Recapping the week

Time to catch up after a little holiday interruption.  I paddled for just 40 minutes Wednesday morning because it was darn cold, and windy.  I stayed in the harbor and avoided the wind as much as I could. I did four of my 12-stroke sprints and otherwise paddled a nice crisp pace.

I did 200 pushups both Tuesday and Thursday, and shortly I will do another couple hundred on this last day of November.  Doing 200 pushups is noticeably tougher than doing 150.

Right now I'm in Asheville, having a little breakfast before I head about thirty miles up the French Broad River to Brevard for Nath Thompson's memorial service.

Monday photo feature

As I prepare to go to North Carolina for Nath Thompson's memorial service this Saturday, I figure a shot of me playing around in Nantahala Falls is somehow appropriate, for this Nantahala River rapid (also known as "Lesser Wesser") represents a rite of passage for many a summer camp canoeist in western North Carolina.

1981 was the summer that I really got into canoeing at camp.  Campers who performed well on Class II streams like the Tuckasegee and the Green were invited to run the Nantahala, and the Falls, just above the takeout at the end of the run, was the first rapid all summer that we got out of our boats to scout.  You could hear a lot of pre-adolescent teeth chattering as the counselors pointed out the best line for a successful run.

My partner and I flipped our canoe in the Falls that first time, and suffered the indignity of being fished out of the river while counselors chased down our boat and gear.  The next summer I ran the Nantahala again with a different partner, and flipped in the Falls again.  Finally, in 1983, two long years after my first attempt, I "made it" though the Falls.  I could walk through camp with a swagger at last.

Winter has arrived early. Oh, the joy.

I paddled for 70 minutes yesterday under overcast skies with a temperature of about 40 degrees Fahrenheit and a north wind screaming all the way from the river's source in Minnesota, or so it felt.  I broke out the pogies for the first time this season.  Last night the temperature fell into the mid 20s Fahrenheit, and this morning I did my first sub-freezing paddle of the year.  It took about five minutes for my frozen rudder to work itself free.  I paddled for 60 minutes.

These first cold-weather sessions of the season are an annual ritual, and I enjoy them in sort of a masochistic way ("Bring it on baby!  I can handle anything you got!").  But by February I will be very weary of it all.  Make that January, given this early date for my first frozen rudder.

As I mentioned in a recent post, I'm going for shorter, faster sessions this year, and both yesterday and today I tried to keep my pace as high as I could while still being comfortably in the aerobic zone. Today it was a bit of a chore, probably because I was tired from yesterday--it had been a while since I'd paddled on consecutive days.

I've gotten pretty comfortable doing 150 pushups in a day, and I might push that up to 200 in this last week of November.

Train to go fast

Both Sunday and this morning, I did ten sets of fifteen pushups.  I could definitely feel the increased effort it took to do 150, compared with the 100 I had been doing.

After this morning's pushups I went down to the river for 60 minutes in the boat.  Another brisk north wind was blowing.  I hate wearing pogies, but I'm afraid the pogies season is descending upon us rapidly.  The good news is that my heat is now on at home.

I wouldn't say I'm back into full training mode yet, but I've been giving it a lot of thought.  One thing I think I will do this coming season is keep my sessions in to 60-to-90-minute range, rather than the 90-to-120 minutes that's been typical of past winter training seasons.  I'm still reading Ron Lugbill's blog regularly, and one of his recurring themes is the avoidance of long, slow endurance sessions because all they do is train your body to paddle slow.  Granted, Lugbill's focus is on slalom racing, but I think much of his advice carries over to the racing I do as well.  He cites research that supports the idea that even for athletes in endurance sports like triathlon, year-round work on speed and motor skills is more effective than many ultra-long endurance sessions.

Today's session was in keeping with these thoughts.  After warming up I did four of my twelve-stroke sprints at maximum intensity, and then I paddled fairly close to anaerobic threshold for the next 30 or 40 minutes before cooling down in my return to the marina.

Early winter

Yesterday I did a hundred pushups at home and then paddled downtown for 60 minutes.  Mississippi River level: half a foot below zero on the Memphis gauge.

Chilly weather has arrived early this year, and we've just had a run of several below-freezing overnight lows.  And that's especially bad for me because due to a combination of factors my new home does not yet have any heat.  I've spent the better part of this week hanging around the house in a winter coat and fleece cap.

At least it was beautiful and sunny outside for much of the week, but yesterday morning I woke up and heard rain beating on the roof.  Just getting out of bed seemed like the ultimate challenge.

I have found that the best way to get through not-so-pleasant stretches of weather in both winter and summer is just to immerse myself in it.  I could have stayed hunkered down indoors yesterday, but all that would've done is remind me what a miserable day it was, and then I would have felt like a worthless sloth at the end of the day for not getting out and doing something.

As long as I'm properly dressed, I'm usually plenty warm in the boat on a cold day, and so that was the case yesterday.  After my paddling session I felt ready to take on the rest of the day.

Welcome to my Arctic paradise.  The Celsius equivalent is about 12 degrees.

Monday photo feature

It takes all kinds of little things to make a house a home.  Over the weekend I made a huge step in the right direction when I put up a clothesline for my paddling clothes.

Nath Thompson 1930-2013

Charles Nathan Thompson ("Nath," with a long "a"), pictured here with son Alfred to his right and wife Mary to his left, was the director of Camp Carolina for Boys in Brevard, North Carolina, from 1959 until his retirement in the mid 1990s.  I attended Carolina from 1978 until 1992, and Nath deserves about as much credit (blame?) as anybody for me being the person that I have become.  (Photo lifted from the Camp Carolina website.)

School was not a happy place for me when I was a kid.  I attended boys' schools with roughly the same group of other kids from kindergarten through twelfth grade, and the entire experience felt like this game that I was losing before I ever even knew the rules.  In the elementary grades, one's place in the pecking order was determined by his athletic gifts--throwing a football, shooting a basketball, and so on.  I was weak in those departments.  By high school I had found a sport (running) that I was good at, but by that time the "cool club" had moved on to the prerequisites for frat-boydom and a head start up the corporate ladder.

It was from that world that I first went to camp in the summer of '78, between the fourth and fifth grades.  Under Nath, the philosophy of Camp Carolina centered around simplicity of life, self reliance, and human relations, and I had finally found a place where I felt at home.

Simplicity of life: a camper's existence was stripped down to the things that mattered: friendships; fun, healthy, outdoor activities; a few basic responsibilities (making the bed, helping clean up the cabin); three meals a day; a bit of downtime ("Rest Hour," each day after lunch); and a good night's sleep.

Self reliance: activities that encouraged participation rather than spectating; the freedom to choose one's activities for each week rather than follow a schedule handed down from above; doing for yourself those things that your parents or a housekeeper might do for you at home.

Human relations: Nath's signature advice was always to greet another with a firm handshake and a look in the eye, and as trite as that might sound, I believe it has gone a long way toward offsetting the weaker parts of my social skill set.

Among my favorite activities at camp were riflery, horseback riding, backpacking, and, of course, canoeing.  But it was clear that these activities were primarily about challenging oneself rather than competing with others.  For Nath, a most important aspect of the summer camp experience was to give boys a break from a world that all too often pressured them to make the best grades, be the most accomplished athletes, get into the best schools, and land the best jobs.  At Carolina, there were no medals, ribbons, trophies, or any other awards given out, with one exception: the Old Man of the Mountains award for good citizenship.  Campers were rewarded for being good guys who put the wishes of others ahead of their own and pulled their weight within the camp community.  The award was, fittingly enough, a canoe paddle ("a useful instrument in a boy's hand," Nath said).  A boy who earned his paddle in his first summer would then have brands burned onto the paddle as he demonstrated good citizenship in subsequent summers.

My Old Man of the Mountains award for good citizenship.  I got the paddle in my first summer in 1978, and then earned brands over the next few summers.








As the 80s wore on I aged out of camperhood and began to take on more responsibility as an assistant counselor and then a counselor.  And so Nath became the first boss I ever had.  Sadly, it wouldn't be until much later that I realized just how special a boss he was.  These days I am self-employed, and suffice it to say that my difficulties cooperating with a boss have a lot to do with that.

As a seasonal employee of Camp Carolina from age seventeen until age twenty-four, I was a much less mature version of my present-day self, and I had my share of disagreements with Nath during those summers.

Sometimes it was a philosophical difference of opinion, a common occurrence in my last several summers when I headed the canoeing program.  Though the Carolina program had a tradition of teaching good solid river-running skills, I was envious of the more racing-oriented programs at nearby camps like Mondamin and Merrie-Woode, camps whose alumni went on to make Olympic teams or achieve other high-profile feats in the paddling world.  I often found myself exasperated with Nath's unwavering commitment to his noncompetitive camp model in which paddling a canoe was merely one of many facets of a camper's overall experience, and I not so tactfully let him know it on more than one occasion.

Other times I was simply a snarky little snot.  Complaining about the meager salaries or grousing about having to pull an extra duty rather than enjoy some time off was a favorite pastime among the counselors, most of whom came from comfortable backgrounds and were working at camp more for fun than for money.  It was not beneath me to join in, even when Nath was within earshot.

I probably would have fired myself for a few of the things I said, but Nath always handled it with a gentle touch.  He never lost faith in me as an asset to the camp community, and more importantly, he understood that most of my life would be spent outside the camp community.  Maybe he hoped to help me learn from the stupid things I said or did at camp, that I might be better equipped to survive in the real world; or maybe he just figured I would get my comeuppance eventually, but was humble enough to realize it was not his to mete out.

Mind you, Nath was nobody's fool: there were certain lines you did not cross with him, and I saw him dismiss several counselors with long, otherwise spotless relationships with Carolina because they had transgressed in a way that Nath considered inexcusable.  But even then, he made it clear that he cared about them and would continue to be there for them if needed.

Since my last summer at Carolina I have continued to pursue my lifelong love affair with paddling, and, yes, that has included quite a bit of training and competing.  But just like at camp, the real joy comes from things that have nothing to do with the post-race results sheet.  I have made many fine friends in the sport, and I greet them with a firm handshake and a look in the eye.  My time out on the water is an important break from the attendant concerns of making a living and owning a home.

Nath passed away this past month.  As of this writing I do not know many of the details, but I believe that the end came a couple of weeks after he was hospitalized with an illness.  Since his retirement from running Carolina, Nath had continued a rich life with his wife Mary and his friends and plenty of activity.  His legendary sense of humor never dimmed, I understand.

There will be a memorial service on the camp property on November 30 that I plan to attend.  Perhaps we'll sing a few of the spirituals we used to sing at vespers every Sunday evening: "Hey Sinner Man," "Wade In The Water," "Swing Low Sweet Chariot."  Maybe we'll even work in some of the not-so-reverent ones like "Mountain Dew" and "Greenback Dollar."  Whatever happens, I expect there will be many others like me, returning to this special place to remember the kind man who made some of their most cherished childhood moments possible.

Pretty weather

I spent part of this beautiful sunny day down at the river, paddling my surf ski for 60 minutes.  As I paddled alongside the Greenbelt Park, the annual Outdoors, Inc., Cyclocross Race was in progress.  The water level was just a hair below zero on the Memphis gauge.

I also got in another hundred pushups: I did fifty on the dock before paddling and fifty on the dock after paddling.

Pushups

As I inch down the long list of stuff to do in my new home, paddling and exercise continue to be minimal these days.  But I did get out in the surf ski for 60 minutes yesterday.  The Memphis gauge reading for the Mississippi was a tenth of a foot above zero.

I'm also trying to get back into a strength routine as a new racing season looms out there on the horizon.  This month I'm keeping it simple: pushups.

This past Monday, I did 100 pushups in sets of ten.  I repeated that Wednesday and yesterday, and hope to do it every other day for the rest of November.  I'm trying to work in a variety of hand and foot positions, Hindu pushups, and so on.  As the month goes on I'll increase the number of reps per set, depending on how I'm feeling.

This idea was inspired by a murderer.  In college I had a friend in the law school who worked in a legal clinic for indigent clients, and much of his time was spent helping an inmate on death row navigate the appeals process.  This inmate was unbelievably strong and spent the long hours in his cell working out.  Having lost his weight room privileges because he had killed another inmate there, his routine included doing a thousand pushups a day.

If I could manage a thousand pushups a day--and I have serious doubts about that--it would require a significant portion of my day to complete.  Maybe I would do fifty sets of 20 reps, or forty sets of 25... however I did it, each set would require an adequate recovery interval, and I've just got too much to do as long as I'm not incarcerated.  So for now, ten sets of ten is it.  We'll see how this little experiment develops.

Back in the boat, finally

For almost three weeks, I was completely focused on a long list of finishing chores at my building, and did not paddle at all.  Then on Friday afternoon, after I had spent the entire day building shelves inside my closets, I realized that I had missed out on a gorgeous fall day.  So I resolved to make time to get back on the river yesterday.  I paddled the surf ski for 70 minutes, in the middle of which I took a short hike on a large sandbar at the mouth of the Loosahatchie Chute.

Unfortunately, yesterday was somewhat less lovely than Friday had been.  A front had come through overnight, and a stiff, chilly wind was blowing from the north, and clouds made up a large percentage of a partly-cloudy sky.  Making matters worse is that a lot of my cool-weather paddling clothing is still packed in boxes I know not where.  So while it didn't stop me from paddling, I didn't linger and enjoy the sights on my little hike as much as I'd have liked.

But I did at least snap several photos.  With the Mississippi River at a typically low autumn level (-4.1 feet on the Memphis gauge), a lot of terrain that is underwater for much of the year is exposed right now.  All the sand you see in these photos will probably be submerged for the first six or seven months of next year.

Monday photo feature

Well, an entire week went by and I didn't paddle my boat even one time.  Hence the lack of posts since last Monday's photo.

But it's not unusual for me to take a little break this time of year.  And this year I have done so under special circumstances: at long last, I am living in my new place.  I moved in last Monday with the help of some wonderful friends.

The photo above shows the building as of this morning (compare it to the photo I took back in May and featured in this post).  There is work yet to come on the storefront, along with plenty of chores behind the facade.  In addition to getting my stuff moved in and settled, I have spent the past week tackling the long to-do list, which includes caulking, painting, installing doorknobs and other door hardware, sealing countertops, building closet shelves, creating storage space for boats and gear, and getting my woodworking shop moved and set up.

I'm a very routine-oriented guy, and having a "home base" from which to follow my routine is important to me.  And of course, including some paddling in my routine is a must.  Soon, I'll have the trappings of a paddler's life re-settled at last: my paddles, my clothes, a clothesline to hang wet gear on, all those little things.  The marina is about three miles due west of my building, and I'm pleased to say that the majority of the route will include protected bike lanes soon.

So even though I'm out of the boat right now, I'm laying the logistical groundwork for the next season, and I'm excited about the possibilities.

Monday photo feature

Here's how I spent my weekend.  It's not a specific form of training for canoe and kayak racing, but I did burn some calories and work some muscles.  My arms and shoulders are feeling pretty rubbery today.

Muddling around in a trashy harbor

Well, I managed to get down to paddle one more time this week after all.  My crafts fair setup went more quickly than I'd expected, so this morning I made time for 60 minutes in the K1.

Feeling tired and achy from recent higher-intensity sessions (and also from some out-of-the-boat activities), I took it pretty easy today.  My mind was mostly on other matters, and arguably I shouldn't have paddled at all, but what can you do.

The Mississippi is on a near-ten-foot rise this week, and that has resulted in a preponderance of floating litter in the harbor.  I did some more aluminum can collection, which as I mentioned Tuesday is a balance drill all its own.  I stayed upright today, and in an hour I amassed a colorful pile of cans that included everybody's favorite brand.  Busch.  Colt 45.  Full Throttle.  Steel Reserve.  Bud Ice.  Faygo, even.

Balance drills (aluminum can version)

I paddled the K1 in the harbor for 60 minutes this morning.  It might have been my last time in the boat this week: I'll be demonstrating bowl carving this weekend at the Pink Palace Crafts Fair here in Memphis, and I'll be busy getting ready for that from tomorrow on.

I might have mentioned in the past that I'm in the habit of picking up aluminum cans that I find floating in the water.  The Memphis riverfront has a litter problem that is much too big for me to solve by myself, but by focusing on cans I can at least feel like I'm a tiny part of the solution.  When I'm done paddling, I take the cans up to the grocery store near the marina and deposit them in a collection bin there; the proceeds benefit the Humane Society.

The trouble is, the K1 does not double as a garbage scow very well.  Twice this morning I flipped while trying to pour the water out of a can with one hand and brace with my paddle with the other.  The second flip provided some entertainment for some construction workers up on the Hernando DeSoto Bridge.

Each time I managed to dump out my boat and get going again pretty quickly.  But there was a north wind blowing that seemed to intensify as the hour went on, and it was not fun exposing myself to that while dripping wet.

Oh well... I came away none the worse for wear.  And I made the water I paddle on a tiny smidgen cleaner, and I sent a few extra pennies in the Humane Society's direction.  It really doesn't take much more than that to get me singing a happy tune.

Monday photo feature

I really don't have much recollection of the circumstances surrounding this photo, other than that it was taken off Ocracoke Island on North Carolina's Outer Banks in 2008.  I'm not sure what that is in my hand, or what's on my mind, or anything else.  Some weeks my Monday photo sort of picks itself, and others I have to grope around in the darkest recesses of my digital photo archives.  This is clearly one of the latter weeks.

The length of the harbor, again

This morning I paddled the K1 for 60 minutes downtown.  After a rather warm, muggy week, a front came through last night and it was overcast and cooler than 60 degrees Fahrenheit when I got up this morning.

I warmed up in the boat by paddling from the marina down to the mouth of the harbor, and then I timed myself on the same course I did back on September 3, only in reverse.  Starting at the imaginary line that extends into the harbor from the double yellow line on Beale Street, I proceeded to record the following splits:

4:34 at the southern edge of the monorail bridge
6:57 at the southern edge of the Hernando DeSoto Bridge
10:24 at the southern edge of the Auction Avenue bridge
11:46 at the northern edge of Harbortown Marina
23:13 at the finish by the barge mooring tower at the north end of the harbor

Relaxing my legs, hips, and abdominals is a big theme--I want to trust the stability of my boat so my body can do all the things it needs to do to produce good strokes.

It's hard to know exactly why I was a whole minute slower today than I was on September 3.  I have not achieved consistency in this boat yet.

In a day's work

I spent most of the day painting at my building, but I stole down to the riverfront for an hour in the K1 this morning.

Down at the marina my friend Joe was preparing to paddle for the first time since having rotator cuff surgery back in June.  As we set off together toward the south end of the harbor, he apologized for how slow he was going, but it was just fine with me.  I paddled a relaxed pace and did all kinds of little balance drills while we talked.  I remember Joe and I paddled together shortly after I got the K1 last winter and I could barely listen to what Joe was saying because I was so focused on staying upright.  The fact that I could carry on a normal conversation with him today is a sign of some good progress over the summer.

Joe returned to the dock after 40 minutes or so of paddling, and I spent another 20 minutes doing some short sprints before coming back in myself.  Then it was back to work over at the building.  I think most people hear the word "kayaking" and they imagine epic trips through remote canyons or out on the open sea.  Such things are wonderful whenever you can do them, but I enjoy just as much the idea of taking a little time to paddle during the course of a busy day here in my home city.

More on the MRT

In Monday's post I mentioned the Mississippi River Trail.  For those not familiar with the MRT, it's a bicycle route that follows the Mississippi River from source to sea along paved roads.  More information can be found on its website, here.

The route is marked with signs like this one on Mud Island in downtown Memphis:

Trying to learn some speed

Work continues on my building, and I've been doing a good bit of it myself, such as painting and going to the store for supplies and stuff like that.  But I learned my lesson from last week and set aside some time this morning to paddle.

I paddled the K1 in the harbor for 60 minutes.  I timed myself twice from the monorail bridge to the Hernando DeSoto Bridge, and did a few shorter sprints as well.  I've been trying to incorporate these faster pieces into my K1 sessions all summer so I can develop some modicum of motor skill at a higher level of intensity.  I don't just want to paddle this boat without flipping; I want to go fast in it.  That's what a K1 is for, isn't it?

My times from the monorail bridge to the HDB were 2:05 (not bad) and 1:59 or 2:00 (possibly my best ever).  I had a pretty strong tailwind, and on that second piece I think it blew me as much as a boatlength over the starting line while I was waiting for my watch to reach the top of the minute, so I probably shouldn't get too excited about my good times--I'm a cheerless coach, I know.  But it was nice to see some positive results.

I spent the afternoon back at the building and got some good work done.  It's all added up to a day I can feel good about.

On another topic, I have weighed myself the last two days and I'm down to 143.5 pounds... yikes!  Oddly, I've been feeling pretty good, not low on energy like I often feel during low-weight periods.

Monday photo feature

Joe Royer took this picture several years ago on the Mississippi River up near Shelby Forest, some fifteen miles above downtown Memphis.  I believe he and his wife Carol Lee were taking the "Mississippi River Challenge," Joe's term for an endeavor he dreamt up: you leave a bicycle at Harbortown Marina on the Memphis riverfront, drive with your boat up to the Shelby Forest boat ramp, paddle down to Memphis, put your boat away at the marina, and ride your bike up a section of the Mississippi River Trail to retrieve your car at Shelby Forest.  Reasonably fit men and women can complete this circuit in around four hours.

I haven't done the Mississippi River Challenge in years--sometime back before my road bike got stolen.  But I do love this photograph.  Our river is most definitely beautiful.