Pretty funny read on a triathlete's personal experience as a newbie paddler.
Enter The DragonTeamwork, Triathlon Style
So, as my nearly race-less summer wound down, I turned my balding glare towards the autumn to see what path I would take to get me to the winter with my fitness (and marginal grasp of sanity) intact, and ready for 2005. I had the usual marathon foolishness scheduled for Baltimore and Philadelphia, but I needed something more; I wasn’t ready to get back to the pool and onto the rollers just yet.
When down at the gym at work, just lifting weights to get back in form for the day I actually found myself in the pool again, I saw a sign. Not a sign like a big opening in the clouds complete with orchestra, chorus, and Jake Blues grabbing me by the collar while screaming, “THE BAND, BOB! THE BAND!” but a small piece of paper with the following headline:
“Looking for a challenge? Want to learn something new? Join the Dragon Boat Team!”
Challenge? New? ROCK ON. I’m there. I had no idea what a Dragon Boat was, but I was in. I wrote an email to the team manager, told him I was interested, and waited to hear the reply. He wrote back to me precisely 4 minutes later:
“You’re Bob Mina? I’ve read your race reports; they’ve told me about you at the gym. You’re insane. See you at the first meeting!”
I had two things to worry about now:
The team captain knew of me, and now expected a triathlete-like performance. I had no idea what a Dragon Boat was, or how to paddle, steer, avoid, or eject from one.
Item #1 is the thing I suddenly found myself worrying about. It’s one thing when you go into a new situation and nobody knows whom you are, or what you can do. It’s like racing somewhere across the country where you know none of your usual mates will be – you can make a mess of things; mis-sight and get lost on the swim, have an off bike split, or end up walking on the run because you forgot to eat (again), and nobody knows about it.
It’s quite another when someone knows you’re a triathlete, and will base all of his or her expectations upon that thought. The ever-present media images of a triathlete being someone who has 4% body fat while they swim 10,000 meters per day, rides 360 miles per week, and runs over 100…well, make that ‘week’ bit read ‘month’ … in 2004, and we’re talking more about this Bob in realistic terms. The worst thing I could imagine happening was being introduced and having someone go, “You’re a triathlete? Really?” as they looked at my Clyde-like form.
When we had our first team meeting, I tried to keep a semi-low profile and just listen. I learned precisely what a Dragon Boat is: A Dragon Boat is a 22-person racing longboat. One person steers, one person pounds a drum, and the other 22 pretty much follow the beat of the drummer and paddle themselves into a synchronized, anaerobic stupor over a 500-meter race (or more). I would be one of the engines in the boat who paddled on command. I could handle that much – it sounded so simple!
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Lesson #1 - When you join a team, triathlon-based thinking will immediately turn you into the round-peg trying to fit through the square hole.
After a month of conditioning work, we had our first in-water practice. There I was in the boat with 19 teammates, a coach, and a paddle. Within the first 2 minutes of paddling away from the dock, I’d already zoned out twice – focusing on my paddle rate, core-strength and paddle technique, and body movement. I was thinking about everything I’d learned on paddling: “Smooth motions. Slow motions. No extra movement. Fluid. Smooth. Even, even, even…” Things were going great!
There was just one problem – I was completely oblivious to my teammates directly ahead of and directly behind me. Each time I zoned them out, I’d crash into them with a loud and definitive “WHACK!” as paddle met paddle, and then Bob met Bill, or Karen, or Geoff, or Maggie…
I needed a crash-course in being a team player, and I had no idea where to begin.
Lesson #2 - Triathlete + Team Concept = “Why can’t these guys just stay with one rhythm?” If you find yourself thinking that more than once, and everyone else in the boat is not following your rhythm…you might need to look again at what’s going on.
When we started doing practice starts, things got even more insane. To start a Dragon Boat requires coordination and raw power from all 20 paddlers. You take 5 hard pulls, and then you sprint for 30 more to get the boat planing. There is no room for individual stroke rate – you do what the boat does or else you throw everyone off, get the boat rocking, and generally create instant chaos.
You can imagine how well someone like me (who has been a lifelong non-sprinter) blended in when faced with the volatile combination of (1) Sprinting, (2) Coordinating said sprint, (3) Paying attention to what was happening and listening to change cadence when needed.
In one 30-second drill (via my own exercise in bad timing), I managed to hit two paddles, my own forehead, and the person NEXT to me. Luckily I didn’t get tossed into the river right then and there. We tried a few more starts, and soon I was getting through them without doing any further physical damage…although my timing was similar to a squirrel on an espresso bender; I was always a step behind, trying to see what everyone else was doing and adjust, while trying not to hit myself in the head, while trying not to fall out of the boat.
It reminded me of the first time I tried to do a flip-turn in the pool and ended up head-butting the gutter after a perfectly executed 360. I was thinking so hard about so many different things, I couldn’t accomplish a single action. I was learning how to swim all over again, and it was giving me a massive headache (although now that I think about it, that might have been from whacking myself in the head with a paddle…)
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However, nothing has been able to stop the onward progress of being known as the team psycho. When we were 90 minutes into a practice and everyone was pretty much dying, Chris asked the team, “Do you need a break?” Nobody answered, so the triathlete in me spoke up before my brain had a chance to save me from myself: “NO WAY, Coach! We need the endurance work – no break.”
Chris smiled – he had his sacrificial lamb. “Oh, too bad! Bob says you guys don’t need a break! Give me another 500 meters!” In less than 2 seconds, I was the bad guy. I could feel the icy stares – I’d forgotten that maybe some folks really needed that break. It’s worth noting that I was also completely soaked from the two paddlers behind me who ‘accidentally’ slapped the water forwards on recovery. Such is life – I probably deserved that, but we didn’t take that break. Hah.
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