The Run of The Charles Race
This is one of my favorite races because of the challenge of the portages and because it gives me a good idea of where I stand in preparation for the General Clinton. It’s also a favorite because I get to see all the New England paddlers and socialize before and after the race.
I was in the Delphine, and I felt squirrelly as I got in the water. Every spring I feel squirrelly because even though I have the proper time in the boat, I still get nervous in the cold Charles waters.
I am slow in this race, always. Part of the problem is that I don’t run the portages, I walk them, and there are 6 portages in this race. I work hard on the water, but when it comes to running, I’m just no good at it. The best I can manage is a pathetic slow jog, but if there is the slightest breeze I can’t control a 17’ boat balanced on one shoulder while trying to jog up or down hill, dodging Boston’s road traffic, so I have to walk.
Sometimes I’m fast enough on the water to pass those who have run past me on the portages. Such was the case this year with Skip Chicarelli. He would blaze by me on every portage, and then I would pass him on the water. This was unusual because Skip is normally faster than me on the water too. It turns out that he had a leak in his boat, so he was paddling with probably 50 extra pounds in the boat from all the water in there, thus explaining what made him slower than me on the water.
We had practiced the rapids the day before the race. There is one small set of rapids on a small bend in the river. The complicating factor is that the water bounces off a bridge abutment and wants to take you into the bigger wave train and into the bridge abutment if you are not careful. I negotiated the rapids like a pro in practice.
During the race, I set myself up just as I had in practice, and I dropped into the rapids exactly where I wanted to be. And at that moment my brain shut down. I apparently forgot that I needed to paddle and concentrate through the rapids. For some reason, after I set myself up for the perfect line, I didn’t do anything else to follow through. Quicker than I could blink, I was upside down and in the water.
I reached for the Delphine, took note that I still had my paddle in my hand, and flipped the boat over. It then became very urgent for me to pull the boat around to the side of me, because I wanted the boat to hit the abutment before I did. I certainly did not want to have 17 feet of boat crashing into me as I hit the concrete first.
All was well, the rescue crews were right on me and I grabbed their tow rope and they pulled me in. One of the rescue guys said to me, “It’s ok, you’re in shallow water now, you can stand up.” I made the mistake of not answering him. I realized later that this was wrong, as he was trying to ascertain my status, and my not answering him made him think I was not ok. He asked more urgently, yet gently, “Can you stand up? You’re ok, we got you.”
I replied with a much more honest answer than he was expecting. I said, “Oh, I’m fine, I just had to pee and I’ll stand up when I’m done.” The entire crew under the abutment burst out laughing. I realized what I’d said and I had to laugh too. As I stood up, I asked if I was the most honest person of the day. “You sure are!” was the reply.
The entire incident was maybe five minutes, if that. The rescue crews were awesome. They held my boat while I got back in, rescued two other crews that also swam in the rapids while I was standing there, and got us all back on the water within minutes.
I finished first in my division, but I have to say I was my whole division, there were no other ICF women in the race. It doesn’t matter, I learned I was on target for the General Clinton and that it’s a fairly bad idea to zone out in the middle of a set of rapids.
It was a good day.