Paddling Past the Boiling Point

One of the most underrated superpowers in life and sport is knowing the difference between a reason and an excuse. Some sports practically hand out medals for inventive excuses (you know who you are), while endurance sports demand grit to a fault. “Tough it out” is the mantra, even when the smarter play might be a pivot or a pause.

This week’s training plan for my 7^th long paddle? Technically last week’s, just shuffled forward in time. Because summer’s running the show now. Storming around the province, leaving plumes of smoke like it’s auditioning for a disaster film. Plans are made. Nature laughs.

Plan A was a long, easy Friday paddle. The idea: beat the boats, dodge the smoke, and outmaneuver the storms. But Plan A got weather slapped, so I pivoted. Enter a very hard ride. So hard, I doubled up for the first time ever. Two hardcore efforts in one week. Victory? Yes. Part of the plan? Not in any version of the alphabet soup.

Saturday was supposed to be the paddle reboot, and with only 56 days until the epic Red River Paddle Challenge I was motivated. I crushed a heroic breakfast, packed fast, and got myself out the door at lightning speed. For me. Ideal launch time? Early. Actual time? Less early. It was already 27°C and climbing. I offhandedly asked Google, “What’s the humidity?” and she coolly responded: “100% … good luck.” Not helpful, Google.

Legs? Toasty. But when I set up the board with all my gear, I barely noticed. The heat had my full attention. A lone morning paddle enthusiast was packing up. They’d started early, clearly in on the secret. As I setup my NK Speed Coach, people asked how long I was going. “Six hours,” I said. Some jaws dropped. Some eyes rolled. Others couldn’t even process the idea. Paddling for six hours? In this heat? Respect, confusion, and admiration swirled in the air like smoke.

After some more fiddling, I took a proper hose shower before hitting the water. Wet, fed, and mildly cooked, I was ready to launch into this sweaty saga. I felt a little tired, sure. But I figured I’d warm up into it.

Then came the back pain. A bit of soreness that had bugged me overnight but didn’t set off any alarms. In hindsight, the week’s double hard efforts were clearly the culprit. I hadn’t slept great, but well enough. Still, I missed the connection between a sore back and paddling, which has literally never happened before. It only clicked once I was on the water.

Ah, denial. Endurance athletes’ favorite warm up. I figured I’d ease into it and the ache would fade, like most training twinges do.

I’ve done this drill hundreds of times. Paddling in serious heat isn’t a matter of bravery. It’s about strategy. Adjust or perish (or at least melt a little). My playbook always includes:

1. Hide from the sun: Hat, rash guard, full SPF armor.
2. Slow the heck down: I was moving so slowly, I nearly looped back to the start out of sheer anti momentum.
3. Stay wet to stay cool: Jumped in every 30 minutes like it was a prescribed medicine.
4. Hydrate like your life depends on it: Five liters on board and pre hydrated like I was prepping for a desert ultramarathon.

But here’s the kicker… sometimes even all that isn’t enough. When the humidity’s off the charts, evaporative cooling doesn’t happen. No matter how wet, shady, or slow you go. And today? The wind had taken the day off. Dead calm. No breeze. No relief.

The heat didn’t just cling. It smothered.

As the temperature cranks up, so does your body’s drama. Once it starts auditioning for Pressure Cooker: The Musical, you’d better pay attention. Because the signs of overheating? They’re spicier than a July soap opera crossover episode.

• Sweating buckets or zero sweating at all. Red flag either way. Your body’s confused, and so are you.

• Dizzy spells. Your brain’s doing acrobatics without a permit.

• Heart pounding or whispering. Either it’s throwing a tantrum or ghosting you.

• Cramp central. Your muscles are texting SOS in Morse code.

• Nausea or vomiting. Your stomach files a complaint with upper management.

• Throbbing headache. It’s a rave and your skull didn’t RSVP.

• Feeling weak or mushy. Like a half melted popsicle at a sauna convention.

• Goosebumps in the heat. Plot twist no one asked for.

• Sudden confusion. Mistaking your paddle for a burrito equals emergency.

• Collapse city. If you hit the deck, it’s not a nap, it’s an emergency.

What to do: Hit the shade, hose off, hydrate like you’re prepping for a camel cosplay, and chill. If things keep sliding downhill, call it. Get help. Don’t be the hero. Be the smart sweaty legend.

At some point, honestly, it’s all a sweaty blur. The slower I paddled, the higher my heart rate climbed. My engine was revving with zero throttle input. A rogue system alert. Then nausea knocked politely and asked to come aboard. That was my cue.

So I downshifted. Hard. I sat back and embraced the full Manitoba style paddle. Bayou tube float energy. Picture easy drifting, questionable technique, and a vibe so mellow even the ducks looked concerned.

Realizing that pushing through would be less noble and more self sabotage, I spun the board around and started the slow retreat. Five minute siesta? Mandatory. Cool water dips every 30 minutes? Lifesaving and spiritually cleansing.

The journey home wasn’t just physical. It was mental endurance in molasses. Every stroke took willpower. Every breeze (okay, imaginary breeze) was a blessing. I was halfway to baked before I even touched dry land.

If heat was the teacher, today’s paddle was the masterclass. Here’s what the bayou styled slog taught me, served with a side of sunscreen and self reflection:

1. Respect the forecast. When Google says “100% humidity,” it’s not just being dramatic. It’s sending out a weather themed warning.
2. Gear matters. Rash guard? Essential. Shade hat? Non negotiable. Pre launch hose shower? Inspired. Next time, a beach umbrella and an industrial fan might make an appearance.
3. Slow was smart. Speed became irrelevant. At one point, staying upright was the only goal. I might as well have been a drifting buoy.
4. Hydration isn’t optional. Five liters and still feeling toasted. Pre hydration helped, but next time I’m calling in electrolytes and maybe a sports scientist.
5. Listen to your body. Sore back, heavy legs, heart rate rising without effort. Those weren’t complaints. They were warning signs. I ignored them until they couldn’t be ignored.
6. Paddle chill is a skill. When it all hits the fan, channel some Manitoba wisdom. Sit down. Float slow. Don’t fight the melt. Sometimes, survival is the smarter path than heroics.

Will I paddle in the extreme heat again? No doubt. But next time, I might check that the sauna setting isn’t stuck on intense. This was one for the memory bank and the humidity archive.

That’s me on my 7th long-ish paddle. Plans shifted, the heat tested every move, and my body reminded me to listen closer. What started with ambition turned into a lesson in slowing down, adapting, and finding strength in the pause. Not the paddle I imagined, but maybe one I needed. And somewhere between the haze and the hydration, watermelon proved—once again—that it’s not a fruit, it’s a survival strategy.