R2R Pt. 3: One Way Home

“It’s because we brought Ben with us.” Are the words I unwillingly wake to.  Keri’s voice and steps are filled with excitement.  I pull myself off my bunk in time to see my friend’s wide eyes.

“Did you pray last night?

“I pray every day.” Is my reply, and it’s true, I constantly talk to God. I ask him how to help me with the smallest tasks. I didn’t understand, though, why Keri was saying all this. She stepped aside and told me to go look outside.

Off the stern of the boat, facing into overcast skies, was a sight I thought I’d never see and could have only really prayed for.

Perfect glass all the way to the horizon. Not a ripple or hint of texture on the water. Grey skies reflected back in the grey water. “It’s All Good” barely rolled as I stared in the direction of my home.

I changed into my paddling costume: a 2mm long-john wetsuit, the Florence Marine X Ben Did Go top the twins had gotten me for my birthday, my hat, and a pair of sunglasses I never wore.  My iPhone, I don’t know why, and waterbottles.  I packed my bunk neatly, then moved my board from the bow of the ship to the swim deck at the stern. Colorful lights dance in the grey water, adding to the dream-like state of the moment.

Weaving our way through the moored boats, we reach the shoreline for check-in. Our number is written on our hands, and our transponders started.  A light flashes, signaling it has begun.

Boards line the shore. Facing east, there is nothing to see past the boats.  My heart is racing. We wait for the buzzer.  It is about to begin.

Heeeeeeeeeee. The air horn blows.

Boards slide into the water, bodies slide onto the boards. The peaceful calm is replaced by churning water. Hands scrambling and egg beating the surface as we all crowd through the moored boats and other paddlers. There is a rock outside; I believe it’s called the ship rock, and we must paddle to the right of it.

In this scramble, I have the pressing thought that I can’t do this paddle, 22 miles, in silence. Thankfully, I’d brought my phone in a waterproof pouch. I quickly flip on airplane mode, open Spotify, and play a song I had not listened to in quite a while.

“Jordans” by Blessing Offor is the song I’m told to play. I hit play, then tell it to repeat. This will be my anthem and my fuel. While playing this music, I had no idea why I felt compelled to choose this song; it felt like a heavy weight I couldn’t ignore. A feeling I was familiar with, and it won’t be until later that I find out why.

Past Bird Rock, we paddle. Out into the expanse of grey. As above. So below. I feel fresh and strong. I am invigorated by this challenge. Amazed at the conditions, my faith renewed.

I paddle for an hour, and I can still see the landmass to the south that holds the larger city of Avalon. I look at my watch, judge my time, and how long I have. It is still early; I don’t want to burn out too quickly, but I don’t want to drag it out either. I have to stick with my paddle pack, and the report says the wind will pick up around 1 pm from the north.

“It’s All Good” helps us stay in step with those pulling ahead of us as we enter the channel. Steve, Keri’s awesome husband, is the support crew on the ship, gives us a bright orange target,  another paddler, and tells us to keep in line with them.

After what seems like a lifetime, I am beyond any land mass, nothing around but the grey expanse. The song invigorates me as the piano plays. I feel energy renewed and pick up my pace. I want to go ahead of my friends, to sing this song to God, making a way for their crossing.

One of the twins calls to me, reminding me not to get lost by the boat; the support boat must be able to see everyone in our group.  I slow my pace to stay with the crew.  We formulate a bit of a plan: when to eat, when the wind will come up. In the end, though, we slog it out. No stops. No food. No breaks.

Not long after getting into the open channel, Keri, one of the twins, began feeling seasick. This sickness would plague her the entire paddle across the channel. I didn’t want her to give up; I wanted her to finish this challenge with me.  I was only here because of her.

Wanting to beat the impending afternoon winds, SB Mike has taken off and left the pack. Alice, not wanting to leave her sister, has stayed behind.  I can sense that she wants to take off, though, and pick up some speed.  She wants to give this her best effort, but she doesn’t want to leave her sister.  Twins rarely want to leave the other, and you can see the struggle in Alice’s face. To push on without her sister and do a better time in the event, or to stay and support her. I ask Alice if she thinks she can paddle faster, and she says she can. I tell her to go on, and I’ll stay with Keri.  We go back and forth a little, in the end, though, she asks if I’m sure, and I tell her it’s what Ben (Carlson) would do.  Ali pauses for a moment before nodding, pushing on, she slowly disappears into the grey nothing.

Keri and I are left alone with the water.  She hasn’t been feeling well since nearly the beginning of the race.  I attempt to take her mind off of it, but tell her that if she needs to get on the boat, I’ll get on with her.  I talk to her about things that have been going on in my life that I haven’t even told my parents.  I haven’t told but 2 other people.  I tell her that I came out here to face a fear.  To face death.  Head on.  To push myself to the limit that I can at this point in my life.  All the way across the channel, I spill my heart to her and to God. My fears lay out with each stroke.

Usually, in open-water events, I get seasick by the 13th mile.  Even vomiting on a couple of the races. Apparently, my name got out about this while paddling a training run. Another paddler tells me he’s heard about this. Awesome. just a few miles before finishing.  The board's sideways roll in the current and my swimmer’s head-down stroke, forehead resting on the chin pad, make for a wicked combo that does not make my stomach happy.  I must constantly remind myself not to look down. Look forward. Always forward. The miles tick on, and the moment never comes.

In the middle of the channel, on a grey day, you see nothing but water and overcast skies.  The feeling becomes frightening, heavenly, dreamlike, and awe-inspiring all at once.  While on the island, I had asked Evan, Keri’s son, a beast who had already crossed the channel last year in the Ben Did Go event, if it was true that once in the middle of the channel, you saw nothing.  He described it like a treadmill.  Nothing to distract your attention, just the grind.

I imagined that would be exactly how it felt at mile 14, a grind, but my arms still felt good, and staying with Keri kept me feeling fresh.  Had I not wanted to stay with her, I probably would have blown my arms out miles back during my early event excitement.  Another amazing thing was that the conditions were still flawlessly glassy.  I would describe the conditions to a friend later, who doubted the glassy conditions, only to believe me after checking my Garmin app for the elevation gain.  0 feet was the reading.  For the event to still have such crystal clear, textureless water this far out was insane.  The fear of wind wouldn’t happen for another 30 minutes to an hour.  There was a northern current we had to fight a little against to keep from going too far south, and we had to paddle against it near the end of the event, but it was absolute perfection.  My fears were washed away.  God had made a way.

The miles tick towards the end, and a black mass rises out of the water. Land. San Pedro. 8 miles from this mass of hope jutting out of the water. 2 more hours of paddling. It’s All Good comes up alongside and tells me I’m heading further south than I should be. I correct course and head north so the southern current will set me right at the beach when I land.

The water's texture begins to slowly change. Perfect black glass is turning into something that reminds me of an obsidian arrowhead. Sharp black edges. I do not want to be in the open water when the wind comes up. I make an unconscious decision to speed up. Widening the gap between Keri and me.

The land grows as the end approaches.  It is about 4 miles to the end. “It’s All Good” comes up alongside me again.  It’s hard to hear Steven over the water.  It’s funny how sound disappears in the open ocean.  Nothing to stop the noise, sound is swallowed by the water.  I only catch bits and pieces of what he says, but it sounds like I’m supposed to go to Palos Verdes Cove.  This confuses me.  I have no idea where I’m going.  Not an awesome feeling to be in the open ocean.  Wasn’t the event finished at Cabrillo Beach? As I approach land, “It’s All Good” comes up alongside me again, telling me I need to paddle farther north. It’s hard to hear, and all I catch is Palos Verdes. I become confused. Should I be landing in Palos Verdes?  I thought the finish was at Cabrillo Beach. What doesn’t help is that it seems like there are a lot of people on the beach at Palos Verdes Cove, and I can hear music coming from there, which isn't helping my confusion at all and is kind of aggravating me.  Ugh, I should have planned better.  Why can’t I ever plan better?  I decided to go north, toward PV Cove.

As I get closer to land, however, I feel it should not be heading to PV Cove I am heading to, but Cabrillo Beach on the opposite side of Point Fermin.  In the moment I decide where I need to go, “It’s All Good” pulls up in front of me and tells me I’m going the wrong way.  Tired, confused, mentally drained from the 9-month buildup to this event. My eyes squinted, and I barked, “I know where I’m going.”  I somewhat do.  My dad was born and raised in San Pedro; his brother still lives there, my grandparents died there, and I spent my childhood going to their home on 3rd Street.  I knew where Cabrillo Beach was.  I wanted this done.

The cliffs are larger now, their colors and details defined, no longer black masses; they are home. They are the end.

Having paddled more north to compensate for the current, I now cut southward, which leads me through a field of kelp that sits inside the headland a little. I couldn’t do anything but paddle right through it.  The slimy sea greens give my hands extra traction, but slow the board as the fin catches on the vegetation.  Slowing my progress dramatically.  Land is so close.  I’m almost there.

Getting out of the kelp, I am free in the cove.  People are cheering for everyone.  I paddle in, lose my board in the small shore break surf, and I lose my sunglasses that rode across the channel on my hat in the last 12 feet of the race.  Sunk to the sand.  You’d think that would be the end of the race.  The moment your feet hit the sand, but it’s not.

I must charge up the shore to the finish line.  I can’t give up now and give it a real good push.

It is over.  5 hours 45 minutes.  Travelling 23 miles total from Two Harbors on Catalina to San Pedro.

I finished the task God called me to.

Everyone on shore was so tired, so high, so exhausted, so spent.  Awards are given out. SB Mike, Alice, and Judy all received awards for their efforts, as did Gat and Evan for their relay, which they won.  Alice is always a champ and takes home an award.  Beers are cracked; Kona Brewing Company supplied the celebratory suds. I looked for my brother, who was coming to pick me up, pack up the van, have a cold beer, and head home like it was another Sunday paddle.

At home, my mind is alive, but my body is spent.  I mindlessly sit exhausted and numb.

My mind is still racing, but sleep comes quickly.