The Full Story
In 2018, my husband and I rented Paddleboards from SUP Acadia. It looked like a fun way to explore some of the freshwater of Acadia National Park, and it was. We chose a very windy day, struggled our way down Echo Lake, and rode the wind and current on our way back. The next summer, we bought a couple of boards for our family and became (very) recreational paddlers. As in, hang out in a cove with friends alternating between swimming and laying on what was, essentially, an expensive water lawn chair.
This was fine for a couple of years, but it seemed to me that there must be more to this. It is, after all, considered a sport and my current model of engaging in it wasn't exactly elevating my heart rate. So I upgraded my board to a lighter inflatable model and started taking it out a couple of times a weeks when the water was calm.
Fast forward to this year, when I decided to get serious(ish) about spending time on the water. Armed with cold water gear, I hit the water on April 15 and am out 4-5 days a week training for a 13k race in August. Here are some musings and highlights from this journey.
Lesson i: Make Way for a Duck (2022 highlight)
Paddling the freshwater of Acadia was a real treat. Such a treat, in fact, that I wanted to share it with someone! So my mom and daughter rented a kayak and we headed out onto Long Pond. Kind of a mistake, actually. My mom had shoulder surgery several years ago and now has limited mobility in her arm. I think we all should have realised that (1) steering a kayak with a 10-year-old might not be the easiest thing and (2) it is literally impossible for me to be of any help from my own board, especially with my own limited skill set. So a bit stressful.
Still, we took a break to float in a quiet lily pond inhabited only by a duck. After swimming around my board for a bit nibbling whatever it is ducks nibble on in the water, she decided that my board might provide a nice buffet and she hopped aboard! The standing water in the crevasses of my board must have been tasty, because she was totally unconcerned that there was a human 18 inches away from her. So she floated with me for about a minute, then hopped off and continued on her way.
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This was my first real encounter with what, for me, is the true magic of SUP. It's a chance to move through the world differently. In a society where noise and speed often seem to dominate, SUP allows me to go slowly - because let's face it, even my top speed is pretty damn slow - and quietly. To see a school of fish sparkling in the evening sunlight as hundreds jump and just barely break surface. To see enormous carp scouring the shallow water for food. To see belted kingfisher, bald eagles, osprey, blue herons, loons, and countless ducks and geese. And not only to see them, but to paddle with them, if only for a moment. This chance to get out of my own head and explore places that were once inaccessible to me is the most amazing gift.
Disclaimer: this is not my photo. It was found on Unsplash and was taken by Joe Cox. When a duck hops on your Paddleboard and your camera is in a waterproof bag under your PFD, you just go with it.
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Lesson 1: Drink Enough Water
April 2023. Day 1 on the water. Since it was an unseasonable 80 degrees outside I did not need any of the fleece water gear I bought. What I did need was water, and I was thoroughly unprepared. I did not drink a lot of water the morning before I headed out, and I did not take my water bottle out with me. Big mistake. Partway through the 90 minute paddle, my mouth started to get that terrible, I-need-water-now taste. My head started to pound a bit. If you could render a feeling visible, I would have been cracked, brown, parched earth. About a quarter mile from the dock, my muscles just stopped working for me and I had to paddle in from my knees. I managed to get out of the water and get my board to the car, where I took a nice drink of cool water. That I promptly vomited all over the ground. Six times. Lesson learned: start the paddle hydrated, and take water out with me.
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Lesson 2: In April, the Water is Cold
April 2023. Roughly 65 degrees outside with a water temp that, to me at least, rivalled that in the Arctic. I got in a quick paddle before an evening meeting. Remembering my lesson from the week before, I knelt down to get a drink of water, lost my balance, and rolled right into 20 feet of frigid April lake water! I truly underestimated the effects of cold water on a human body because I have never, in 40 years, been in the lake that early in the season or been fully submerged in water that cold. My life jacket popped me right back up, of course, but I had to get back onboard with muscles that were for the moment cooperating, but definitely had limited time before they started to freeze. But feeling more like a huge, flopping seal than a human, get back onboard I did. And then was hit with such an endorphin rush that I started to wonder why everyone doesn't hop in frigid water on a regular basis!
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The lesson here, besides that cold water brings on euphoria that beats a runner's high any day, is that proper gear makes a difference. I had on fleece-lined wetsuit pants, wet boots, a thermal base layer, a second long sleeve shirt, and a quick-drying windbreaker. Within seconds of getting out of the water, I was warm. Had I been dressed differently, I would have been much less happy to find myself doused in ice water on a 65 degree day.
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Perhaps riding this wave of euphoria, the next morning I signed up for the 13k Upper Ottawa River Race in August. Nothing like setting goals to motivate, right? So on my 41st birthday, I'll paddle 8 miles downriver. I think I might be a tiny bit insane.
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Photo by Paul Wiech
Lesson 2b: Fish Stories
Quick note to say that this sport is providing a great way to connect with my dad. He'll swear otherwise, but he's struggling to remember a lot of things. But he has no trouble remembering things about wildlife and water. Fishing spots, fishing stories, reading currents and weather patterns, movement of birds, deer, and other animals on his farm, these pieces of information, honed by 65 years of paying attention to the world around him, are all concrete in his mind.
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So I ask him a lot of questions.
"Today we saw all these tiny fish jumping out of the water and in the sunlight it looked like glitter. What was going on? What kind of fish were they?"
"Did you know that just south of Sampson, in the shallows, there are a ton of carp and bullhead? It must be a great fishing spot!"
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"What on earth is happening out in the middle of the lake when a bunch of birds fly along the water and kick up a ton of wake?"
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Most of the time, I'm learning from my dad. We chat about times he was on the lake, or I ask about a fish and he tells me about a time he caught one, or a friend did, and how big it was. Or I mention a particular current I encountered and he has some factoid about the bottom of the lake and its contours. Sometimes I talk about birds, although that's more my mom's domain, and especially if it's a bird that eats fish, like a bald eagle, we get off on a tangent.
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Sometimes he learns from me, although that's rare. He didn't know about the fish bonanza south of Sampson, and he doesn't know much about the south end of Cayuga Lake, so we're learning together. But an interest in animal patterns, crops and farming, and watching nature is something my dad and I have in common, and I'm grateful for these opportunities to connect.
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Lesson 3: Turning Will Kill Your Abs
May 2023. On the plus side, I have discovered that I'm slightly (read: exceptionally) addicted to this sport. On the other plus side - there's really no downside to this that I can see - I'm gaining a lot of new skills right now. Turns out this sport is pretty challenging. I'm learning proper form for paddling: how to place my hands, how to hold my arms and body, where to place the paddle in the water, and where to take it out. I also learned a new word: cavitation. Basically it's the little eddies and whirls that form and make noise when you paddle incorrectly. So the sublesson in this post is that noise = inefficiency. I've long suspected this elsewhere in life, and now it's confirmed.
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But the big lesson right now is how to execute a crossbow turn. Basically, when you want to turn, you cross your paddle over the bow of your board and dig it into the water on the opposite side, bracing yourself as you change direction. Super fun, and a killer oblique workout. I entertained myself by going around marten houses in the lake for about 30 minutes, and that night I felt as if I had run a marathon. I really didn't know my core had that many muscles, but I felt each and every one of them. I kept hearing my former jiu jitsu teacher in my head: pain is weakness leaving the body. All well and good, but I think I'll take some ibuprofen to help it along.
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Lesson 4: Walking on Water
Mid-May 2023. After turns comes moving my feet on the board. My first step, as I triumphantly announced after getting off the inlet one night, was a sort of shuffle: inching one foot forward a tiny bit. But still, movement is movement, both physically and metaphorically! However, a shuffle is not a step, and I wanted to walk. I'm a learner who has to think something through before I try it, so I needed the process of stepping explained to me so I could ruminate a bit before trying it. A couple of days later found me at Taughannock paddle-pacing the shoreline, just stepping one foot back then up. Over and over and over for about 2 hours. And then incorporating that movement into turns. Inelegant and not particularly graceful, but still walking on water. What a win!
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Fun fact: this lesson coincides with my foray into AI images, so the rather frightening picture here was generated by Midjourney. I do not paddle in a white, gauzy dress, nor do I have about 7 toes with toenails on the undersides of my toes. I do, however, need to work on crafting better prompts!
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Image by Midjourney
Lesson 5: It Should Probably be Called TCPP: Twisting Chair-Pose Paddleboarding
Not a lot of reflection here, except to say that standup paddle boarding is a misnomer and if you're doing it properly you're spending most of your time in a strange combination of a twisting chair pose and flat back. Time to end my yoga hiatus.
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Lesson 6: Phone Calls from Hawaii
Early June. My paddle is heavy. And in 3 pieces, which means I can't switch sides very efficiently. So I ended up to invest in a light-weight paddle from Black Project. After about a week, it still hadn't arrived or even shipped. And then I got a call from Hawaii. Long story short, there was a delay in a shipment on their end, they didn't have my paddle in stock, did I want a free upgrade to a better, faster paddle with 2 day shipping? Kind of a no-brainer, and now I have this lovely new Hydro Tempo X paddle, cut to my height, courtesy of the lovely folks at Black Project.
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Photo by Rachel Paparone
Lesson 7: Drink Enough Water. Really.
When Nadja was 4, her favorite song was 2-4-6-8 Everybody Hydrate! from a Disney channel cartoon. The lyrics are cute and to the point: "Water, water! You've gotta drink way more water than you think! It's so humid and hot outside, we're all ready to go. There's lot's to do when the sun is shining, so bring on the H2O!"
These were the lyrics running through my head as I fought the nausea, headache, and inability to move anymore during a good bout of dehydration and heat exhaustion on a recent, otherwise lovely, paddle adventure along the undeveloped shoreline near Sampson State Park. I thought I had learned in April, but apparently not. Or I got cocky. Probably a combination of the two. Final lesson: a water bottle is not good enough, so I upgraded to a Camelbak. Hopefully that, coupled with some changes in diet - bring on the oranges! - and less coffee during the day, will solve the problem.
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Lesson 8: Growth Angles
​I'm working on becoming more confident when paddling with waves coming at my side instead of from head on or behind. It's mostly mental for me. So in Maine last week, I intentionally went East/West in a South wind. I got to hang out with loons on the way, which was pretty cool. On a second trip in a strong wind tunnel, East/West in a South wind would not have been enjoyable, so instead I went directly into the wind for a gruelling 60 minute mile, turned around, and surfed the mile back in about 10 minutes. Quite a ride!
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Now back home on more familiar waters, I'm intentionally challenging myself to (1) not let negative self-talk convince me I don't have the skills to paddle with side-on waves and (2) paddle side-on waves. I'm getting there.
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Lesson 9: It Doesn't Matter How Deep the Water is When it's Over Your Head
July 5. I am not a huge fan of being in water over my head. I've said this before and I'll say it again. I can swim. I can actually swim pretty well, I think. I just don't like to be in water over my head. Nothing like the woman in this stock photo, who looks very comfortable in very deep water.
But knowing how to fall correctly and get back on the board is a pretty essential skill, so today I headed into deep-ish waters on Cayuga Lake with the intention to work on getting back on my board.
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A huge part of this meant conquering my fear of water over my head. I kept telling myself that it doesn't matter how much is below you, it only matters how much is above you; if you can't touch, then the depth doesn't matter and will only freak you out. I'd like to say I conquered this fear. But if I'm being honest I can only say that I'm getting there but am not there yet. I slid off the board into the water twice, and got back on the board twice. And then decided I liked being above water and that's where I intended to stay. Basically, I called it quits on the skill-building. I'd also like to say this was a graceful process. It was not. And I definitely yelled at my paddling partner to not help me at one point. But tomorrow is another day and I'll keep working on it. In the meantime, I worked on my "surfing" skills, which was a super fun way to spend a blazing hot late afternoon, then hopped off my board onto the dock with considerably more grace than I had when flopping back onto my board, so I call it a win for today!
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Lesson 10, in Which Rachel Completes an Informal 10K
July 8. Tried a faster board and decided I'll probably use it for the 13K next month. I didn't feel like it was significantly faster, but I'm assured that it was. It definitely gave me a new awareness for my ankles and inner thighs, because this board is much tippier than mine. I had to activate a lot of muscles that I didn't really know were in my body. But the board is about as stable as mine in the end, even though it feels like it wants to tip more. It also wants to stay afloat, so it was just a matter of figuring out how to adjust my balance and trust the board. But I was happy to see that I can do 6 miles, even if I had to take some breaks, and that I had enough water, didn't get sick from the heat, and didn't get (too) frustrated with myself.
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Photo by Paul Wiech
Lesson 11, Straight as an Arrow (Almost)
July 11. Today it clicked! About 1.5 miles into my paddle, I realised that I should not be hitting my board at any point during my stroke, not just during the entry. I've been scraping the side of my board during the entire stroke for years now. You can hear me coming a mile away by the distinctive scraping sound I make, and you can probably identify me a mile away from the inadvertent, ever-present tacking movement I make through the water. At least I'll always be safe from crocodiles, I guess. Anyhow, today I realised that if I twist my body more and never hit my board during the entirety of my stroke, then I'll go straight. Or for now, straight-ish. I've been being told this for months, I've been trying to do it, but it never occurred to me that if I just avoided hitting the side of the board, my body would automatically twist the way it needs to. Probably a lot of side planks every week helps too.
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Interesting aside: I took a break to float quietly about 50 yards from duck and her three juvenile ducklings. I was super quiet, but they must not have appreciated me anyhow. She led her three ducklings behind a branch that skimmed the water, offering a hiding spot. The ducklings, who had been making noise, were silent as she swam back out and floated in the clear part of the cove, watching me. Twice, she stood on her hind legs in the water and flapped her wings, sending water my direction. The ducklings, during all of this, silently exited the water and made their way along the shore, staying in deep shade, back to their starting point. If I hadn't known to look for them, I wouldn't have even known they were there. I saw a hen duck do this last year while walking in Penn Yann as well: hide her ducklings in tall grass and then quickly waddle back out to the path and watch me, clearly communicating a "What? There's absolutely nothing here to see" message. Figuring I had disturbed this little family enough, I stood back up and went on my way. Amazing what you can see when you slow down and pay attention.
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Lesson 12: No Fear or, I Put All Previous Lessons Together and Try Not to Cry
July 14-15. A beautiful, balmy day with puffy, white clouds and barely a whisper of a breeze.
Until you hit the water, where it seems that the 3 mph wind coming out of the northwest is kicking up chop that seems quite daunting (read: probably very un-daunting) if your paddling partner calls out a hey, let's head around the north point of the park.
And then you look at the north point of the park and see waves going every which-way as the boat wakes from every angle meet the chop kicked up by the wind and bounce off the break walls back out into the lake. Growth angles abound.
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And then it dawns on you that the board underneath your feet is skimming across the water much like ice skates skim across the ice and you realize that while you are exceptionally comfortable on ice skates, you are NOT exceptionally comfortable on this board. Not yet.
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And forgetting that you're literally 100 yards off shore, you look at the expanse of blue stretching out before you and rather than freedom and potential, you see isolation and the possibility that you could reach a place where no one can hear you, which along with spiders is your other, well-founded phobia. And all that water is well over your head.
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And as you're plugging along, trying to manage all these thoughts and not hit buoys and rafts and piers or cross fishing lines or fall, it occurs to you in one terrible thunderclap that you are doing about 75 things at once that are uncomfortable, and that realization starts to verge on panic.
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In the midst of all of these simultaneous thoughts, I shouted that I was working through a lot of fear and therefore turning around the point and into the calmer water by the park's north shore. But that meant paddling in the troughs of the waves, and in doing so, fear overwhelmed me and I fell off. It was precisely the cold water in the face - literally - that I needed to interrupt the fear cycle. Floating in the water, I realized that one of my anxieties was unfounded. I was worried that with a belt PFD that only inflates when the ripcord is pulled, I wouldn't pop back up out of the water. I completely ignored the fact that I've been going off diving boards since I was 8 years old, and that has developed the skills I need to push back up to the water. That and survival instinct, honed by millions of years of evolution. And physics.
So I climbed back up on the board with a clear head and continued on. I fell a ridiculous amount of times. My sinuses are burning from the amount of water that was forced up them. But I started transferring my skills: I stepped backwards and forwards, worked on turns, and got a feel for the board - standing on it, of course, but also getting back onto it from the water.
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So two big lessons for me today. The first is that I have spent many years letting fear win, with the regrettable result that I miss out on a lot of fun. In fact Friday afternoon, with all its struggle, will probably be one of my favorite days of the summer, precisely because I struggled through fear to reach joy. The second is that I will not actually ever master fear. But I think I can move to a place where I use fear to my advantage, converting it into excitement and drive. My jiujitsu instructor always told a wonderful story about a conversation backstage between Bruce Springsteen and Carly Simon. Both experienced the same energy before going onstage, but whereas Carly Simon had to work to conquer fear and stage fright, Bruce Springsteen rode the wave, so to speak, and experienced that energy as fuel for excitement. Same emotion, two different approaches. So when I was nervous before belt tests or self-defense exercises, he always told me that story and encouraged me to see fear as a positive emotion. I'm working to become Springsteen.
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Lesson 13: On the Hudson(ish)
July 26. On a recent trip to NYC, I booked a private lesson with an instructor at Manhattan Kayak Company. I wanted to get on the water during our trip and this was the best and safest way to do it. So at 2:45 PM on a 92 degree afternoon, after a scorching 2 mile walk across midtown Manhattan, I stood looking at the water in an embayment next to the Intrepid. It had all the things that I struggle with the most: large, fast boats regularly passing the entrance and creating wake, three break walls (if you count a giant aircraft carrier as a break wall, which I do), and water of undetermined depth and quality. I seriously contemplated walking away and just killing 90 minutes on my own, never telling anyone that I had skipped the lesson. No one ever needed to know!
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Except that's lying, and I'd know. So I took a deep breath and walked to the boathouse. What followed was absolutely amazing. I met some really cool people and got to check out a little oasis of beach vibe in Hell's Kitchen. I launched from a floating dock as a garbage barge created enormous - to me, at least - swells. We had set three goals for my time on the water: paddle more with my core and less with my arms and shoulders, release the paddle at my feet instead of behind them, and execute a cleaner crossbow turn. It took a few minutes for me to stop worrying about the wakes; to do so, my instructor showed me some great balance-testing drills would build confidence on an unfamiliar board. A few laps around the embayment in the heat were enough to pretty much exhaust me, so she took a video of a lap and then we sat in the shade of the Intrepid and analyzed my paddling.
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So much of learning this sport, for me at least, is about bravery. Not letting nerves get in the way of really cool experiences. It's not a lesson I'm learning very quickly, but I think I'm making progress.
No Lesson, Just a Reflection and a Poem
Tried to figure out the other day why I love paddling so much. I don't know that I was particularly successful, and I don't really know that it matters all that much. But then I remembered Wendell Berry's beautiful poem and how much it resonated with me in the past. And in revisiting his words, I stopped trying to figure out how to say it myself. He has done it for me.
The Peace of Wild Things
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's
lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethoughts
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time,
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
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Wendell Berry
Race Countdown!
Aug. 8. It's race week! After 6 miles on Saturday it's time to taper. I hit the water Tuesday afternoon in the pouring rain to work on drills: stacked hands and a good A frame on the reach, a smooth catch, using my core and keeping a straight lower arm during the power phase, and releasing at my feet. After 45 minutes I looked like a drowned rat and it was time for dinner, so that was that.
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Wednesday morning I focused on going straight. Fortunately the rowing buoys are in the inlet, so I worked on staying in line with them. I allowed myself about 2 feet of deviation to one side, but by the end I skimmed 6 out of 9 buoys in a stretch with the side of the board, and the three I missed were by a very small margin. This was a great confidence builder, because Tuesday night I panicked a bit about Saturday's race. Fear of the unknown, I guess. But running some drills and talking through a race-day strategy were helpful.
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Thursday afternoon: last paddle before Saturday's race! We revisited a the around-the-island route, which I haven't done in several months. I was pleased to see I could squat to glide under low bridges with hardly any waver in my balance. Instead of running a straight line along the buoys, today I decided to see if I could weave them, slalom-style. I could, and pretty successfully at that! A doe and her two fawns stopped to look at us for a minute, which was kind of a treat.
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And now: race day!
Process over Product
Aug 12. A lot of process, and in the end, no product.
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The Friday drive to Pembroke was absolutely lovely: a lot of trees, some water, not many towns. So quintessential Canada, which is why I really love that country. We arrived late afternoon, found our campsite, pitched the tent, and settled in. I thought the atmosphere was lovely. It was different than what I expected, because the campground is right in the town park and is really not a campground as much as a small field with some trees, water hookups, and tightly-packed, rectangular lots on which to park an RV or pitch a tent. No matter, because cars were rolling in with boards, canoes, and kayaks on top, people were setting up for the weekend, everyone was super friendly. This is a vibe and a community that I can get on board with (pun intended).
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After registering for the race and a delicious Italian dinner in town, we settled in for the evening. And promptly noticed a full baseball game, complete with stadium lights and a loudspeaker, going on directly across from our campsite. Well, earplugs would take care of that, so no worries. And then we remembered that our tent was directly under a streetlight. That hadn't seemed like a big deal at 4 PM, but at 9 PM when that light came on, it was suddenly a very big deal. Plus, our tent is hot orange. Trying to sleep in it was....less than ideal. But eventually we did sleep, and quite well at that.
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The morning weather looked good for a race. Perhaps a bit slower and more tiring with a headwind predicted, but cool, overcast, and mostly calm. So we packed up our gear and headed to the launch site, where we unpacked, set our boards, and I mentally prepared for the task to come. Adrenaline was really rushing now: I had been training for this for 4 months! There was no question I could do it, it was only a question of how long it would take me. I was already imagining the pride and exhaustion I would feel at the end, envisioning the hot shower and warm cup of tea between the race and dinner, and the next race I would do. 10 minutes until launch time and I was ready!
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And then the race was postponed due to weather. A possible, but not guaranteed, start time at 3:30, maybe for a 6 or 8k, but probably not a 13k because of the multiple storm cells forecasted to hit the area.
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So we packed up our gear and headed back to the campsite, set up a tarp porch, and prepared to wait out the rain. This was a lovely plan for a bit - until those storms started to roll through and the tarp started to blow away. So we spent about an hour sitting in our steamy car before we made the call to break down camp in the pouring rain and head home.
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6 hours later we rolled into the driveway, tired and gamey from our night in the tent, having dodged some serious storms and one tornado warning.
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Mike asked me multiple times on our way home if I was disappointed. Of course, was the immediate answer. But then I started thinking through the adventure of the weekend. This was my 41st birthday. I had chosen to spend the day testing my physical and mental endurance. I didn't get to do that, but I'll do it next weekend on home territory. So no huge loss there. I had the opportunity to go to a new place and begin discovering the lovely Ottawa River, even if I didn't actually leave the riverbank. I got to spend time with my family and Nadja got to camp somewhere other than our backyard for the first time ever. I spent the weekend with three of my favorite people and could celebrate my birthday in the way I prefer: quietly, without any real fanfare, with the added bonus of coffee and breakfast outdoors near the water. And, I'm already thinking about the structure of this story for this fall's storytelling workshops.
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Then I started thinking about the actual win: I spent the spring and summer discovering a new passion. In April, I was a dabbler. By mid-May I was following a training plan and paddling regularly. By the beginning of July I was trying new equipment and working to master it, as well as working toward distances I didn't really think were possible. I mapped Thursday's "chill paddle" this morning. It was 3.75 miles. Four months ago I would have considered that a long workout and my legs would have been shaky towards the end, but on Thursday I barely broke a sweat. Today, I'm trying to figure out how to save money here and there so I can upgrade my equipment.
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So this is my last reflection for this portion of my ePortfolio. I had planned to reflect on lessons leading up to the race, and I have accomplished that goal, race or no race. The last takeaway for this is a piece of critical reflection. In my professional life, I talk a lot about process over product. Much of the time, I don't think deeply about what I'm saying. This phrase, which has become a bit careworn from over-repetition in my daily life, has actually become engrained in my worldview. I wasn't (too) terribly disappointed* when the race was cancelled because the process of getting to the race was more important than the race itself. A race - the product - is a one-off. I can go out and do the race on my own as a time trial any time I want. And I will. Probably over multiple weekends, just to prove that I can. But the hours of work and the discipline needed to get to this point are invaluable. Now on to my next goal: 1.75 miles in under 25 minutes by Oct. 1.
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* I was quite disappointed.
Ottawa River looking towards Quebec, pre-torrential downpour
Addendum
24:51 time trial on September 30. Celebratory coffee and scone. Now I've got a new baseline for next season, when I try to get it down to under 20 minutes.