening to return. I'd end up spending the next half-dozen years dealing with one nagging ailment or another, and trying and failing to regain the form of that evening in Louisville. Eventually I shelved my running career and redirected my energy into canoe and kayak racing.
The main point I'm trying to make in sharing this story is that moments of glory are fleeting. You spend all these hours training. You're careful to make sure you're getting enough rest and eating good food. You pay close attention to your technique and your mechanics to maximize your quality of performance and minimize your chances of injury. Then, finally, you go out and accomplish something truly special. And then it's over, and unless you're in a sport with millions of fans and lots of media attention, nobody will even remember it but you. And there's no guarantee you'll ever do something as impressive again.
So why does anybody even bother? Well, I suppose everybody who participates in any sport has his own reason. But I believe that the people who achieve sustained success--and by "success" I mean not only winning major medals or titles but also simply sticking with it for decades like I've done as a paddler--derive deep fulfillment from the process. They enjoy the everyday routine: the workouts, the technique, the intellectual challenges, the solitude, the camaraderie with other athletes.
While sparing you the whole sob story, I'll just say that this past year or so hasn't been the easiest in my out-of-the-boat life. There have been some things going on that have brought me more than my share of stress and grief. I think that's helped me appreciate the ritual of going down to the river more than ever. Rarely this year have I not felt better after paddling than I'd felt before. I've enjoyed working on my mechanics, trying to make each stroke a little better than the previous one. I've enjoyed paddling hard pieces and getting my heart rate up. I've enjoyed cruising along and watching the turtles and the birds and the fish and the beavers. I've enjoyed the beautiful calm sunny days and the days of not-so-ideal weather. I've enjoyed communing with the mighty Mississippi River in all its many moods over its broad range of water levels.
And I've enjoyed mostly good health this year. There were certainly aches and pains here and there, but not once did I have to miss a training session because of a physical ailment.
It all added up to my best competitive season in at least several years. I even had a race reminiscent of that 3000-meter race in Louisville all those years ago: at our race here at Memphis in June, everything just seemed to fall into place and I felt fantastic even as I was paddling as hard as I could. Good performances continued for the rest of the summer.
And that brings me back to the main point. Competitive success is fleeting. Peak form can last only so long. I want to believe I'll achieve it again next year, and the next year, and the next, but there's no guarantee of that. And so, I continue to savor the process. Every time I am physically able to get in a boat and paddle it is a precious gift, and I've got to remember that.
Right now I'm enjoying another nice gift: a bit of time off. Believe it or not there are some positive things in my out-of-the-boat life too, and I'm looking forward to spending a bit more time with those.
Thanks for reading all this, and thanks to everybody who's said nice things about this blog. Nothing makes me happier than knowing that other people might be getting some benefit from this stuff I scribble out on my computer keyboard.
Tuesday, October 17, 2017
Relishing the offseason
I finally got back in the boat today. Joe made it this time, and the harbor looked lovely after last week's yucky conditions. Some extra water helped: although the remnants of Hurricane Nate veered well to the east of the Memphis area ten days ago, it dropped a good bit of rain in the Tennessee River basin, and that water is now flowing past Memphis. Today's level was 4.85 feet on the Memphis gauge. That's still quite a low level, but around our dock it makes all the difference in the world. Compare this photo, taken this morning, with the one I posted back on September 25:
The overnight temperature had been in the 40s Fahrenheit, but by the time I got to the river it was rising above 60 degrees. Joe and I did a lap of the harbor in 80 minutes. Every spring I do a timed lap of the harbor, clocking almost a half hour faster than that. Clearly, Joe and I were just cruising and talking and enjoying the beautiful sunny day.
The overnight temperature had been in the 40s Fahrenheit, but by the time I got to the river it was rising above 60 degrees. Joe and I did a lap of the harbor in 80 minutes. Every spring I do a timed lap of the harbor, clocking almost a half hour faster than that. Clearly, Joe and I were just cruising and talking and enjoying the beautiful sunny day.
Monday, October 16, 2017
Monday photo feature
This past week ended with no appreciable canoe and kayak activity taking place. I was busy with out-of-the-boat concerns. To wit: the Pink Palace Crafts Fair, an annual event at which I demonstrate the craft of bowl carving.
One of the other artists I met over the weekend was photographer Lorri Honeycutt of Carolina Beach, North Carolina. She creates all kinds of quirky scapes using tiny figurines, and photographs them. I purchased a couple of her pieces including the one above, entitled "Koolaid Challenge."
Wednesday, October 11, 2017
Motivation killer
My friend Joe and I have a standing appointment to paddle together each Tuesday, but yesterday he had to go to the dentist and couldn't make it. So I went down there myself, planning to do another easy paddle for an hour or less.
Some heavy thunderstorms had passed through here overnight. We'd barely had any rain since the remnants of Hurricane Harvey came through here in early September, so this rain was welcome. But when I got down to the riverfront I saw the downside: the harbor, already very low as I've reported here before, was choked with litter that had washed in from the storm drains and tributary creeks.
I am constantly defending our riverfront against the myth that it's nothing but a big open sewer with no possible recreational value whatsoever. People who believe that are typically longtime Memphians (and therefore self-proclaimed experts on all things Mississippi River) whose only contact with the river is the occasional trip downtown for the nightlife or a music festival or some such thing.
I'm not going to sit here and try to tell you that the river is pristine. In fact, it faces constant pollution threats that require ongoing vigilance among those to whom the river belongs (that would be me, you, and every other human being). But it's not a place where you have to hold your nose, either. I would say that nine days out of ten it's no less appealing than the waterfront of any other large city in the world.
But there's always that tenth day out of ten, and that's what I found yesterday. Because of the rain, along with the low water and the prevailing wind and the barometric pressure and who knows what other variables, the harbor surface was as unappealing as I've ever seen it.
If Joe had been there I'd have gone ahead and paddled with him. And if there were competitions coming up, I'd have done my work. But standing there alone I thought, it's my offseason now, I'm tired, I'm ready for a break, and I really don't feel like hosing a bunch of scum off my boat when I'm done paddling. I think I'll skip it today.
To make myself feel better, I picked up all the aluminum cans from the water that I could reach from the dock--well over a dozen of them--and carried them up to the collection bin outside the grocery store. The proceeds from the redemption of those cans is supposed to benefit the Humane Society, and I can't imagine who would object to that.
I do want to get in my boat at least once a week for the next little while, and carry on some sort of strength routine, too. But I doubt much will happen the rest of this week because the big annual crafts fair that I'm always involved in is this Friday through Sunday. I'll start setting up for that this afternoon.
I guess I'll conclude this post with a moral: do not litter! Seriously. Once in a while I even see somebody I consider a good person drop something on the ground. Stop doing that! And if you see some litter, pick it up! I can tell you exactly where it will end up if you don't.
Some heavy thunderstorms had passed through here overnight. We'd barely had any rain since the remnants of Hurricane Harvey came through here in early September, so this rain was welcome. But when I got down to the riverfront I saw the downside: the harbor, already very low as I've reported here before, was choked with litter that had washed in from the storm drains and tributary creeks.
I am constantly defending our riverfront against the myth that it's nothing but a big open sewer with no possible recreational value whatsoever. People who believe that are typically longtime Memphians (and therefore self-proclaimed experts on all things Mississippi River) whose only contact with the river is the occasional trip downtown for the nightlife or a music festival or some such thing.
I'm not going to sit here and try to tell you that the river is pristine. In fact, it faces constant pollution threats that require ongoing vigilance among those to whom the river belongs (that would be me, you, and every other human being). But it's not a place where you have to hold your nose, either. I would say that nine days out of ten it's no less appealing than the waterfront of any other large city in the world.
But there's always that tenth day out of ten, and that's what I found yesterday. Because of the rain, along with the low water and the prevailing wind and the barometric pressure and who knows what other variables, the harbor surface was as unappealing as I've ever seen it.
If Joe had been there I'd have gone ahead and paddled with him. And if there were competitions coming up, I'd have done my work. But standing there alone I thought, it's my offseason now, I'm tired, I'm ready for a break, and I really don't feel like hosing a bunch of scum off my boat when I'm done paddling. I think I'll skip it today.
To make myself feel better, I picked up all the aluminum cans from the water that I could reach from the dock--well over a dozen of them--and carried them up to the collection bin outside the grocery store. The proceeds from the redemption of those cans is supposed to benefit the Humane Society, and I can't imagine who would object to that.
I do want to get in my boat at least once a week for the next little while, and carry on some sort of strength routine, too. But I doubt much will happen the rest of this week because the big annual crafts fair that I'm always involved in is this Friday through Sunday. I'll start setting up for that this afternoon.
I guess I'll conclude this post with a moral: do not litter! Seriously. Once in a while I even see somebody I consider a good person drop something on the ground. Stop doing that! And if you see some litter, pick it up! I can tell you exactly where it will end up if you don't.
Monday, October 9, 2017
Monday photo feature
There were canoe and kayak races all over the place this past weekend, and it's hard to believe there are enough paddlers for each of them to have had a decent turnout. But apparently there are. In addition to the Gator Bait Race that I attended down at Jackson, Mississippi, there was the Tour du Teche on southern Louisiana's Bayou Teche, an event that had to be cut short as Hurricane Nate approached; the Kayak Trader Challenge, hosted by the 1996 Olympics flatwater sprint venue on Lake Lanier at Gainesville, Georgia; and the Middle States Divisional Championships, hosted by the venerable Washington Canoe Club on the Potomac River at Washington, DC. And there were probably more that I simply don't know about... in the upper Midwest or out on the West Coast, perhaps.
The photo above, taken by Craig Impens of Toms River, New Jersey, shows a bustle of activity on the Washington Canoe Club dock along the beautiful Potomac. That's the Francis Scott Key Bridge over yonder.
Sunday, October 8, 2017
Oh buoy! I've won a race at last.
I got up at 4:15 AM CDT yesterday. The Gator Bait Race was scheduled to start at 9:30 AM. I like to get to a race site an hour and a half before the start so I can go through my whole pre-race routine--readying my boat and gear, stretching, warming up, and so on--at a relaxed pace. So eight o'clock was the goal. It typically takes me three hours to drive to Jackson, so I wanted to be on the road by five.
I made some coffee, ate a bowl of cereal, prepared some fruit to eat in the car, and pulled out of my driveway at 4:55... right on schedule. Unfortunately, my digestive system wasn't being entirely cooperative: my body is used to being fed two hours later than it was this morning. So I had to make a lengthy rest stop south of Batesville. Then, as I entered the northern outskirts of Jackson, the warning light came on telling me I needed to refuel. I'd thought I had enough gasoline that I wouldn't have to get more until after the race, but now, with at least 20 miles still between me and the race site, I didn't want to push my luck. So I stopped for gas, and visited the restroom again while I was at it.
In the end, it wasn't until 8:30 that I finally pulled into Pelahatchie Shore Park near the southeast corner of Barnett Reservoir. So I had just an hour to get ready. But I would be fine. I'm a cautious guy who always overestimates how much time he'll need, and the fact is that an hour was plenty. The nice ladies at the registration table got me checked in without delay, and I went through my stretches during the pre-race competitors' meeting. Soon I was in the water getting loose and ready to start.
The gun went off at 9:30 sharp. I sprinted off the line and spent the first few hundred meters with Jeb Berry of Gulfport, Mississippi, on my stern wake and Seth Garland of Brandon, Mississippi, off to my left. The course crosses a stretch of open water before entering a network of backwater channels, and by the end of the open-water stretch I was alone in first place.
Barnett Reservoir was created by the construction of a dam on the Pearl River, and like most reservoirs in non-mountainous regions it's a vast, open body of water. But this race takes place on one of the more interesting parts of the lake. Pelahatchie Bay is the inundated bottom portion of Pelahatchie Creek, and it's a smaller, more intimate place with a trail through a marshy area behind some islands (there's a good course map posted on this page; racers proceed in a clockwise direction). So the race course, 5.5 miles or about 9 kilometers in total distance, has a nice mix of open water and secluded channels to engage and challenge the participants. The drawback is that the water is not particularly deep. It was never hit-the-bottom-with-your-paddle shallow, but in those back channels it was shallow enough to create some bottom-drag ("suck water," some racers like to call it).
And so as I made my way through that back part of the course I was feeling the strain in my arms and shoulders and upper back. This stretch is maybe 2000 or 2500 meters and I yearned to be out of it and back on deeper water.
Finally, I got my wish: I emerged from the back channel and entered the course's second open-water crossing. Now I had a new challenge: to find the buoy at the end of it (the one in the bottom right corner on the course map) and point my boat at it. I looked and I looked, and could spot no buoy. My long-distance vision has never been very good, and I'm sure it doesn't help that I'm now in my second half-century, but I was hoping I could at least find a color that contrasted with the water and the surrounding landscape. Most of the previous buoys I'd seen on the course were pinkish and that's what I hoped to see now.
But I never saw a thing. So I paddled toward where I thought the buoy should be, based on my past participation in this event. I drew closer and closer to the bay's southern shore, and still saw no buoy. Finally, convinced I was veering much too far to my left, I made a hard right turn and started the last leg of the course, toward the finish line. Moments later I saw the buoy: it was a green alligator pool toy (purchased several years ago in keeping with the "Gator Bait" theme). My feeling was a mixture of relief that I hadn't cut a corner of the course and annoyance that I'd added a couple hundred meters to my distance. Over my right shoulder I could see my nearest pursuers, who had seen my mistake and were now gaining some distance on me. I still had a comfortable lead and didn't really think they would be able to catch me, but nevertheless I spent the last two thousand meters of the race plagued with nightmarish visions of being run down just before the finish line (hey, it's happened to me before). By this time my muscles were severely taxed from the shallow-water paddling and any kind of late-race surge would be a tall order.
Stroke after stroke I pulled myself toward the finish, trying to paddle as efficiently as I could. The nightmare never came true and I finished in first place with a time of 47 minutes, 21 seconds. It was my first overall victory in two years. I won the 2015 edition of this race, and since then victory had eluded me until now.
96 seconds later Jeb Berry came in to finish second overall. Jeb has been a tough adversary for me this year, pushing me hard at Ocean Springs in March and then edging me out for the win at Pascagoula in April. I learned that he was dealing with some acute tendinitis in his elbow and that's the main reason I was able to build a cushion on him yesterday.
Adam Davis of Memphis took third place; Henry Lawrence of Brandon, Mississippi, was fourth; and Mike Womack, who lives just over the Mississippi state line from Memphis, rounded out the top five. Camille Richards of Ridgeland, Mississippi, was the top overall female finisher. The complete results are posted here.
I told the race organizers that they really ought to mark the end of an open-water crossing with a more visible buoy, and they very kindly said they would in the future. Fortunately I don't think the buoy issue caused any major trouble yesterday: once the leaders had figured out where it was, the rest of the field was able to follow them.
We were all treated to a lovely catered lunch and a chance at winning some door prizes. Awards were handed out and we parted company in high spirits after a good morning of competition and camaraderie.
Back here at home I woke up this morning remarkably less sore than I'd expected. Yesterday's course was quite similar in character to the USCA Nationals course I raced on in August, and I was sore for days after that race. Of course, I raced 13 miles on that course, compared with just five and a half yesterday. In any case, a recovery paddle was in order today, and I went down to the riverfront and stretched thoroughly on the dock before getting in the boat and paddling a mostly-easy 40 minutes.
I made some coffee, ate a bowl of cereal, prepared some fruit to eat in the car, and pulled out of my driveway at 4:55... right on schedule. Unfortunately, my digestive system wasn't being entirely cooperative: my body is used to being fed two hours later than it was this morning. So I had to make a lengthy rest stop south of Batesville. Then, as I entered the northern outskirts of Jackson, the warning light came on telling me I needed to refuel. I'd thought I had enough gasoline that I wouldn't have to get more until after the race, but now, with at least 20 miles still between me and the race site, I didn't want to push my luck. So I stopped for gas, and visited the restroom again while I was at it.
In the end, it wasn't until 8:30 that I finally pulled into Pelahatchie Shore Park near the southeast corner of Barnett Reservoir. So I had just an hour to get ready. But I would be fine. I'm a cautious guy who always overestimates how much time he'll need, and the fact is that an hour was plenty. The nice ladies at the registration table got me checked in without delay, and I went through my stretches during the pre-race competitors' meeting. Soon I was in the water getting loose and ready to start.
The gun went off at 9:30 sharp. I sprinted off the line and spent the first few hundred meters with Jeb Berry of Gulfport, Mississippi, on my stern wake and Seth Garland of Brandon, Mississippi, off to my left. The course crosses a stretch of open water before entering a network of backwater channels, and by the end of the open-water stretch I was alone in first place.
Barnett Reservoir was created by the construction of a dam on the Pearl River, and like most reservoirs in non-mountainous regions it's a vast, open body of water. But this race takes place on one of the more interesting parts of the lake. Pelahatchie Bay is the inundated bottom portion of Pelahatchie Creek, and it's a smaller, more intimate place with a trail through a marshy area behind some islands (there's a good course map posted on this page; racers proceed in a clockwise direction). So the race course, 5.5 miles or about 9 kilometers in total distance, has a nice mix of open water and secluded channels to engage and challenge the participants. The drawback is that the water is not particularly deep. It was never hit-the-bottom-with-your-paddle shallow, but in those back channels it was shallow enough to create some bottom-drag ("suck water," some racers like to call it).
And so as I made my way through that back part of the course I was feeling the strain in my arms and shoulders and upper back. This stretch is maybe 2000 or 2500 meters and I yearned to be out of it and back on deeper water.
Finally, I got my wish: I emerged from the back channel and entered the course's second open-water crossing. Now I had a new challenge: to find the buoy at the end of it (the one in the bottom right corner on the course map) and point my boat at it. I looked and I looked, and could spot no buoy. My long-distance vision has never been very good, and I'm sure it doesn't help that I'm now in my second half-century, but I was hoping I could at least find a color that contrasted with the water and the surrounding landscape. Most of the previous buoys I'd seen on the course were pinkish and that's what I hoped to see now.
But I never saw a thing. So I paddled toward where I thought the buoy should be, based on my past participation in this event. I drew closer and closer to the bay's southern shore, and still saw no buoy. Finally, convinced I was veering much too far to my left, I made a hard right turn and started the last leg of the course, toward the finish line. Moments later I saw the buoy: it was a green alligator pool toy (purchased several years ago in keeping with the "Gator Bait" theme). My feeling was a mixture of relief that I hadn't cut a corner of the course and annoyance that I'd added a couple hundred meters to my distance. Over my right shoulder I could see my nearest pursuers, who had seen my mistake and were now gaining some distance on me. I still had a comfortable lead and didn't really think they would be able to catch me, but nevertheless I spent the last two thousand meters of the race plagued with nightmarish visions of being run down just before the finish line (hey, it's happened to me before). By this time my muscles were severely taxed from the shallow-water paddling and any kind of late-race surge would be a tall order.
Stroke after stroke I pulled myself toward the finish, trying to paddle as efficiently as I could. The nightmare never came true and I finished in first place with a time of 47 minutes, 21 seconds. It was my first overall victory in two years. I won the 2015 edition of this race, and since then victory had eluded me until now.
96 seconds later Jeb Berry came in to finish second overall. Jeb has been a tough adversary for me this year, pushing me hard at Ocean Springs in March and then edging me out for the win at Pascagoula in April. I learned that he was dealing with some acute tendinitis in his elbow and that's the main reason I was able to build a cushion on him yesterday.
Adam Davis of Memphis took third place; Henry Lawrence of Brandon, Mississippi, was fourth; and Mike Womack, who lives just over the Mississippi state line from Memphis, rounded out the top five. Camille Richards of Ridgeland, Mississippi, was the top overall female finisher. The complete results are posted here.
I told the race organizers that they really ought to mark the end of an open-water crossing with a more visible buoy, and they very kindly said they would in the future. Fortunately I don't think the buoy issue caused any major trouble yesterday: once the leaders had figured out where it was, the rest of the field was able to follow them.
We were all treated to a lovely catered lunch and a chance at winning some door prizes. Awards were handed out and we parted company in high spirits after a good morning of competition and camaraderie.
Back here at home I woke up this morning remarkably less sore than I'd expected. Yesterday's course was quite similar in character to the USCA Nationals course I raced on in August, and I was sore for days after that race. Of course, I raced 13 miles on that course, compared with just five and a half yesterday. In any case, a recovery paddle was in order today, and I went down to the riverfront and stretched thoroughly on the dock before getting in the boat and paddling a mostly-easy 40 minutes.
Friday, October 6, 2017
Is there one more in me?
The week has gone about the way I'd hoped it would. I did the strength routine on Monday and Wednesday and paddled a loop of the harbor with Joe on Tuesday. Yesterday and today I did shorter sessions in the boat--50 minutes yesterday and 40 minutes today--and practiced starts and high-speed paddling with some 12-stroke sprints. I did six sprints yesterday and four today.
My last race of the season is tomorrow morning on Barnett Reservoir on the northeast side of Jackson, Mississippi. I plan to get up in the wee hours of the morning to make the drive down there.
My last race of the season is tomorrow morning on Barnett Reservoir on the northeast side of Jackson, Mississippi. I plan to get up in the wee hours of the morning to make the drive down there.
Monday, October 2, 2017
Monday photo feature
I'm probably no different from most folks in that I get a lot of mail from nonprofit organizations that have gotten my address one way or another. And each year I get several calendars: at this moment there are calendars from the Ocean Conservancy, the National Parks Foundation, and the Trust for Public Land cluttering up my desk.
I don't need but one calendar, and the one I keep and use year after year is the one from American Rivers, of which I've been a member since I was in college. I just got my 2018 American Rivers calendar this past week. As usual, it has twelve beautiful photos of rivers all over this great nation. Pictured above is a lovely shot of Ohio's Little Miami River.
Sunday, October 1, 2017
Almost done
I did the strength routine as planned yesterday morning, and this afternoon I paddled mostly easy for 60 minutes on the incredibly low Mississippi River. The level was six feet below zero on the Memphis gauge.
With my last race of the season coming up next weekend, I'm trying to get some rest and do some easy paddles with some short sprints. I'm feeling some late-season weariness and I will welcome a break.
With my last race of the season coming up next weekend, I'm trying to get some rest and do some easy paddles with some short sprints. I'm feeling some late-season weariness and I will welcome a break.
Friday, September 29, 2017
Manual labor
On Tuesday I paddled with Joe for the first time in quite a few weeks. One or the other of us had been out of town for many Tuesdays in a row.
I did the current strength routine on Monday and Wednesday.
Yesterday I went down to the riverfront for my last hard workout before my race on October 7, and likely my last for the year. I'd planned to go in the morning, but something came up at a rental property I own that I had to go deal with, so I had to push paddling back to the afternoon. The "something that came up" included picking up and stacking over a hundred bricks, and once the job was done I was feeling it in my arms and lower back.
In the afternoon I did another set of four sprints in the harbor between the monorail bridge and the Hernando DeSoto Bridge. The recovery interval was five minutes, during which I paddled back to the start. My times were 2:02, 2:00, 2:03, and 2:01. Though I didn't manage any sub-2 clockings like I did last week, I felt better throughout the workout. I was certainly tired by the fourth piece but I wasn't completely falling apart like I was last week. The weather was working in my favor: last week the Fahrenheit temperature had been in the low 90s, but yesterday it was some ten degrees cooler than that.
Today I was due for some recovery from the brick-moving and the workout, so I went back downtown and did an easy 40-minute paddle. Most weeks I do the strength routine Friday and paddle on Saturday, but tomorrow I have things to do out on the east side of town, so I decided to flip-flop those two things.
I did the current strength routine on Monday and Wednesday.
Yesterday I went down to the riverfront for my last hard workout before my race on October 7, and likely my last for the year. I'd planned to go in the morning, but something came up at a rental property I own that I had to go deal with, so I had to push paddling back to the afternoon. The "something that came up" included picking up and stacking over a hundred bricks, and once the job was done I was feeling it in my arms and lower back.
In the afternoon I did another set of four sprints in the harbor between the monorail bridge and the Hernando DeSoto Bridge. The recovery interval was five minutes, during which I paddled back to the start. My times were 2:02, 2:00, 2:03, and 2:01. Though I didn't manage any sub-2 clockings like I did last week, I felt better throughout the workout. I was certainly tired by the fourth piece but I wasn't completely falling apart like I was last week. The weather was working in my favor: last week the Fahrenheit temperature had been in the low 90s, but yesterday it was some ten degrees cooler than that.
Today I was due for some recovery from the brick-moving and the workout, so I went back downtown and did an easy 40-minute paddle. Most weeks I do the strength routine Friday and paddle on Saturday, but tomorrow I have things to do out on the east side of town, so I decided to flip-flop those two things.
Monday, September 25, 2017
Monday photo feature
This is my dock this morning, at which time the Mississippi River's level was 4.2 feet below zero on the Memphis gauge. That's my boat in the white cover in the left side of the photo.
At more "normal" levels there's at least 50 meters of water between the dock and the bank, but right now you can almost jump across. If the water drops another couple of feet or more, the dock will run aground. (The all-time recorded low reading on the Memphis gauge is -10.7 feet in July of 1988. I don't think this marina was in place back then.)
As I was paddling on Saturday morning, I saw a boat using sonar to take depth readings near the mouth of the harbor, where a lot of silt gets deposited. I knew a dredge wouldn't be far behind. Sure enough, by yesterday morning the lower reach of the harbor was crisscrossed with pipes and the dredge boat was firing up its cutterhead. That's the mouth of the harbor way off in the distance in this photo, but unless you're Steve Austin with his bionic eye I don't think you can see the dredging apparatus.
Sunday, September 24, 2017
"Crunch!" Sigh.
I went down to the river yesterday intending to keep the intensity moderate. As I paddled toward the mouth of the harbor I focused on my stroke mechanics, making sure I was inserting the blades fully and firing all the relevant muscles, from my feet up through my shoulders and arms, in unison. As I ventured out onto the Mississippi I found rather choppy conditions even though the weather was calm--there were a fair number of fishing boats and small pleasure craft about. I tried to keep taking good strokes on this less-stable platform.
I ferried over to the Arkansas side and worked my way upriver. Here there are wing dams built by the Corps of Engineers to direct water into the main shipping channel, and at the current low water level (-3.3 feet on the Memphis gauge yesterday) they are exposed. The dams are basically just piles of rocks, and most of the time I can read where the deep water is around them, but yesterday I apparently wasn't giving them a wide enough berth because I suddenly felt and heard that awful Crunch! that every paddler of a lovely composite boat fears.
It was my rudder that had taken the impact, and just like that I found myself with no steering. The rudder was stuck so that my boat pulled sharply to the right, and I had to use sweeps and backstrokes and stern pries to muscle the boat alongside the wing dam so I could hop out and inspect the damage. The rudder's tip was a tattered mess, and the post was bent so that it couldn't swivel like it should. I tried to bend it back into a state of functionality but couldn't get the needed leverage. In the end I forced the rudder into a straight-ahead position so that at least I'd have a skeg.
I didn't really doubt that I would get back across the river, but I knew it would be a chore. I was upstream of the mouth of the harbor, so I pointed my boat at the east (Tennessee) bank and began to paddle, letting the current carry me downriver. An upstream-bound barge rig had just passed, and there were some good-looking waves in its wake, but without a rudder I'd have to pass up that bit of fun and frolic. Instead I employed the trusty whitewater skill of using the waves to steer the boat: even a 21-foot surf ski can turn pretty easily when it's up on the crest of a wave.
Soon enough I was back in the harbor, pointed at the marina some 2000 meters distant. The boat was pulling ever so gradually to the right, so once in a while I had to do some corrective strokes to get back on course. Back at the dock I put the boat away and walked up to the parking lot grumbling I can't believe I did that through clenched teeth.
And I guess that raises the obvious question: why did I paddle into water of uncertain depth in the first place? My answer is pretty simple. Deep down I'm a whitewater-river kind of guy, and I enjoy messing around in the eddies and whirlpools and boily water created by wing dams and bridge pilings and stuff. Yes, I know boats are expensive and repairing them is a chore, and for that reason I am in fact quite careful most of the time. But I'm not going to let fear of a little boat damage stop me from paddling the way I want to paddle. A wildwater racer I know summed it up best. "Wildwater" is downriver racing through rapids, and as you might guess, such racers lead the paddling world in banged-up boats. I once asked Michael Beavers, who raced on several U.S. wildwater teams in the C1 class, if the possibility of hurting his boat was ever in the back of his mind during training and racing, and he just shrugged and said "You gotta learn proper boat disrespect."
And so, I got over my frustration quickly and was feeling pretty chill by the time I was heading back to the river this morning. I took a spare rudder with me, along with the necessary tools for making the swap, and in no time my boat was functional again. I'll take the damaged rudder back to the shop, where I'll bend the post back straight, grind off the raggedy stuff, fill the gouged-out parts with some thickened epoxy, cover it with a new piece of carbon fiber, and sand it nice and smooth, good as new. Ain't nothin but a little rudder, after all.
In 60 minutes of paddling today I warmed up and did three 8-stroke sprints and then paddled a healthy tempo out on the river. I stayed in the deep water. Yes, I've learned my lesson, at least for a little while.
I ferried over to the Arkansas side and worked my way upriver. Here there are wing dams built by the Corps of Engineers to direct water into the main shipping channel, and at the current low water level (-3.3 feet on the Memphis gauge yesterday) they are exposed. The dams are basically just piles of rocks, and most of the time I can read where the deep water is around them, but yesterday I apparently wasn't giving them a wide enough berth because I suddenly felt and heard that awful Crunch! that every paddler of a lovely composite boat fears.
It was my rudder that had taken the impact, and just like that I found myself with no steering. The rudder was stuck so that my boat pulled sharply to the right, and I had to use sweeps and backstrokes and stern pries to muscle the boat alongside the wing dam so I could hop out and inspect the damage. The rudder's tip was a tattered mess, and the post was bent so that it couldn't swivel like it should. I tried to bend it back into a state of functionality but couldn't get the needed leverage. In the end I forced the rudder into a straight-ahead position so that at least I'd have a skeg.
I didn't really doubt that I would get back across the river, but I knew it would be a chore. I was upstream of the mouth of the harbor, so I pointed my boat at the east (Tennessee) bank and began to paddle, letting the current carry me downriver. An upstream-bound barge rig had just passed, and there were some good-looking waves in its wake, but without a rudder I'd have to pass up that bit of fun and frolic. Instead I employed the trusty whitewater skill of using the waves to steer the boat: even a 21-foot surf ski can turn pretty easily when it's up on the crest of a wave.
Soon enough I was back in the harbor, pointed at the marina some 2000 meters distant. The boat was pulling ever so gradually to the right, so once in a while I had to do some corrective strokes to get back on course. Back at the dock I put the boat away and walked up to the parking lot grumbling I can't believe I did that through clenched teeth.
And I guess that raises the obvious question: why did I paddle into water of uncertain depth in the first place? My answer is pretty simple. Deep down I'm a whitewater-river kind of guy, and I enjoy messing around in the eddies and whirlpools and boily water created by wing dams and bridge pilings and stuff. Yes, I know boats are expensive and repairing them is a chore, and for that reason I am in fact quite careful most of the time. But I'm not going to let fear of a little boat damage stop me from paddling the way I want to paddle. A wildwater racer I know summed it up best. "Wildwater" is downriver racing through rapids, and as you might guess, such racers lead the paddling world in banged-up boats. I once asked Michael Beavers, who raced on several U.S. wildwater teams in the C1 class, if the possibility of hurting his boat was ever in the back of his mind during training and racing, and he just shrugged and said "You gotta learn proper boat disrespect."
And so, I got over my frustration quickly and was feeling pretty chill by the time I was heading back to the river this morning. I took a spare rudder with me, along with the necessary tools for making the swap, and in no time my boat was functional again. I'll take the damaged rudder back to the shop, where I'll bend the post back straight, grind off the raggedy stuff, fill the gouged-out parts with some thickened epoxy, cover it with a new piece of carbon fiber, and sand it nice and smooth, good as new. Ain't nothin but a little rudder, after all.
In 60 minutes of paddling today I warmed up and did three 8-stroke sprints and then paddled a healthy tempo out on the river. I stayed in the deep water. Yes, I've learned my lesson, at least for a little while.
Friday, September 22, 2017
Hanging on a little longer
It's low-water season on the Mississippi River. The level was two and a half feet below zero on the Memphis gauge when I paddled on Tuesday and -3.5 feet yesterday. It's still plenty of water for paddling, but the commercial (barge) traffic has more trouble. We'll likely see some dredges in operation soon if the water continues to drop.
That's the least of my worries as I try to keep myself sharp for one more race on October 7. I've been racing well and feeling fit and strong for more than three months now, but the average human being can sustain that for only so long. Both my body and my brain are ready for this season to be over.
I did a round of the new strength routine on Wednesday. Having done lunges in the previous routine, I thought my body would be pretty well conditioned to handle the Hindu squats. But when I woke up yesterday my quadriceps muscles were big-time sore. I guess the squats hit a muscle group that's just different enough from what the lunges hit.
On Tuesday I did a pretty typical 60-minute paddle, warming up and doing three 8-stroke sprints and then paddling a healthy pace out on the river before taking it back in.
I believe our "Thursday evening sprints" have petered out for this year, as participants have kids back in school and are tapering off for late-season races and stuff like that. But I want to get in a couple more good sprint workouts myself in these next two weeks, and that was my plan as I headed down to the river yesterday afternoon. I really didn't feel like doing it, and it took all the discipline I've got to make it happen.
The stretch in the harbor between the southern edge of the monorail bridge and the southern edge of the Hernando DeSoto Bridge is right at 450 meters (when I measured it with my G.P.S. device several weeks ago, it came to about 450.62 meters). My plan was to do this sprint four times, like we typically do during Thursday evening sprints. I would take five minutes for recovery in between, during which I'd paddle back to the monorail bridge to start the next one.
I knew as soon as I started the first sprint that it would be a tough workout. My sore thighs were screaming, and the afternoon heat (above 90 degrees Fahrenheit) wasn't giving me a break. I managed to keep it together for two sprints, but by the third I could feel myself falling apart a little bit. The fourth was a true struggle. In the end my times were 1:59, 1:58, 2:01, and 2:05. Historically anything under two minutes is a very good effort for me, so I was happy, at least, that I'd managed two sub-two clockings.
450 meters is 90% of 500 meters, so by dividing each of the above times by .9, I get my projected 500-meter times: 2:12, 2:11, 2:14, and 2:19. Those times won't win me a spot on the flatwater sprint national team, but seeing as how I'm a 50-year-old guy who was feeling not so in-the-pink yesterday, I'll take them.
My thighs are still sore this morning, but not as bad as yesterday. I did the strength routine again but went easy on the Hindu squats.
That's the least of my worries as I try to keep myself sharp for one more race on October 7. I've been racing well and feeling fit and strong for more than three months now, but the average human being can sustain that for only so long. Both my body and my brain are ready for this season to be over.
On Tuesday I did a pretty typical 60-minute paddle, warming up and doing three 8-stroke sprints and then paddling a healthy pace out on the river before taking it back in.
I believe our "Thursday evening sprints" have petered out for this year, as participants have kids back in school and are tapering off for late-season races and stuff like that. But I want to get in a couple more good sprint workouts myself in these next two weeks, and that was my plan as I headed down to the river yesterday afternoon. I really didn't feel like doing it, and it took all the discipline I've got to make it happen.
The stretch in the harbor between the southern edge of the monorail bridge and the southern edge of the Hernando DeSoto Bridge is right at 450 meters (when I measured it with my G.P.S. device several weeks ago, it came to about 450.62 meters). My plan was to do this sprint four times, like we typically do during Thursday evening sprints. I would take five minutes for recovery in between, during which I'd paddle back to the monorail bridge to start the next one.
I knew as soon as I started the first sprint that it would be a tough workout. My sore thighs were screaming, and the afternoon heat (above 90 degrees Fahrenheit) wasn't giving me a break. I managed to keep it together for two sprints, but by the third I could feel myself falling apart a little bit. The fourth was a true struggle. In the end my times were 1:59, 1:58, 2:01, and 2:05. Historically anything under two minutes is a very good effort for me, so I was happy, at least, that I'd managed two sub-two clockings.
450 meters is 90% of 500 meters, so by dividing each of the above times by .9, I get my projected 500-meter times: 2:12, 2:11, 2:14, and 2:19. Those times won't win me a spot on the flatwater sprint national team, but seeing as how I'm a 50-year-old guy who was feeling not so in-the-pink yesterday, I'll take them.
My thighs are still sore this morning, but not as bad as yesterday. I did the strength routine again but went easy on the Hindu squats.
Wednesday, September 20, 2017
A new strength routine
Here's a re-post of something I posted a few months ago regarding my approach to strength work. Maybe I'll start re-posting it every time I post a new strength routine. Below it is the routine I plan to do for the next little while.
I've said many times before that strength work is my least favorite part of training, and because of that I've developed a give-and-take relationship with it. I try to follow a few simple guidelines:
1. Keep the routines short and simple. I focus on quality, not quantity. This way I'm not dreading spending a big chunk of my day doing tedious and sometimes uncomfortable exercises. I try to work in exercises for each general area of the body--legs, core, and arms/shoulders.
2. Good technique is more important than the amount of weight. Paddling is a highly technical sport and I think it's important to be precise in the gym as well as in the boat. And on a similar note, let's not forget that I'm a paddler, not a body builder, so those commercial gym slogans like "Exercise your right to look good" don't really resonate with me. I happen to think that accomplished paddlers do in fact "look good," but there's a difference between "show muscle" and muscle that actually performs useful tasks. A bulky body is generally not an asset in our sport, so I do stuff to bring about good lean muscle tone, "prehab" exercises to prevent injuries, and explosive power. Also, at age 49 I'm thinking more and more about the issues of aging, and I look for exercises that emphasize continued flexibility and range of motion.
3. Don't get all upset if you miss a session. Most of the time I try to do strength work three times a week, but if life gets in the way and I have to miss a session, I just tell myself it's not a big deal, and I'll get back on track the next time.
I do my strength work in the comfort of my own home, where I listen to whatever music I want and can play with my cats in between exercises. I've got some dumbbells, a rubber band, a pair of gymnast's rings, and a few other simple things, and that's more than I need for a good routine.
And so, now that all that has been said, I present you with my latest strength routine:
1. Hindu pushups
2. Hindu squats
(Hindu pushups and Hindu squats are both demonstrated in this video)
3. Pullups
4. Core exercise on a stability ball, demonstrated by Jing Jing Li at 1:35 of her video that's posted here.
*****
I've said many times before that strength work is my least favorite part of training, and because of that I've developed a give-and-take relationship with it. I try to follow a few simple guidelines:
1. Keep the routines short and simple. I focus on quality, not quantity. This way I'm not dreading spending a big chunk of my day doing tedious and sometimes uncomfortable exercises. I try to work in exercises for each general area of the body--legs, core, and arms/shoulders.
2. Good technique is more important than the amount of weight. Paddling is a highly technical sport and I think it's important to be precise in the gym as well as in the boat. And on a similar note, let's not forget that I'm a paddler, not a body builder, so those commercial gym slogans like "Exercise your right to look good" don't really resonate with me. I happen to think that accomplished paddlers do in fact "look good," but there's a difference between "show muscle" and muscle that actually performs useful tasks. A bulky body is generally not an asset in our sport, so I do stuff to bring about good lean muscle tone, "prehab" exercises to prevent injuries, and explosive power. Also, at age 49 I'm thinking more and more about the issues of aging, and I look for exercises that emphasize continued flexibility and range of motion.
3. Don't get all upset if you miss a session. Most of the time I try to do strength work three times a week, but if life gets in the way and I have to miss a session, I just tell myself it's not a big deal, and I'll get back on track the next time.
I do my strength work in the comfort of my own home, where I listen to whatever music I want and can play with my cats in between exercises. I've got some dumbbells, a rubber band, a pair of gymnast's rings, and a few other simple things, and that's more than I need for a good routine.
And so, now that all that has been said, I present you with my latest strength routine:
1. Hindu pushups
2. Hindu squats
(Hindu pushups and Hindu squats are both demonstrated in this video)
3. Pullups
4. Core exercise on a stability ball, demonstrated by Jing Jing Li at 1:35 of her video that's posted here.
Monday, September 18, 2017
Monday photo feature
Here I am working on my "J lean" during an offside surf in Five Boat Hole on the lower Gauley River in West Virginia in 1994. Jason Salomon of Memphis hones his surfing skills behind me. That's an old Gyra-Max C1 I'm paddling. I look so young!!!!!!!!
"Gauley season" takes place every September during the annual drawdown of Summersville Reservoir upstream. That means it's Gauley season right now, and once again I'm missing it. Part of the reason is that I don't have a good boat for it since my main whitewater boat got stolen last year. And part of the reason is that I'm all consumed with mindless chores here at home and out of touch with the whole world of whitewater. I want to re-connect, and sooner or later I will.
I'm trying to remember who took this photo. I remember handing my camera to somebody on the river-left bank... it might have been Greg Raymond, or it might have been Dennis Rhodes... I'm not sure.
A quiet week
After the previous weekend's taxing trip down to the Bayou country and back I was ready for a mental break as much as a physical one. I did get in my boat last week, but my mind was on other things. My next race (and most likely my last for 2017) is in three weeks, and I'm just trying to maintain a decent fitness level so that I can give it an effort I'll feel good about.
Paddling last week was unstructured aside from a set of 8-stroke sprints each time out. I paddled hard when I felt like it and coasted when I felt like it. I did this strength routine on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday; I plan to draw up a new one to start doing this coming week.
Paddling last week was unstructured aside from a set of 8-stroke sprints each time out. I paddled hard when I felt like it and coasted when I felt like it. I did this strength routine on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday; I plan to draw up a new one to start doing this coming week.
Monday, September 11, 2017
Monday photo feature
Mr. F.C. "Butch" Felterman, the donor of the prize money for the Lower Atchafalaya Sprint Races on Saturday, addresses the competitors as event director Ray Pellerin looks on. By coincidence, Saturday was Mr. Felterman's 90th birthday. The flags flying in the background represent the communities involved in the Tour du Teche series of races. Photo by Denise D'Abundo.
CORRECTION In this photo feature back on August 21, I mis-identified Calvin Hassel's partner as Jody Runyon. It is in fact Bill Torongo. The correction has been made. My Training Blog by Elmore regrets the error and is happy to set the record straight.
Sunday, September 10, 2017
Bayou racing, Part 4: recovery begins
The gossip mill had indicated that I might be asked to join a K4 for the "big boat" race, the last of the three events of the day. But the invitation never came, and that was okay with me, for after two six-mile races I was thoroughly tired and wicked sore. If I had been asked, I would have done it--we paddlers rarely get paid for what we do, so it would have been worth suffering for 50 more minutes to put a few more dollars in my pocket. But it's just as well that I didn't have to make that decision.
The "big boat" race was won by the K4 consisting of Brad Pennington, Andrew Korompay, Brian Poda, and Robin Lashway. Their time was 47 minutes, 16 seconds. In second place was a K3 paddled by Randy Hargroder, Jeff Schnelle, and Brad Rex. Another K3 consisting of Carson, Conrad, and Peyton Pellerin took third. The results are posted here.
I could have used a nap upon the conclusion of racing, but instead I got in my car and began the long drive home. Getting back over to Interstate 55 north, the road that would take me home to Memphis, involved driving east on U.S. 90 almost all the way to New Orleans. A landscape dominated by water, much like a mountainous landscape, offers few direct routes to anywhere.
The last leg of my drive, north of Jackson, Mississippi, was particularly tough. Keeping some blood circulating in my legs was a challenge, and I had to point the air conditioner right on me to discourage dozing off at the wheel. When I finally pulled into my driveway in the beautiful Binghampton section of Memphis, I was nearly catatonic. I grabbed only those things I would need to get ready for bed, went upstairs and took a badly-needed shower, and hit the hay.
I spent this morning relaxing, unpacking the car, putting my boat and gear away, and updating this blog for my beloved readers. This afternoon I was feeling a bit more energetic (though still very sore), and headed down to the riverfront for an easy 40-minute paddle. I did some thorough stretching before getting in the boat, and once in the boat I paddled slowly but deliberately, encouraging blood flow in all the fatigued muscles.
The "big boat" race was won by the K4 consisting of Brad Pennington, Andrew Korompay, Brian Poda, and Robin Lashway. Their time was 47 minutes, 16 seconds. In second place was a K3 paddled by Randy Hargroder, Jeff Schnelle, and Brad Rex. Another K3 consisting of Carson, Conrad, and Peyton Pellerin took third. The results are posted here.
I could have used a nap upon the conclusion of racing, but instead I got in my car and began the long drive home. Getting back over to Interstate 55 north, the road that would take me home to Memphis, involved driving east on U.S. 90 almost all the way to New Orleans. A landscape dominated by water, much like a mountainous landscape, offers few direct routes to anywhere.
The last leg of my drive, north of Jackson, Mississippi, was particularly tough. Keeping some blood circulating in my legs was a challenge, and I had to point the air conditioner right on me to discourage dozing off at the wheel. When I finally pulled into my driveway in the beautiful Binghampton section of Memphis, I was nearly catatonic. I grabbed only those things I would need to get ready for bed, went upstairs and took a badly-needed shower, and hit the hay.
I spent this morning relaxing, unpacking the car, putting my boat and gear away, and updating this blog for my beloved readers. This afternoon I was feeling a bit more energetic (though still very sore), and headed down to the riverfront for an easy 40-minute paddle. I did some thorough stretching before getting in the boat, and once in the boat I paddled slowly but deliberately, encouraging blood flow in all the fatigued muscles.
Bayou racing, Part 3: racing solo
When I got in my boat to warm up for the solo race, I was definitely feeling some strain in my shoulders from the tandem race. My "top gear," for sprinting off the starting line and so on, was diminished as well. There was nothing I could do but make the best of it.
I found a place at the start alongside nine other racers, and at eleven o'clock sharp we took off. Brad Pennington and Andrew Korompay were considered the class of the field, and as expected they sprinted into the lead immediately. I attempted to maintain contact, first on the "diamond" wake between their boats, and then on one of them's stern, but they steadily began to pull away. Jeff Schnelle, my partner in the tandem race, was just over my left shoulder. I settled in and tried to determine just how quick a pace I could maintain for the full six miles. I was beginning to open a gap on Jeff, but I didn't want to get over-enthusiastic about it.
Up ahead Brad and Andrew were increasing their lead ever more: at each buoy turn I checked my watch to measure their lead, and from buoy to buoy their 30-second lead became 60 seconds, and then 60 seconds became 90 seconds, and so on. It looked like my best hope was to stay alone in third place and hope I didn't die. The wind, blowing from upstream, had picked up since the first race, and that didn't help.
I spent the next half-hour paddling as hard, yet as efficiently, as I could. At each buoy turn I could see that I'd added a bit to my lead over Jeff and the rest of the field, and that was encouraging. And so it went until I made the last buoy turn. With a half-mile to go I knew I could surge as hard as I could, for even if I bonked completely I would still make it to the finish line.
Brad and Andrew had spent the entire race together, trading wake rides. When the finish line came into their sights, it was Andrew who sprinted away for the victory and the $500 first prize with a time of 50 minutes, 13 seconds. Brad took second, and $250, three seconds later. Nearly three minutes later I finally moved my boat across the line for third place and a hundred bucks... not bad for less than an hour of work. Jeff finished a respectable fourth.
Janet Perry of Saint Charles, Illinois, was the female winner with a time of one hour, four minutes, 22 seconds. Denise D'Abundo of Baton Rouge, Louisiana, came in second about three minutes later.
The complete results are posted here. It would appear that Denise Dugal of Lafayette, Louisiana, schooled us all, and on some level perhaps she did. But she was the lone entrant in the two-mile "recreational" race, and was lumped together with us six-milers by the Web Scorer computer algorithm.
I found a place at the start alongside nine other racers, and at eleven o'clock sharp we took off. Brad Pennington and Andrew Korompay were considered the class of the field, and as expected they sprinted into the lead immediately. I attempted to maintain contact, first on the "diamond" wake between their boats, and then on one of them's stern, but they steadily began to pull away. Jeff Schnelle, my partner in the tandem race, was just over my left shoulder. I settled in and tried to determine just how quick a pace I could maintain for the full six miles. I was beginning to open a gap on Jeff, but I didn't want to get over-enthusiastic about it.
Up ahead Brad and Andrew were increasing their lead ever more: at each buoy turn I checked my watch to measure their lead, and from buoy to buoy their 30-second lead became 60 seconds, and then 60 seconds became 90 seconds, and so on. It looked like my best hope was to stay alone in third place and hope I didn't die. The wind, blowing from upstream, had picked up since the first race, and that didn't help.
I spent the next half-hour paddling as hard, yet as efficiently, as I could. At each buoy turn I could see that I'd added a bit to my lead over Jeff and the rest of the field, and that was encouraging. And so it went until I made the last buoy turn. With a half-mile to go I knew I could surge as hard as I could, for even if I bonked completely I would still make it to the finish line.
Brad and Andrew had spent the entire race together, trading wake rides. When the finish line came into their sights, it was Andrew who sprinted away for the victory and the $500 first prize with a time of 50 minutes, 13 seconds. Brad took second, and $250, three seconds later. Nearly three minutes later I finally moved my boat across the line for third place and a hundred bucks... not bad for less than an hour of work. Jeff finished a respectable fourth.
Janet Perry of Saint Charles, Illinois, was the female winner with a time of one hour, four minutes, 22 seconds. Denise D'Abundo of Baton Rouge, Louisiana, came in second about three minutes later.
The complete results are posted here. It would appear that Denise Dugal of Lafayette, Louisiana, schooled us all, and on some level perhaps she did. But she was the lone entrant in the two-mile "recreational" race, and was lumped together with us six-milers by the Web Scorer computer algorithm.
Bayou racing, Part 2: racing tandem
The first annual Lower Atchafalaya River Sprint Races would consist of three six-mile events: one for tandem boats at 9 AM, one for solo boats at 11 AM, and one for "big boats" (three or more paddlers) at 1 PM. A single benefactor, Mr. F.C. "Butch" Felterman of Patterson, had donated a $5000 purse, and as a result each race offered, for men and for women, a $500 prize for first place, a $250 prize for second place, and a $100 prize for third place.
Several racers of repute came to Patterson hoping to raise their net worth a little. Notable among them were Brad Pennington of Houston, an accomplished flatwater sprint and marathon racer, and Andrew Korompay of Kingwood, Texas, a former member of no less than the internationally-dominant Hungarian national team. The organizers had hoped for an even greater turnout of paddling talent, and I suspect the main reason they didn't get it was simply that the word didn't really get out: the addition of the prize money hadn't been announced until just several weeks prior. Participation was particularly sparse on the women's side. Hopefully more racers will have this event on their 2018 calendar now that some paddlers have walked away from the 2017 edition a little bit richer.
I had myself a partner for the tandem race: Jeff Schnelle of Irma, Wisconsin. Jeff and I had seen each other a month earlier at the USCA Nationals up in Iowa; a dealer for a couple of boat manufacturers including Epic Kayaks, Jeff had made the trip down to deliver a boat to a customer, and he had Epic's new tandem surf ski with him for us to paddle. So as soon as the pre-race meeting was over we quickly put the boat in the water for a warmup. After practicing a couple of starts and getting a feel for each other's stroke rhythm, we paddled up to the starting line.
The gun went off at nine o'clock sharp, and we got a pretty good start off the line. In short order we were among the top three boats: to our right was the team of Brad Pennington and Andrew Korompay, and right in front of us was the team of Pellerin brothers Carson and Conrad. As the first half-mile of the race passed beneath us I was a little surprised that these two teams didn't leave us in the dust. Both were paddling ICF K2s, presumably much faster boats than the stable tandem surf ski Jeff and I were in. And both teams were made up of what I would consider very solid paddlers: I have mentioned Brad and Andrew's CV above, and the Pellerin boys are strong 16-year-olds whom I have watched improve rapidly over a few years.
By the time we reached the first buoy turn Brad and Andrew had opened a lead of several boat lengths while Jeff and I sat on Carson and Conrad's stern wake. Even though our boats were similar in length, Jeff and I made a much tighter turn and just like that we were on the brothers' left-side wake.
The course was three laps of a two-mile loop. Having just rounded the buoy positioned a half-mile upriver from the start/finish line, we now headed downstream toward a buoy a half-mile below the start/finish. There might have been a small bit of current helping us in this direction, but not much. Technically we were racing on Bayou Teche, but the event's "Lower Atchafalaya" moniker was apt because down here the main Atchafalaya and all its tributaries and distributaries are part of the same mass of marshy swampland moving toward the Gulf of Mexico.
As we covered the mile from the top buoy to the bottom buoy Jeff and I held a comfortable spot on Carson and Conrad's side wake. Brad and Andrew increased their lead on us a bit but were still not dominating the way I'd thought they might. As we approached the bottom buoy the Pellerins threw in a surge that knocked us back to their stern wake, and I thought they were hoping to break away soon. But once again Jeff and I made the turn tighter and were back on their side wake when it was over. I was hoping our tenacity might be getting in the brothers' heads a bit.
Overall I was pleased with how Jeff and I were doing so far. One reason was that our boat was proving faster than I'd expected: Epic has long manufactured a longer, tippier tandem ski that's intended for more elite-level racers, and I'd assumed that paddling this ski, made for the not so highly-skilled athlete, would be a drag by comparison. But it was holding its own quite well.
Another reason is that racing in team boats in general is hard. For the person used to racing solo, where anything he does affects nobody but himself, paddling a team boat can be a real psychological adjustment. Not only is the boat itself bigger and heavier, but also you've got the extra weight of the person or people in the boat with you, and you can feel that extra inertia with every stroke. Paddling in sync, so that the power of all the boat's paddlers is concentrated into every stroke, is paramount.
To our right Carson and Conrad were demonstrating beautiful synchronized paddling. The two have grown up paddling team boats, usually a K3 with their brother Peyton, and it showed. Jeff and I, who had never paddled together until 15 minutes before race time, probably looked sloppy by comparison. I was in the bow so that I couldn't see how in sync we were, but I think he was faster to pull on the paddle after the catch than I was, because I could often feel that burst of power a split-second before I pulled myself. But all told, I think we were making a competent go of it.
Up ahead of us Brad and Andrew looked anything but fluid, and I was a bit surprised considering how good they are as individuals, but even elite-level paddlers don't always mesh in a K2. A few years ago Mike Herbert's wife Christel told me that the U.S. team coaches once tried putting Mike in a K2 with Greg Barton. That would seem like a no-brainer, teaming up the two most successful international racers the U.S. has ever had. But the two men's paddling styles were so different that the experiment was a flop.
We made another buoy turn and came back down to the start/finish line to mark the halfway point of the race. Shortly after that Jeff and I broke away a bit from the Pellerins. Carson and Conrad moved over so that they were off our left shoulders, and I thought maybe they were hoping to be on the inside of the next buoy turn; but Jeff and I threw in a little surge and soon we had increased the gap. When we rounded the bottom buoy I could see that it would be a tall order for the boys to pull back even with us.
Jeff noticed it too, and he asked me if we should start trying to reel in Brad and Andrew. "Yes, but slowly," I replied. The Texans were a tantalizingly short distance up ahead, certainly, but I didn't want to get too zealous about going after them. I had at least one more race to do, and I didn't want to blow myself out completely in this one. Brad and Andrew had more racing to do as well, and I had a feeling they were holding something back themselves. If they saw Jeff and me making a run they would likely surge away from us, and Jeff and I would have spent a lot of energy with nothing to show for it. Then again, I didn't want to be a wuss or be afraid to take chances... and so in my usual wishy-washy fashion I advised that we go about it with caution.
As we moved into the final lap I think we did close the gap a bit. We picked up the pace a little more as we approached the bottom buoy for the last time, and then, with a half-mile left, we surged hard. We gained some more ground--partly because Brad and Andrew drifted over to the left quite a bit, adding some distance for themselves--but with a couple hundred meters left I could tell it wouldn't be enough. Brad and Andrew crossed the line in a time of 48 minutes, 21 seconds. They would split the $500 first prize ($250 apiece). Jeff and I came in 21 seconds later for a second-place payday of $125 each. We urged Carson and Conrad across the line about two minutes later.
There was only one female pair entered in this race: Jill Tamperello of Berwick, Louisiana, and Beth Felterman of Patterson. One must show up to win, and that's exactly what these ladies did. Hopefully there will be a bit more competition for the female title in the future.
The complete results are posted here.
It would be just over an hour before my next race, so I headed back to my car to dry off, drink some fluids and eat an orange and a banana, and relax for a bit.
Several racers of repute came to Patterson hoping to raise their net worth a little. Notable among them were Brad Pennington of Houston, an accomplished flatwater sprint and marathon racer, and Andrew Korompay of Kingwood, Texas, a former member of no less than the internationally-dominant Hungarian national team. The organizers had hoped for an even greater turnout of paddling talent, and I suspect the main reason they didn't get it was simply that the word didn't really get out: the addition of the prize money hadn't been announced until just several weeks prior. Participation was particularly sparse on the women's side. Hopefully more racers will have this event on their 2018 calendar now that some paddlers have walked away from the 2017 edition a little bit richer.
I had myself a partner for the tandem race: Jeff Schnelle of Irma, Wisconsin. Jeff and I had seen each other a month earlier at the USCA Nationals up in Iowa; a dealer for a couple of boat manufacturers including Epic Kayaks, Jeff had made the trip down to deliver a boat to a customer, and he had Epic's new tandem surf ski with him for us to paddle. So as soon as the pre-race meeting was over we quickly put the boat in the water for a warmup. After practicing a couple of starts and getting a feel for each other's stroke rhythm, we paddled up to the starting line.
The gun went off at nine o'clock sharp, and we got a pretty good start off the line. In short order we were among the top three boats: to our right was the team of Brad Pennington and Andrew Korompay, and right in front of us was the team of Pellerin brothers Carson and Conrad. As the first half-mile of the race passed beneath us I was a little surprised that these two teams didn't leave us in the dust. Both were paddling ICF K2s, presumably much faster boats than the stable tandem surf ski Jeff and I were in. And both teams were made up of what I would consider very solid paddlers: I have mentioned Brad and Andrew's CV above, and the Pellerin boys are strong 16-year-olds whom I have watched improve rapidly over a few years.
By the time we reached the first buoy turn Brad and Andrew had opened a lead of several boat lengths while Jeff and I sat on Carson and Conrad's stern wake. Even though our boats were similar in length, Jeff and I made a much tighter turn and just like that we were on the brothers' left-side wake.
The course was three laps of a two-mile loop. Having just rounded the buoy positioned a half-mile upriver from the start/finish line, we now headed downstream toward a buoy a half-mile below the start/finish. There might have been a small bit of current helping us in this direction, but not much. Technically we were racing on Bayou Teche, but the event's "Lower Atchafalaya" moniker was apt because down here the main Atchafalaya and all its tributaries and distributaries are part of the same mass of marshy swampland moving toward the Gulf of Mexico.
As we covered the mile from the top buoy to the bottom buoy Jeff and I held a comfortable spot on Carson and Conrad's side wake. Brad and Andrew increased their lead on us a bit but were still not dominating the way I'd thought they might. As we approached the bottom buoy the Pellerins threw in a surge that knocked us back to their stern wake, and I thought they were hoping to break away soon. But once again Jeff and I made the turn tighter and were back on their side wake when it was over. I was hoping our tenacity might be getting in the brothers' heads a bit.
Overall I was pleased with how Jeff and I were doing so far. One reason was that our boat was proving faster than I'd expected: Epic has long manufactured a longer, tippier tandem ski that's intended for more elite-level racers, and I'd assumed that paddling this ski, made for the not so highly-skilled athlete, would be a drag by comparison. But it was holding its own quite well.
Another reason is that racing in team boats in general is hard. For the person used to racing solo, where anything he does affects nobody but himself, paddling a team boat can be a real psychological adjustment. Not only is the boat itself bigger and heavier, but also you've got the extra weight of the person or people in the boat with you, and you can feel that extra inertia with every stroke. Paddling in sync, so that the power of all the boat's paddlers is concentrated into every stroke, is paramount.
To our right Carson and Conrad were demonstrating beautiful synchronized paddling. The two have grown up paddling team boats, usually a K3 with their brother Peyton, and it showed. Jeff and I, who had never paddled together until 15 minutes before race time, probably looked sloppy by comparison. I was in the bow so that I couldn't see how in sync we were, but I think he was faster to pull on the paddle after the catch than I was, because I could often feel that burst of power a split-second before I pulled myself. But all told, I think we were making a competent go of it.
Up ahead of us Brad and Andrew looked anything but fluid, and I was a bit surprised considering how good they are as individuals, but even elite-level paddlers don't always mesh in a K2. A few years ago Mike Herbert's wife Christel told me that the U.S. team coaches once tried putting Mike in a K2 with Greg Barton. That would seem like a no-brainer, teaming up the two most successful international racers the U.S. has ever had. But the two men's paddling styles were so different that the experiment was a flop.
We made another buoy turn and came back down to the start/finish line to mark the halfway point of the race. Shortly after that Jeff and I broke away a bit from the Pellerins. Carson and Conrad moved over so that they were off our left shoulders, and I thought maybe they were hoping to be on the inside of the next buoy turn; but Jeff and I threw in a little surge and soon we had increased the gap. When we rounded the bottom buoy I could see that it would be a tall order for the boys to pull back even with us.
Jeff noticed it too, and he asked me if we should start trying to reel in Brad and Andrew. "Yes, but slowly," I replied. The Texans were a tantalizingly short distance up ahead, certainly, but I didn't want to get too zealous about going after them. I had at least one more race to do, and I didn't want to blow myself out completely in this one. Brad and Andrew had more racing to do as well, and I had a feeling they were holding something back themselves. If they saw Jeff and me making a run they would likely surge away from us, and Jeff and I would have spent a lot of energy with nothing to show for it. Then again, I didn't want to be a wuss or be afraid to take chances... and so in my usual wishy-washy fashion I advised that we go about it with caution.
As we moved into the final lap I think we did close the gap a bit. We picked up the pace a little more as we approached the bottom buoy for the last time, and then, with a half-mile left, we surged hard. We gained some more ground--partly because Brad and Andrew drifted over to the left quite a bit, adding some distance for themselves--but with a couple hundred meters left I could tell it wouldn't be enough. Brad and Andrew crossed the line in a time of 48 minutes, 21 seconds. They would split the $500 first prize ($250 apiece). Jeff and I came in 21 seconds later for a second-place payday of $125 each. We urged Carson and Conrad across the line about two minutes later.
There was only one female pair entered in this race: Jill Tamperello of Berwick, Louisiana, and Beth Felterman of Patterson. One must show up to win, and that's exactly what these ladies did. Hopefully there will be a bit more competition for the female title in the future.
The complete results are posted here.
It would be just over an hour before my next race, so I headed back to my car to dry off, drink some fluids and eat an orange and a banana, and relax for a bit.
Bayou racing, Part 1: pre-race
I made it down to the riverfront Friday morning for a quick 30 minutes in the boat. I warmed up, did four 12-stroke sprints, and cooled back down.
I went back home, put my gear in the car, loaded my boat, and headed for Interstate 55 south just before lunchtime (I ate my lunch in the car). I was determined to make this race trip a quick down-and-back affair even though I knew it would be an exhausting one, the race site located at least seven hours away.
Andre Pellerin, whose triplet sons Carson, Conrad, and Peyton are growing up in the same universe of canoe and kayak racing in which I find myself, had invited me to spend the night at their house in Breaux Bridge. I arrived there around seven o'clock, and for the next 12 hours or so I'd be immersed in their world. We drove the 16-year-old boys to their high school's football game, and then Andre and I went out to eat. I was hungry and I eagerly wolfed down a 10-inch sausage pizza at a place called Buck & Johnny's. It was utterly yummy but it left my digestive system with a formidable overnight chore.
After supper we retrieved the boys (Breaux Bridge High had been denied victory on the gridiron, sadly). We went back to the Pellerin compound and got ready for bed. Conrad and Peyton went to sleep in their grandparent's house a few dozen yards away so that we'd have room for several house guests. Brad Pennington, Andrew Korompay, and Brian Poda, strong racers from the Houston area, were due to arrive in the early morning hours. I quickly fell asleep myself and though I think I woke up briefly when the Texans arrived, I got a pretty solid night's sleep.
That was a good thing because we were up and at 'em before six the next morning. The race site was more than an hour away in the little village of Patterson, and we were breakfasting on the run. I'm normally persnickety about my race-morning routine and it was a challenge to give myself over to the Pellerins' more hectic schedule, but that's typically the price when you accept an offer of a free place to stay. We stopped at a doughnut shop and I got myself a simple doughnut and a cup of coffee that I supplemented with some fruit I'd brought along. The drive down to Patterson went smoothly enough even though Andre had a habit of barreling his truck-and-boat-trailer rig through intersections with a half-second of yellow light left, meaning I had to run a seconds-old red light to keep up with him. All I need is a moving violation on my record.
But we arrived in Patterson without any blue-light detentions. The first person to greet us was race director Ray Pellerin, Andre's father and the triplets' grandfather. "Mister Ray" is one of the true workhorses in our sport: he is the founder and organizer of the Tour du Teche series of races that take place throughout the year in the Louisiana Bayou country, culminating in the multi-day ultra-marathon Tour de la Riviere Rouge, Tour du Teche 135, and 410 de Louisiane events in October. I honestly can't think of a finer pillar of his community than Mister Ray: he recognizes what an asset canoe and kayak racing can be to a region, and he has taken it upon himself to bring paddlers to the Bayou country to celebrate the beauty and culture one can find there. As a shorter-distance athlete I haven't made it to many of these races, sadly, but there is a 7.7-mile race (the "Top of the Teche") in the spring that I've done once and would like to do again, and when this new 6-mile "sprint" event was announced earlier this year I put it on my calendar right away.
And so here I was, ready to get down to business. Task One was to find the restroom, and happily there was no line at the lone port-a-let on the race site. A while later I emerged feeling that I just might be race-ready.
I went back home, put my gear in the car, loaded my boat, and headed for Interstate 55 south just before lunchtime (I ate my lunch in the car). I was determined to make this race trip a quick down-and-back affair even though I knew it would be an exhausting one, the race site located at least seven hours away.
Andre Pellerin, whose triplet sons Carson, Conrad, and Peyton are growing up in the same universe of canoe and kayak racing in which I find myself, had invited me to spend the night at their house in Breaux Bridge. I arrived there around seven o'clock, and for the next 12 hours or so I'd be immersed in their world. We drove the 16-year-old boys to their high school's football game, and then Andre and I went out to eat. I was hungry and I eagerly wolfed down a 10-inch sausage pizza at a place called Buck & Johnny's. It was utterly yummy but it left my digestive system with a formidable overnight chore.
After supper we retrieved the boys (Breaux Bridge High had been denied victory on the gridiron, sadly). We went back to the Pellerin compound and got ready for bed. Conrad and Peyton went to sleep in their grandparent's house a few dozen yards away so that we'd have room for several house guests. Brad Pennington, Andrew Korompay, and Brian Poda, strong racers from the Houston area, were due to arrive in the early morning hours. I quickly fell asleep myself and though I think I woke up briefly when the Texans arrived, I got a pretty solid night's sleep.
That was a good thing because we were up and at 'em before six the next morning. The race site was more than an hour away in the little village of Patterson, and we were breakfasting on the run. I'm normally persnickety about my race-morning routine and it was a challenge to give myself over to the Pellerins' more hectic schedule, but that's typically the price when you accept an offer of a free place to stay. We stopped at a doughnut shop and I got myself a simple doughnut and a cup of coffee that I supplemented with some fruit I'd brought along. The drive down to Patterson went smoothly enough even though Andre had a habit of barreling his truck-and-boat-trailer rig through intersections with a half-second of yellow light left, meaning I had to run a seconds-old red light to keep up with him. All I need is a moving violation on my record.
But we arrived in Patterson without any blue-light detentions. The first person to greet us was race director Ray Pellerin, Andre's father and the triplets' grandfather. "Mister Ray" is one of the true workhorses in our sport: he is the founder and organizer of the Tour du Teche series of races that take place throughout the year in the Louisiana Bayou country, culminating in the multi-day ultra-marathon Tour de la Riviere Rouge, Tour du Teche 135, and 410 de Louisiane events in October. I honestly can't think of a finer pillar of his community than Mister Ray: he recognizes what an asset canoe and kayak racing can be to a region, and he has taken it upon himself to bring paddlers to the Bayou country to celebrate the beauty and culture one can find there. As a shorter-distance athlete I haven't made it to many of these races, sadly, but there is a 7.7-mile race (the "Top of the Teche") in the spring that I've done once and would like to do again, and when this new 6-mile "sprint" event was announced earlier this year I put it on my calendar right away.
And so here I was, ready to get down to business. Task One was to find the restroom, and happily there was no line at the lone port-a-let on the race site. A while later I emerged feeling that I just might be race-ready.
Thursday, September 7, 2017
Racing this Saturday, healthy or otherwise
I'm now officially registered for the Lower Atchafalaya Sprint Races this Saturday. There will be several different races for different classes, and I think I'm going to join a friend in the tandem race as well as race solo like I normally do. The distance for each race is six miles--not really a "sprint" in my opinion, but the organizers of this race also organize annual races measured in the hundreds of miles, so I guess six miles is a sprint to them.
Sprints are what I've continued to do in the boat, at any rate. Yesterday I did six 12-stroke sprints during a 60-minute session. I've also done the strength routine both Monday and yesterday. I'll skip it tomorrow since I'm racing on Saturday.
I mentioned a couple of weeks ago that I haven't had any injuries that made me miss time in the boat this season. But the aches and pains have been getting to me lately. Maybe I just need to resign myself to a life of aches and pains as long as I insist upon doing hard athletic stuff at age 50 and beyond. But I welcome relief wherever I can find it. I woke up Monday with acute soreness and tightness in my lower back--so bad that I could hardly bend over at all. That discomfort has eased since then, but now I've got a knot up in my right shoulder and neck area. Yargh. I've dealt with these things for years now, and they always get better eventually, but that doesn't mean I'm growing to like them.
Sprints are what I've continued to do in the boat, at any rate. Yesterday I did six 12-stroke sprints during a 60-minute session. I've also done the strength routine both Monday and yesterday. I'll skip it tomorrow since I'm racing on Saturday.
I mentioned a couple of weeks ago that I haven't had any injuries that made me miss time in the boat this season. But the aches and pains have been getting to me lately. Maybe I just need to resign myself to a life of aches and pains as long as I insist upon doing hard athletic stuff at age 50 and beyond. But I welcome relief wherever I can find it. I woke up Monday with acute soreness and tightness in my lower back--so bad that I could hardly bend over at all. That discomfort has eased since then, but now I've got a knot up in my right shoulder and neck area. Yargh. I've dealt with these things for years now, and they always get better eventually, but that doesn't mean I'm growing to like them.
Monday, September 4, 2017
Monday photo feature
My niece Ada and nephew Joel explore a foggy White River near Calico Rock, Arkansas, in the summer of 2008.
Sunday, September 3, 2017
Keeping it speedy late in the season, and learning from another sport
Yesterday I got in the boat for 60 minutes, warming up and doing three 8-stroke sprints and then heading out onto the Mississippi. I paddled a mile or so upstream and met a barge rig coming downriver, but this one wasn't producing anything like the sweet waves I rode on Thursday. I followed it back down to the mouth of the harbor, and mostly got pitched around in boily water.
I've mentioned the gar that have been populating the Memphis riverfront all summer. They're generally docile and non-threatening, but many of them are quite impressive in size. As I was paddling out of the harbor yesterday I saw one break the surface about 20 meters in front of me, and it looked like a dolphin coming up for air.
I haven't pulled the registration trigger yet, but I do think I will be going to this race in Louisiana next Saturday. I've been thinking about how best to prepare: at this point in the season I think the main objective is to maintain fitness, not build it, so whatever workouts I do the rest of this season will be moderate in volume but high in quality. And so today some hard short sprints were on the agenda in a session of 60 minutes overall. I warmed up for ten minutes and then did six 12-stroke sprints at two-minute intervals near the mouth of the harbor. Then I paddled up the Mississippi to the Hernando DeSoto Bridge and back, maintaining a brisk but comfortable tempo.
Back in the harbor I paddled up to the monorail bridge and timed myself in a sprint from there to the Hernando DeSoto Bridge. I had broken two minutes in this sprint once or twice in the past, but most of the times I do it my time is closer to 2:10. Today my time was 1:58. It was a nice mental boost to know I'm still moving the boat pretty well.
(As measured by my G.P.S. device, the distance from the southern edge of the monorail bridge to the southern edge of the HDB is 0.28 mile. Using the international standard of 1609.344 meters to one mile as a conversion factor, that's about 450.62 meters.)
In the summertime I'm a regular listener to Saint Louis Cardinals baseball games on the radio, and as such I find myself thinking a lot about the technical challenges faced by both paddlers and baseball players. The Cardinals have a player who's built a career as a good hitter but has struggled mightily at the plate this season. Discussing his troubles during yesterday's game at San Francisco, the radio announcers pointed out that he seems to be swinging only with his arms, and not getting his entire body involved from the feet up. The announcers went on to say that pitchers, too, often struggle when they don't use their entire bodies to throw pitches.
The point I'd like to highlight here is that technical issues must constantly be worked on. Players at the major league level are the best in the world at the game of baseball, and yet even for them perfect technique is not automatic. When a player is "hot" it usually means that all parts of his body are moving together in perfect harmony, but when he's "in a slump" everything seems to fall apart. This Cardinals player actually got sent down to the minor leagues for a while this season so he could work on his batting technique out of the spotlight.
Paddling is, of course, a full-body endeavor as well, and doing it right requires ongoing concentration. I've mentioned in the past that sometimes my 8-stoke or 12-stroke sprints feel fluid and natural and other times they feel like a sloppy mess. Sometimes all it takes to make them go better is for me to say to myself "Use your feet!" or something like that.
Anyway... that's my "deep thought" for now as I try to finish up a pretty successful race season on a high note.
I've mentioned the gar that have been populating the Memphis riverfront all summer. They're generally docile and non-threatening, but many of them are quite impressive in size. As I was paddling out of the harbor yesterday I saw one break the surface about 20 meters in front of me, and it looked like a dolphin coming up for air.
I haven't pulled the registration trigger yet, but I do think I will be going to this race in Louisiana next Saturday. I've been thinking about how best to prepare: at this point in the season I think the main objective is to maintain fitness, not build it, so whatever workouts I do the rest of this season will be moderate in volume but high in quality. And so today some hard short sprints were on the agenda in a session of 60 minutes overall. I warmed up for ten minutes and then did six 12-stroke sprints at two-minute intervals near the mouth of the harbor. Then I paddled up the Mississippi to the Hernando DeSoto Bridge and back, maintaining a brisk but comfortable tempo.
Back in the harbor I paddled up to the monorail bridge and timed myself in a sprint from there to the Hernando DeSoto Bridge. I had broken two minutes in this sprint once or twice in the past, but most of the times I do it my time is closer to 2:10. Today my time was 1:58. It was a nice mental boost to know I'm still moving the boat pretty well.
(As measured by my G.P.S. device, the distance from the southern edge of the monorail bridge to the southern edge of the HDB is 0.28 mile. Using the international standard of 1609.344 meters to one mile as a conversion factor, that's about 450.62 meters.)
In the summertime I'm a regular listener to Saint Louis Cardinals baseball games on the radio, and as such I find myself thinking a lot about the technical challenges faced by both paddlers and baseball players. The Cardinals have a player who's built a career as a good hitter but has struggled mightily at the plate this season. Discussing his troubles during yesterday's game at San Francisco, the radio announcers pointed out that he seems to be swinging only with his arms, and not getting his entire body involved from the feet up. The announcers went on to say that pitchers, too, often struggle when they don't use their entire bodies to throw pitches.
The point I'd like to highlight here is that technical issues must constantly be worked on. Players at the major league level are the best in the world at the game of baseball, and yet even for them perfect technique is not automatic. When a player is "hot" it usually means that all parts of his body are moving together in perfect harmony, but when he's "in a slump" everything seems to fall apart. This Cardinals player actually got sent down to the minor leagues for a while this season so he could work on his batting technique out of the spotlight.
Paddling is, of course, a full-body endeavor as well, and doing it right requires ongoing concentration. I've mentioned in the past that sometimes my 8-stoke or 12-stroke sprints feel fluid and natural and other times they feel like a sloppy mess. Sometimes all it takes to make them go better is for me to say to myself "Use your feet!" or something like that.
Anyway... that's my "deep thought" for now as I try to finish up a pretty successful race season on a high note.
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