Stroke by Stroke: Building the Base

Anticipating a smoky Saturday, I shuffled my schedule and made a break for the water on Friday. There’s something magical about paddling into the weekend, minimal traffic, maximum solitude. The downside? There are fewer boat wakes which have become my nemesis and my teacher, nudging me to stay the course and build resilience, even when the muscles are screaming after five or six hours of effort.

My prep? Let’s just say it was… improvisational. Unsure about the plan the night before, I skipped the usual mega-breakfast, got out later than planned, and left behind extra water. But at least I remembered gloves, the thin line between paddling and a brutal hand meltdown. My injuries are healing, yes, but they’re still tender. I was bracing for blisters or worse.

Mid-July brings paddle camp in full swing, and the water was alive, kids zipping around in kayaks, balancing on paddleboards, hollering with joy. A chaotic symphony of summer. Just as I launched, fate threw in a twist: a flotilla of thirty boats came roaring past, full throttle. Of course they did. Murphy’s Law doesn’t take days off.

My hydra pack hose popped loose in the fray. After a scramble and a few choice words, I got everything sorted and eased into a steady Zone 2 rhythm, hoping for a paddle that felt more like meditation and less like survival.

Earlier, the dockside chatter was all smiles. “It’s a great day,” they said. “Perfect conditions.” Translation: flat and windless. Paddling in glassy stillness might sound poetic, but from where I sit, it’s like watching paint dry while decoding ancient Indo-European syntax, slow, relentless, and somehow intellectually punishing.

Past the pandemonium of the canoe and kayak centre dock, things did smooth out. But of course, the river had other ideas. It was hot, scorchingly so, and the southbound paddle into the breeze meant wind in my face, not at my back. Some cooling relief for the first half, and a potential furnace for the last.  Translation - heat trapped between high banks and the slow, grinding burn of effort. Every half hour I stopped to feed, splash water over my legs and arms, and try to keep the heat fatigue from snowballing. One near miss with a water taxi added spice to the monotony, but I reached the new University of Manitoba dock incident-free, focusing on fair form and steady pacing.

There, I bumped into Brad Friesen, Samantha, and the usual suspects. We chatted, or more accurately, I griped. That’s how paddlers bond: sunburned venting and shared fatigue. Then we peeled off in different directions with casual waves and loose plans.

My original plan was modest: three hours up, two and a half back, a clean, no-nonsense paddle wrapped in about five and a half hours. But of course, adventure rarely sticks to script. Temptation came gliding in with a paddle. Brad and Samantha had just returned from the floodway, about 5K beyond the perimeter, the second checkpoint of the Red River 100K Challenge.

I wasn’t aiming that far today. But the perimeter? That I needed to see, a recon mission for future ambitions. I was fifteen minutes ahead of last week’s pace, feeling strong, so I pushed on. Got there. Snapped a few pictures. Took in the stretch of river that’s less forgiving and more demanding. Then turned back, chasing a wind-assisted glide that felt like flying.

Oh, speaking of the Red River Paddle Challenge, have you heard of it?

It’s a one-of-a-kind event open to every flavor of human-powered watercraft, from kayaks and rafts to canoes and stand-up paddle boards. Two routes: the full two-day, 100 km beast, or the one-day 44 km sprint. Both cut through the Red River of the North, winding its serpentine path like a challenge carved into water.

The event isn’t just a race; it’s a celebration, a community built on resilience and fueled by the kind of determination found in sore muscles and sunburnt smiles. Paddlers of every background and ability show up, dig deep and push forward together.

Registration’s open. You in? Let the river test you. Let the paddle guide you. 

Heading north with a south wind at my back? Bliss. Double the speed, half the fight. But by the time I hit St. Vital, the tank was low. Water nearly gone, muscles barking. I’d stayed fed and mostly on schedule, but the surprise 5K turned precision into survival math. I was going to make it, barely.

My legs, as usual, waved the white flag first. Not as bad as the last two outings, but still the Achilles of my paddle game. They’re improving, inch by inch, paddle by paddle. Something to work on. The fatigue was real, but so was the satisfaction, a good fight against heat, wind, and the kind of silence that turns into internal monologue.

Six long paddles in, and I’m steadily building consistency. Each outing pushes my endurance a bit further, sharpens technique, and helps identify areas to improve, especially around efficiency and recovery. The river conditions vary, but the key is staying adaptable. I’ve dealt with heat, boat wake, and unpredictable traffic including a few close calls with water taxis. Preparation is improving, even if hydration and energy management still need fine-tuning.

This latest session included an extended route, additional checkpoints, and a stronger pace than last week. The experience also gave me a clearer idea of how to approach the Red River Paddle Challenge’s longer stages. Navigation is getting easier, and course familiarity is growing. The next phase is about goal setting: reaching the floodway, building toward sustained performance, and continuing to log steady time on the water. The foundation’s there, now it’s about execution.