Standing Up

I have a knot in my stomach. I’m scared. I feel like an impostor. Will the water be too cold? Can I get back on the board in deep water? These thoughts are running through my mind as I prepare to leave. 

I have been paddleboarding for years. I bought a Stand up paddleboard (SUP) during Covid. Unfortunately, I ended up working a lot then had a recurrence of cancer. Physical limitations and inability to plan meant no paddleboarding. 

This year started out well. I was stronger than before. The first time out, I paddled the entire length of Wiles Lake without needing to sit down. That gave me the confidence to sign up for the advanced level course. It sounded like a good idea at the time. 

I’m anxious about my ability to get back on the board, especially with my chronic back pain acting up. I’m nervous that the other people in the course will be athletic and beyond my ability.

But, I’m going to do it. I know that I need to push myself outside of my comfort zone in order to improve. I have given myself permission to leave the course mid-way through if it isn’t working for me. If my back is at risk of injury, I will stop and come home. Giving myself that permission is what I need in order to be OK with going forward. 

I leave half an hour early, hoping to talk to the instructor in advance and let him know about my concerns. When I arrive, there is no sign of activity in the store front. I go down to the water and test the temperature — nice and warm. Unfortunately, I messed up the timing. The class was this morning. I missed it! 

I could go out on the ocean at LaHave Islands, but I’m nervous about paddling in unfamiliar waters alone. Instead, I take as a sign that it wasn’t meant to be. I decide to drive over to Fancy Lake and paddle in more familiar waters. 

The lake is as smooth as glass and is empty. Since I’m paddling alone, I don my personal flotation device (PFD) and board leash. I attach my Crocs to the front of my board, so I can always swim to shore if I’m not able to hop back on after a fall.

After 20 peaceful minutes paddling, a guy takes out a Jet-ski and tows kids on a tube. They pass on the far side of the lake. I turn into the wake and have some fun bouncing over the artificial waves. He returns and again gives me lots of space. On his final pass, he loops around me, closer, causing confused water. Then he slows down causing a huge wake. I turn into the largest wave, but it is too big. I put my paddle in the water. As I complete the stroke and lift the paddle I go flying. 

I think, no big deal. The water is warm and I wanted to practice getting back on the board anyways.

First, I try with my PFD and leash on. I kick to get up but  only get partway. I cannot get enough of my core onto the board, so when I try to lift my leg the board tips.

Next I decide to try and make a paddle float, like I learned during a kayak self-rescue course. I tuck my paddle it into the straps at a right angle. I try and try again, but still cannot get on. 

Then one of my Crocs starts to float away – oops. I grab it and tuck it in more solidly under the straps. This extra effort saps my limited energy.

I cannot get enough kicking power. The paddle leash is getting in the way. I remove the leash and try again. I’m getting higher up on the board, but I’m getting stuck on my PFD. 

I’m tiring. I remove my PFD and hook it to the board. I don’t have many attempts left in me before I need to give up and swim to shore. 

Fortunately, this attempt works and I’m able to get back on. This is exactly what I was afraid would happen during the course. 

Glad to be back on the board, I paddle a bit while sitting, then eventually stand up again. I stay close enough to shore that I can swim in if needed. Just outside the swimming area, I jump off the board to try again.

I start by removing the leash and my PFD. I try a variety of configurations — PFD as float for my thighs, PFD as paddle weight, Crocs as foot buoyancy — none of them work. I run out of ideas and energy. I swim back to shore towing the board behind me, promising myself I’ll watch a few SUP YouTube videos when I get home. I really need to figure out self-rescue. 

I learn a couple of things from YouTube. First, I need a longer leash. My leash should be as long as the board. My current leash is only half that length. I also learn of another technique which involves using a rope connected to the handle that acts as a stirrup, like getting on a horse. In theory, that would give more force when jumping up onto the board, allowing me to more of me on the board before trying to swing my leg up. 

Now I have to try again.

The next day, I hop on the board, ever hopeful. The water is warm on my feet as I get myself organized. I clip on the dry bag with my keys and my water bottle. I check that the new stirrup strap is attached to the carry handle. I awkwardly, as always, sit on the board and remove my Crocs. This time, I use a carabiner to attach them. I don’t want a repeat of them floating off!  

I slowly paddle out to deeper water, now is the time to test out my stirrup. While still sitting on the board, I lean back and fall into the water with a splash. The water is warmer than a swimming pool and feels wonderful on my skin. I love being in the lake at this time of year. 

First I try the stirrup while still wearing my PFD and leash, but the leash is so short it makes it impossible. I remove the leash and try again. Nope. 

Since the stirrup doesn’t work, I use it to make my leash longer. When I try this time, I feel the extra power in my kick, but my PFD still gets in the way. I remove it, and finally I get back on the board.

Success. Yay. 

I hear the call of a loon. I see a couple of them in the middle of the lake. This is my signal to go out for a paddle. I stand up and wobble a little, keeping my knees soft. As I take the first few strokes I notice the board is sluggish. As I paddle out towards the loons I notice that my board is sagging in the middle, a clear sign that it is under-inflated. I return to shore and pump up the board. 

With the board fully inflated and a longer leash, I try again. I succeed. 

I still struggle with the idea of paddling on my own. It has been ingrained in me from a young age that it is unsafe. However, I really enjoy it. If something happens and I die, I know that I will die doing something that I love. 

I feel a sense of relief to have figured out self-rescue. I can now confidently paddle alone. As I paddle, an eagle flies directly over me, congratulating me. Telling me, you got this!