The First 20 Miles - You Don't Get There Alone

 

My alarm went off at 4:00 a.m. I rolled out of bed knowing I had a lot to do before this 20-mile paddle session.

The coffee pot was already dripping while I fed my dog breakfast. For myself, I made a bowl of sweet potato, applesauce, and sunflower butter (it's like peanut butter...just better). I chowed that down while sipping my morning coffee and, for what felt like the millionth time, checked the wind forecast.

It was still calling for 6–8 knots of offshore wind.

I kept hoping the forecast would change, but eventually I accepted it and decided what layers to wear: Florence leggings, my spring suit short john, and my green Florence long-sleeve rash guard. Next came the nutrition. I filled four water bottles with my liquid nutrition and electrolytes, packed a handful of vanilla GU gels, and tossed a few post-paddle snacks into the car just in case.

Before long, I was loading my 17'6" BARK prone board onto the roof and heading to the harbor to meet Zak and Amy. Zak was already there when I arrived. We stood around talking paddling, races, and whatever else came to mind while waiting for Amy. She showed up soon after, and at exactly 6:15 a.m. we launched from the dock.

We headed south toward the Beach House, and I was surprised by how much surf there was. Every few minutes a solid set would roll through, and I'll admit there were moments when I wished I was out surfing instead of setting off on a 20-mile paddle.

Zak planned to do about 12 miles, so we agreed to paddle to the Beach House, continue to the R10 buoy, and figure things out from there. The three of us stayed together, which turned out to be helpful. More than once I'd unknowingly drag a giant clump of seaweed behind my fin until one of them pointed it out. Amazing how much a little kelp can slow you down.

The water temperature actually felt pretty good. The wind stayed light, and the ocean had that glassy look that makes you want to stay out all day. I kept my headphones off and enjoyed the conversation between Zak and Amy. Before I knew it we'd covered just over six miles and stopped at the R10 buoy.

I tore open my first GU while staring at the enormous seal lounging on the buoy. Zak called her "Big Bertha." She was seriously one of the biggest seals I've ever seen. We all gave her plenty of room. Zak still had things to do that day, so he planned to hammer back to the harbor and finish his 12 miles. We said our goodbyes, and Amy and I turned north toward Manhattan Beach Pier.

As we paddled, Amy shared little Catalina Classic tips—what lines to take, landmarks to look for, and small details that only come from experience.

Around mile 12 the ocean became rougher and bumpier, and she slowly started pulling away from me. I finally turned on my headphones and mixed in more knee paddling just to keep from falling too far behind.

By the time I reached Manhattan Beach Pier, she was waiting.She suggested we continue north a little farther before turning around so we'd have an easier ride back toward the harbor.

"You up for that?" She asked

I knew it would hurt. "Sure."

As we pushed farther north my speed dropped from around 4.2 mph to 3.8 mph. Amy, meanwhile, looked like she was effortlessly gliding along at 4.5.

Then my headphones died. I laughed to myself. Guess I was going to raw dog the rest of this paddle.

I passed Marine Street, then 26th Street.At mile 15 I ate another GU, and we finally turned around. Amy could tell I was slowing down. My speed bounced between 3.0 and 3.7 mph. Every so often I'd get up and knee paddle, partly to change muscles and partly because I was getting cold.

Really cold. The offshore wind was right in my face. My jaw started chattering uncontrollably. Every few minutes I'd consciously relax my shoulders and try to shake off the cold before settling back into my rhythm.

As the miles wore on, I started thinking about the Catalina Classic. About what those final miles would feel like. The aching shoulders. The tight neck. The sore lower back. This wasn't Catalina, but in that moment it felt like my own version of it.

I imagined my headphones were still working. Every few songs, I pictured a recorded message from family or friends cheering me on. Right now I only have one. My mom's.

"Find your rhythm," she said. "And go, go, go." More than once I imagined her hand resting over mine, helping guide my cadence.

We passed Manhattan Pier and then Hermosa Pier. Every mile or so my speed would get a bit slower and Amy would circle back.

"Keep going, Eric." She'd paddle by me, loop back around, and ask how I was doing.

"I'm so cold," I told her.

"Try knee paddling a little more," she said. "The extra movement will help warm you up." Then she'd glide away again like the wind and chop barely existed.

The Breakwall felt endless. Like the Great Wall of China.

I kept watching my speed bounce between 3.4, 3.0, nearly zero while waves sloshed around me, and then back above 3 again. The waves exploded against the rocks, throwing whitewater everywhere.

Eventually I rounded the corner and could finally see the section of wall leading toward the harbor entrance. Amy circled back one more time.

"You're done," she said. "I don't care what your GPS says. Once we're inside, head straight for the dock."

I was exhausted. And freezing. Inside the harbor I switched to knee paddling and watched the tenths of a mile slowly tick upward. When I reached the end of the rock wall leading back to the launch dock, my watch read 19.85 miles.

Part of me wanted to paddle another two-tenths just so it would say 20. But Amy was right. I'd done enough. My previous longest paddle had been 15.1 miles. Today I'd stretched that to 19.85. Close enough.

Besides, Amy reminded me Garmin watches aren't perfect anyway. I'm pretty sure she paddled well over 20 miles with all the times she circled back to check on me. Back at the dock I helped her get her board out of the water before carrying mine to the parking lot.

Ironically, I was colder standing on land than I had been out on the water. My jaw wouldn't stop shaking. I kept paying attention to how much strength I still had left in my arms while carrying my board.

Thankfully, the water in my post-session jug was still warm. It felt amazing. I changed into dry clothes, piled on extra layers, thanked Amy for sticking with me, and headed home. Tired. Cold. But definitely not defeated.

For the day, I paddled 19.85 miles (I'm calling it 20) in 5 hours and 12 minutes.

• Distance: 19.85 miles
• Time: 5:12
• Average Speed: 3.8 mph (3.9 mph moving)
• Max Speed: 6.4 mph
• Calories Burned: Around 1,383 (if you're into counting those)

Amy has been there for every one of my longest paddles.

Training is physical. It's mental. But I also think there's something powerful about having someone willing to lead you into territory you've never been before.

Someone who circles back when you're struggling.

Someone who tells you to keep going.

Someone who knows when you've already done enough.

I'm grateful to have a friend like Amy Dantzler helping me reach these milestones.

Now it's time to see what the next one looks like.