Catalina Classic — 32 Miles Across the Channel
A year ago, I stood on the beach at Manhattan Pier and watched the Catalina Classic finishers gather for their photo. I had just finished the two-mile Catalina Cup race. My board was on the sand, and I was surrounded by people who had spent the morning paddling 32 miles from Two Harbors on Catalina Island to Manhattan Beach. I remember looking at them and thinking: I want to do that.
But the truth is, this dream goes back much further than a year. This was something I dreamed about as a kid. It always felt out of reach. A one day I'll do that kind of dream. Something I could imagine myself doing someday, but never really knew if I'd have the opportunity, the ability, or the crazy determination to actually make it happen. On August 30, 2026, I did it. It's done.
32 miles from Catalina Island to Manhattan Pier in 7 hours, 22 minutes, and 11 seconds.
A year ago, I watched the finishers take that photo. This year, I was one of them. This is how I got there.
Race Morning
My alarm went off at 3:45 a.m., just as planned. I got up and turned on the coffee pot I had set up the night before. The big house was packed with racers and supportive friends. The bathroom was already in use, so I waited my turn and listened to every message I had saved on my phone from friends and family cheering me on. It was a really great way to start the day.
At 4:00 a.m., still listening to messages, more people started waking up and getting ready. I forced myself to eat my paddler’s breakfast bowl of sweet potatoes, applesauce, and peanut butter. It tastes great, I just wasn't hungry, but I knew I needed the calories today, so I ate it all. I got dressed in my paddle gear and packed up the rest of my stuff.
At 5:00 a.m., LZ and I headed down in the van with all our gear. She took everything except for my bag with the stuff for my board, my bottles and cage, and the INSTA360. I grabbed my board and headed toward the water’s edge. I thought about all my friends cheering me on. There were no pre-race jitters, yet. I added the GPS tracker to my board and attached my bottle cage and drinks. My board was right next to my friends Tyler (GNARF), Jordy, Alyssa, Maya, and Brenton.
Before the race, I gave my friends one last piece of advice. “I’d love to start the race with you and paddle across the channel with you. Just remember to race your own race. Whatever speed feels best for you.” My plan was simple. I was targeting between 4.2 and 4.5 MPH, or about 70% power output, for the entire race. That should get me to Manhattan in around seven and a half hours. But the real question wasn't my average speed. It was whether I could find my forever pace. The pace I could maintain for the entire race without slowing down. Every few miles, I would check in with myself. Should I speed up? Slow down? Am I working too hard? Do I have enough left for the end? Those questions would become my soundtrack for the next seven hours.
Starting the Race — The First 3 Miles
I passed off my sweatshirt and flip-flops to LZ. She started the INSTA360 camera on my board, and I started my playlist on my H2O Audio headphones. The final countdown was getting close. We all moved into the low-tide water, just a foot or two deep. 10… 9… 8… Crap. I almost forgot to start my watch. Boom, got that done. 3… 2… 1!
The horn blew. Everyone jumped onto their boards and paddled out between the boats. Alyssa and I stuck close to each other, sometimes even bumping elbows. As the pack spread out, I was feeling good about my plan. I was putting out about 70% effort and still hitting around 5 MPH. Wow. Maybe this was going to be one of those good years crossing the channel that people talk about.
The sky got lighter. The ocean swells got bigger. A lot bigger. I did some knee paddling and watched another guy near me try to knee paddle—and fall. My boat found me fast, within the first two or three miles. When they found me, I told them to check in with me again in 45 minutes. I stopped the INSTA360 to save the battery. I wanted video of the start, passing the R10, and the finish. If the battery held up, I could grab some extra footage in between, and it did.
The water felt great. Early on, clouds blocked some of the sun's rays, so it wasn't as blinding as most mornings. As the sun climbed higher, the clouds disappeared, and I put on my sunglasses. I found my rhythm. Eventually, I pulled away from Alyssa.v The same songs that had played while I was training for this race were playing in my headphones. Every now and then, a message would pop up between songs. Friends, family, people cheering me on. I'd smile, sometimes I'd laugh. Sometimes I'd get teary-eyed as I watched the miles tick by.
The Mental Race Plan — Paddle Math
32 miles is a long way to paddle with just your hands. The race starts at Two Harbors on Catalina Island and heads north, about eight degrees, until you reach the R10 buoy, roughly two miles off the coast of Lunada Bay. You pass between Palos Verdes and the R10, with the buoy at your left shoulder. Then you head toward Manhattan Pier. 32 miles, one finish line. The people who had done the race before me had different ways of mentally breaking down the distance. Amy Dantzler likes to divide it into three 10-mile chunks. I like smaller chunks. So I created my own version of mental race math. I call it Paddle Math.
I imagined I was doing the 24-mile Double Amy Loop. The first lap starts at Redondo King Harbor, heads south to the Beach House, then southwest toward the R10, and finally back to the harbor. That’s about 12 miles. Do it twice, that’s 24 miles. Then I only had to get from the R10 to Manhattan Pier. I could picture that map in my head as I looked at my GPS watch. I’m at mile five, one more mile to the first R10 checkpoint in my head. Very doable. That was the trick, don't paddle 32 miles. Paddle one mile, then another, then another.
Mile 6
At mile six, I ate a vanilla GU. I was glad the pack of racers had spread out. The ocean had calmed down, and I glided along listening to music and messages from friends and family. I made another mental note to take a GU at mile nine while sipping on my Perpetuem and electrolytes. My boat checked in on me, and I was grateful to have Lindsay and Captain Stephan Sleeis there whenever I needed them.
My pace was holding exactly where I wanted it—between 4.5 and 4.7 MPH. Then my left calf started cramping. I asked for a cold electrolyte mix, and that really helped. I actively steered my mind toward the place where my leg was cramping and told my body to stay calm, just relax. As I chugged the cold electrolyte mix between strokes, the cramp went away. Over the next six miles, the cramps would come back. Sometimes my legs, sometimes my hands. I'd get the boat to refill my bottles, drink more cold electrolyte mix, and the cramps would disappear.
Mile 12
Mile 12 felt really good. It was the beginning of the second lap of my 24-mile Double Loopy Loop. In reality, I was halfway across the channel, and getting to that point felt like a win. My next target was three miles away. The Beach House, in my head anyway. My pace was holding, and my body felt good. All those 875 ocean miles of training were paying off. Only 100 of those 875 miles were from surfing. The rest were from paddling. I was doing exactly what I had trained to do.
Mile 15
At mile 15, I imagined making the turn from the Beach House and heading southwest toward the R10. The fifth leg of my imaginary Amy Loop. My pace was holding. Everything was working. Until mile 18.
Mile 18
Ironically, mile 18 was where I would be reaching the R10 in my head. The R10 is notorious for current. I've done a ton of trips paddling out to and around that buoy. 98% of the time, the current is working against me on the return trip to the harbor. My speed can drop from 4.5 MPH to 3.7 MPH or even slower. At mile 18, I could feel it happening again.
I was still about six miles away from the actual R10. But the current was already pushing back. My pace dropped from 4.5 to 4.2 MPH. Then at mile 21: 3.6 MPH. But my power output was still around 70%. My speed was slower, but my effort wasn't. Plus my morale didn't change. I looked over at LZ and my captain. They were smiling. They looked excited. The messages in my headphones kept playing. I kept paddling.
Around mile 22, my boat came over for an unexpected check-in. “Hey Eric, I've got good news and bad news. The bad news is we're almost out of gas. The good news is I can have my lifeguard friends meet me for a refill. You'll be on your own for a while, but we should be back before you hit the R10.” Captain Sleeis turned the boat around and disappeared behind me.
For a moment, I thought about the possibilities. What if he doesn't make it back before the R10? I had been paddling near Brenton Hamilton almost the entire race. We started just two or three people apart and had been in hear shot distance nearly every mile. If I needed to, I could ask him to have his boat radio in at the R10 checkpoint for me.
There are only two boat check-ins that must happen during the race. The first is when your escort boat finds you for the first time. The second is when you pass the R10. And now my boat was gone. Doesn't matter. There was absolutely nothing that was going to stop me from finishing this race. If my boat made it back in time, great. If it didn't, I'd figure something out. If I got disqualified? I didn't care, I wasn't stopping. Then my headphones died.
Suddenly, the rhythm of my strokes was louder. I thought about my friend Bryce in Hawaii. During training, I'd listened over and over to a message he had sent me. He talked about how rare it is to do the Catalina Classic. He said he was jealous, and he hoped I'd turn off the music for a while and just take it in. Experience the nature around me, I laughed. Well, Bryce got his wish. At least for a little while. I had planned ahead. I knew my headphones wouldn't last the whole race, and I had a second pair attached with Velcro to my other hat on the boat. I was less than a mile from the R10 when I suddenly heard music blasting. Then I heard cheering. LZ and my captain were back. I was stoked!
Mile 24 — R10
My line toward the R10 was perfect. I turned on the INSTA360 and hit record ,and then the emotions hit. I did it. I had crossed the Catalina Channel solo. Sure, I'd been in the channel before during the 22-mile Rock 2 Rock race from Catalina to Cabrillo. But those times I was on a relay team. This was different. This was me on my 17'6" prone paddleboard crossing the channel.
I talked into the camera as I paddled toward the R10. I talked about how grateful I was to have so many friends and family cheering me on. I talked about how I never felt alone, not once. I had zero dark thoughts the entire time. I smiled, I laughed and I got teary-eyed. Then I waved at the R10 as I passed it.
There were paddlers everywhere. Some were hitting the wall. Bonking, as paddlers call it. Others were sitting up on their boards eating victory snacks. Including Tommy Horton. Tommy was doing his 20th Catalina Classic. The dude is an animal. I've trained with Tommy a lot, and I love getting time with him both in and out of the water. As I passed him, I remembered a story DJ Wilson told me about last year's race.
She said she would always pass Tommy at the R10 and yell: “On your right!”
So I looked over at Tommy. “Hey Tommy! On your right!!!” Then I paddled away laughing. If Tommy really decides not to do the race again, I might have to put a sticker of him on the R10 a few days before the race so I can keep that tradition alive. If I decide to do the race again, that is. Because this race is a huge commitment.
Training properly for 32 miles means giving up a lot. I missed my sister's 50th birthday party.
I missed all sorts of things. Some days started with 6:30 a.m. training paddles in the late winter and early spring. A few hours on the ocean before the rest of the day even started. That's not easy to balance with most jobs.
I'm one of the few exceptions right now because I'm not working. I was laid off after 24 years of service at Northrop Grumman at the end of 2024. But that time also gave me the opportunity to do some amazing things. I broke personal-best records in surfing. I got back into competitive longboard surfing and placed third in the South Bay Boardriders 2025 season and first in the 2026 season for Open Longboarding. I rediscovered prone paddling in 2025 and placed first in my division in all the short two- and three-mile races. And that led me here. To the Catalina Classic. The 32-mile beast.
Miles 26–27
My speed picked up a little. I was averaging around 4 MPH. I passed a few paddlers here and there and did my best not to look to the right. On training paddles, the shoreline can mess with your head. You look over and it feels like you're not getting any closer, for miles.
At mile 26, I laughed. I had just paddled a true marathon, and I felt pretty good. I was tired, sure, but I wasn't dying. I was still knee paddling. Still holding my 70% forever pace. We did a bottle change that included a Coke bottle with a sip cap. It still magically had some carbonation in it and exploded when LZ reopened it. So I ended up with half a bottle. That didn't matter, I just wanted something other than Perpetuem or electrolyte mix.
Mile 28 — Redondo King Harbor
At mile 28, my boat checked in again. Captain Sleeis asked if I wanted to keep LZ on the boat or if I wanted him to drop her at the harbor so she could meet me on the sand. “That would be awesome. Yes! Go drop her off.” We were close now. Only a few miles to the finish. They zipped away and focused on the line of boats ahead of me.
My cadence held as the ocean surface became swashy, boat wakes and waves bouncing against each other from opposite directions. I tried knee paddling. I fell off my board, and that's rare for me. I didn't feel too tired to knee paddle, so I tried again, I fell again. Okay, guess I'm going prone the rest of the way. Then a big boat wake almost washed me sideways off my board. Keep going. The hard part is already over. I already crossed the channel. I already passed the harbor. Next stop: Manhattan Pier.
Mile 30
My captain found me and started blasting songs from our childhood. I pulled my headphones down and sang along with him. For a few minutes, it didn't feel like a race anymore. It felt like two friends sharing music from another time while I paddled toward the finish of a race I had spent a year preparing for.
It made those last few miles that much easier.
Mile 32-ish
The Manhattan Pier grew larger as I closed the distance. I could see the crowds on the beach. The easy-up tents, the sponsors, and the people waiting. The surf was well overhead, and sometimes waves would splash upward, hitting the underside of the pier. More cheers came from the boats I passed. I dropped my bottles off my board during that last mile, trying to remove as much weight as possible. My captain scooped them up. I told him I wanted to meet him after I finished so I could hand off anything left on my board, along with my hat and headphones.
It was the final stretch. My boat pulled away and went wide toward the outer tip of the pier. The smile on my face grew. My pace held strong. Then I saw the big lifeguard boat on my left. The water cannon was mounted on the back. Usually, only the first-place finishers in each division get this kind of hero's welcome, but my boat captain is also a Baywatch lifeguard captain. He had called in a favor and asked them to shoot the cannon for me. They said they couldn't promise anything. But secretly, I'd been dreaming about it.
The water cannon turned. Then fired. A huge plume of water shot into the air over me. I laughed. Not a polite laugh. Not a quiet laugh. The loud, stupid laugh that usually comes out only during private, special moments. The kind of laugh I get when my puppy Zoey is attacking my neck with puppy kisses.
I could hear boats cheering. People on the pier were cheering. Paddlers in the water were calling my name. Just a few more strokes. The red buoy was right there. I kept paddling. The tip of my board passed the buoy. A horn sounded. 7 hours, 22 minutes, 11 seconds.
And just like that… It was over. I paddled a few extra strokes to give the other paddlers room. Then I made my way toward the outer tip of the pier and passed off everything I could that might fall off on the trip into shore. For the first time that day, I sat up on my board. And felt the ache in my legs, and my back. Steph said the waves were big. “Can you swim in?”
“No.” I didn't have the energy. I'd have to chance it and paddle in. I passed off my bottle cage, chin rest, hat, and headphones. Then I moved a little south and closer to where the waves were breaking.
A huge set rolled by. I suddenly wondered if I was already too far inside. Luckily, it passed me. I looked out to sea. I couldn't really tell what was coming next. I made up my mind. I laid down on my board and headed toward shore. A wave pushed me forward. I pulled back to let it pass, then paddled hard again. Another wave pushed through. I pulled back just enough to keep from getting sucked over the falls. I gave it everything I had and was more than halfway in. I looked over my shoulder, hoping for a break. Another big set wave, well overhead. But I was far enough inside that I knew it would break behind me instead of directly on top of me.
I slid off my board and dove underneath the massive wave. Two more waves pushed me into the shallows. Then my feet touched sand. I could stand. Victory was mine. I threw my arms in the air and laughed. Tyler had already grabbed my board and gently set it down on the sandbank. He was the first person I saw as I made my way to the water's edge.
He wrapped his arms around me in a huge hug. “Good job, dude!” Tyler has been a huge part of this journey. This was his third Catalina Classic. I've been surfing with him for a few years now. We've busted headstands on our boards together. He'd go out on massive days at Burnout. I look at him as a true waterman. He's also the first person in my tiny circle of friends to tackle the 32-mile beast of a race. He was the first person to plant the seed that maybe, one day, I could be a Catalina Classic finisher. He was the first person to take me out to the R10 buoy, back on September 12, 2025.
Even then, it was tough for me to keep up with him. And somehow, it was fitting that he was the first smile I saw when I reached the shoreline after 32 miles. The first congratulations on shore. The first hug from a friend.
After the Finish
Everything after that happened in a blur. My nephew. My sister. My wife. More friends. Photos and videos from every direction. I made my way to the shade under the umbrellas my sister had staked out near the pier. I chugged water. Drank pickle juice. Inhaled a sandwich. Then changed out of my paddle clothes and into dry clothes.
I walked around with my family and talked with friends about the race. Everyone had a story. Eventually, I made my way over to the Catalina Classic finishers tent. They handed me a goodie bag and let me pick out my finisher's trophy. They call it a “stick.” It's shaped like a paddleboard with a little plaque that says:
2026 Catalina Classic Finisher
There were different types of wood to choose from like birch, oak, and others. I chose purpleheart. I couldn't be happier with it.
The People Who Got Me Here
I have so many people to thank that it almost feels like saying “thank you” doesn't come close to expressing the impact you've all had on me. There are so many of you who played a part in making this dream happen, and I mean that literally. Every paddle, every conversation, every piece of advice, every training session, every message, every person who paddled beside me when the ocean was perfect—and especially when it wasn't. You all helped get me here.
I want to thank all the different paddle clubs and crews that gave me the endurance and confidence to keep going through all kinds of ocean conditions.
The TNT crew — @amydantzler @kurtfry_mb @1saltwater @tomh59 @edmckeegan @blackmanbrent @alyssavon3 @mayaserota.
The Paddle Dawgs — @gnarf007 @jordysilverman @cstutzcanhang.
The Donkeys — @mattwalls16 @dougmute @aidann.flynn.
The @southbaypaddleclub.
The Stringrays.
The @prones_brigade.
And every paddler I've clocked miles with along the way. Every one of those miles mattered. Some taught me how to go faster. Some taught me how to go longer. Some taught me how to deal with ugly ocean conditions. And some simply taught me that I could keep going when I wasn't sure I could.
A huge thank you to my boat Captain and crew @captainsleeis and @wood_brain for escorting me across the channel with smiles, cheers, and great vibes. Having you guys out there made an enormous difference.
And to everyone who sent me a message, shared advice, or was simply thinking about me while I was out there:
Thank you. I mean that more than I can probably explain. I played messages from friends and family through my headphones during the race. Some people can go to dark places during the Catalina Classic. The pain is real. The distance is huge. And there are moments when you can feel very, very small in the middle of all that ocean. But I never went to that place. I had zero dark thoughts during those 32 miles.
Instead, I had your voices, your messages, your encouragement. Thoughts about friends. Memories of training sessions. People I knew were somewhere on the beach waiting for me.
I always had this feeling that my friends were cheering me on, every half hour and on the hour. And it changed the entire experience. I laughed, I smiled. I cried happy tears. All while paddling across 32 miles of ocean. And that felt amazing. I never stopped and sat up on my board until the race was over. Sure, my body is exhausted. Everything hurts, but I did it. I finished the Catalina Classic smiling, thinking about all the people who supported me and cheered me on. That might be one of the most special parts of the entire experience. I wasn't alone out there, not even close.
Where It All Started
Last, but certainly not least, I want to thank @southbayboardriders. Their little two- and three-mile paddleboard races completely changed the direction of my life. I did my first two-mile race in June 2025 on a 12 foot stock board. I had no idea what that little race was going to lead to, but it planted an idea. Maybe I could do something new. Maybe I could work toward something I didn't think was possible. Maybe I could become the kind of person who looked at a 32-mile race and said: I'm going to do that.
That little two-mile race eventually led to three-mile races. Those led to longer paddles. Those led to the R10. The R10 led to the Catalina Channel. And eventually, that little two-mile race led me to the beach at Manhattan Pier with a Catalina Classic finisher's stick in my hand. That's pretty incredible when I think about it.
It's also extra special that @blacklinelogo has streamed live video of so many of these life-changing events. There are moments in life that seem small when they happen. A two-mile race. A training paddle. A conversation with a friend. Someone saying, “You should try this.” You never know which one is going to change everything.
The Photo
I remember last year doing the two-mile Catalina Cup and staying to watch all the Catalina Classic racers take this photo. I wanted to do that. Here I was, one year later, lined up with friends I'd made since that day. I grabbed my board from the shade underneath the pier and found a spot where I thought it wouldn't fall over if the wind picked up. I planted the tail of my board in the sand. Then I walked the rest of my 17'6" board upward until the tip leaned against the pier. My board was leaning against the pier. I was standing there with the same ocean behind me. Except now, I was one of the 154 finishers. The kid who always thought this was a one day I'll do that dream had finally done it.
Thirty-two miles from Catalina to Manhattan in 7 hours, 22 minutes, 11 seconds on August 30, 2026.
I did it. It's done. I'm beyond stoked to have finished something this huge. But more than anything, I'm grateful. Grateful for the people who believed in me. The people who paddled beside me. The people who trained with me. The people who sent messages that I listened to somewhere in the middle of the Catalina Channel. The people on the boats. The people on the beach. My family and my friends. Everyone who gave me a little piece of themselves to help me get across 32 miles of ocean.
This dream may have started when I was a kid. But I didn't get to Manhattan alone. We did it together. And now it's here. I don't know if I'll do it again. Ask me later. Right now, I just want to hold onto this feeling forever.
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