Just got back from my awesome Eurotrip. In the last week of my trip, I raced in Marathon World Championships in Denmark. This one was a crazy ride. I got to the course about 5 days early and got my boat all situated. No problems there. Then I raced on Saturday. This year I was in the big-bad senior women's class because I'm 24 and too old for the U23 class. But hey, go big or go home.
Everyone says in marathon kayaking, it's all about the start. At this level, EVERYONE can go hard for 2h. The start is where you find your pack and therefore, your section on the finish list. It just comes down to staying with your girls, and out sprinting them at the finish... provided nothing catastrophic happens. Lucky for me, I'd been training for sprint all summer, so I felt confident about my start.
I was positioned at the start line just to the right of one of the top Italian girls. She was sure to come in top 10, so I was thinking as long as I could stick with her, I'd be set. 2 places down on my right was also Emilie Fournel, Canada's Olympic 200m K1 woman. She'd have an insane start for sure. Here's what happened:
The starter yells readygo (it comes out as one word), and we're off. I keep my cool. In reality, marathon starts are not like traditional sprints at all. You go stupid hard, of course, but it takes way more smarts and there are way more factors than the typical sprint-down-a-safe-straight-line-of-buoys. I do what I know best and immediately start latching onto any wake going my direction. It works. I have an amazing start, and I'm really proud of it. About 2k into the first lap, I find myself in the middle of the field with a small group of a Russian woman, a Czech woman, and me. I'm attached to the Russian woman's left side wake and refuse to let go as we head towards the first portage. All of a sudden, my boat takes a huge U-turn towards the Russian boat. "What is going on?"
Stuck in a moment of panic, I do the best I can to control my boat. I look down to see my left rudder cable has split in 2. I am one of those catastrophic cases; it's a pretty heart breaking moment. The rest of the field passes me as my thoughts race, and I try to figure out what to do next. It's still so early in the race. I stomp down on the remaining pieces of my rudder cables with my heels. As a result, my knees are in my chest, but this gives me enough control of my boat to slowly paddle somewhat straight into the dock of the portage.
I sprint my boat up to the grassy part of shore, throw my footboard out of the boat, and inspect the damage. I attach the two lose pieces of rudder cable back together, look around, and mentally do the 'do I quit? Do I keep going?' thing. At this point I'm very much in last, but I toss my boat on my shoulder and keep going. I figured I'd debate the stop/keep going thing in my head while I'm moving. It's so early in the race, I'm pretty frantic about how unlucky the situation has turned out.
I calm myself and start catching a girl ahead of me. I storm pass her angrily and head up to the next. My confidence is high and I'm willing to make the best of the situation. Then the cable comes apart again some where in lap 4 (of 6). It breaks my spirits; a chase boat has to come save me because I'm in the middle of the course. They fix it for me, and I head around the buoy turn and up to the next portage. I yell for duck tape and wrap the hell out of that cable in the grass of the portage. At this point I'm way out the back, but still unfamiliar with how to quit. I can't help but keep trudging on. I finish. Without enough time left in the race to climb the ranks again.
There are a few things I took from this adventure which make me glad I never just called it quits. 1 EXPEIRENCE. As all of my surfski buddies know, distance paddling is entirely about experience, and so, I think it's best to take advantage of any opportunity to be out there. Racing. Even if your results wont show your fight. 2. MENTAL STRENGTH/SANITY. In a long race like this, anything can happen.
So often at races we see paddlers leave the race for the smallest of reasons: they fall back a bit, realize they wont podium, and quit. In the men's race later the same day as mine, I saw the lead guy of the front pack hit paddles with the man on his left and get pitched out of boat. Even watching from shore, it felt like a painfully slow wait for the chase boat to come pick him up. He was first; he had a solid shot at the gold. They helped him back into his boat, and he stormed off with more fire than I've ever seen in a racer. He made it back from DFL (30th) to 11th. Respect! That takes huge guts, focus, determination: mental strength. Watching his race, I felt justified for finishing mine. He's probably my favorite racer of World Champs. No quitties; never.
I hope that my results this year, keep me subtle for next year. Battling these uncontrollable gave me a personal look at my own strength. I'll come out with fire next year; I know it because I already feel it. And they won't see it coming.
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