My fingers and wrist were shaking as the sweat and river water dripped from my hand and fell to the bottom of the boat. Heat rose from my upper body, though my neck to the top of my head. My life preserver felt constricting, preventing the deep breath my body needed to feel better.
As I lifted my head and looked to my right, the red-scaled dragon boat sliced to the right and headed back up the river, its crew confident in another victory.
Heat number two was minutes away, and I needed to gather my strength for the last race of the day.
Liz and I were in Dubuque, Iowa to race in the 26th Annual Dubuque Dragon Boat Race. We were part of La Crosse Dragon Fire
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Dubuque, on the shores of the Mississippi River, has been putting on dragon boat races since 1988, three years after this unique boat racing began spreading throughout the Midwest. Since its inception, competitors from the U.S., Germany, Italy, New Zealand, Taiwan and Canada have competed for medals in novice, intermediate and elite divisions. Recently, junior and breast cancer survivor teams have been added.
Our team chose wisely by putting us in the novice division, pitting us against teams from Dubuque and Chatham-Kent (Canada).
Our 18 paddlers (6 men and 12 women) came from a variety of professions -- none of them professional racing. We were doctors, nurses and technicians from Mayo Clinic in La Crosse. We had a yoga instructor (which came in handy for warm ups). Clock and insurance salesmen, and even someone old enough to be retired. One thing held us together: pride. We may not have been experienced dragon boat participants, but we were a determined bunch.
With our padded cycling pants, rowing gloves and water shoes, we had arrived to show the state of Iowa how much La Crosse loved the river.
As we paddled upstream to start the second heat, our sweep (at the back of the boat) told us to use a method he called 10-10-2. Ten long strokes from a dead start, ten quicker strokes once we got going, and then a one-two punch through the middle one-hundred fifty meters. Then let all hell break loose and go for broke on the final fifty meters.
"But coordinated," Mark said to my left. "We have to remember that none of that will help if our strokes aren't coordinated."
"We need a good start," said Carolyn, the woman in front of me. "If we can stay with them at the start, we will take them at the end."
I would be happy if I could get my hand to stop shaking. It was so tired, that I could barely grasp the paddle. My thoughts wandered back to our instructor in Winona who told us that if your hand, forearm or biceps was tired, you weren't paddling correctly. Use the strength in your shoulder to pull through, he said, and your top hand to push down. You should reach with your paddle, rotate your torso to the middle of the boat and locate your top hand over your lower elbow. For optimum efficiency, the blade of the paddle needed to be perpendicular to the surface as you pushed through the water.
"It should feel like you're pulling through cement," he had said. "Pull and push. Pull and push."
I wondered what our drummer and flag puller (sitting quietly in the front of the boat) were thinking as they studied this collection of aging, sweating faces. They would play a critical part in our finish, and we needed them to have confidence in our ability to paddle our boat smoothly and quickly to the end of the race. As members of our team, they watched patiently for most of the 300 meter course. Our sweep needed to position our boat through the currents toward the finish, and our puller needed to lean over the edge of the boat and grasp a flag before the other boat grasped theirs.
Sounded simple until you stepped into the boat.
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While competition has taken place annually for more than 20 centuries, dragon boat racing in the United States is a relatively new sport.
Most dragon boat races consist of a 300 meter course in a 40 foot fiberglass boat, weighing close to 1200 pounds.
In ancient Chinese times, it was believed sacrifices through drowning may have been involved in the earliest boat racing rituals. During these races, violent clashes between the crew members of the competing boats involved throwing stones and striking each other with bamboo sticks. Originally, paddlers or even an entire team falling into the water could receive no assistance from the onlookers as their misfortune was considered to be the will of the Dragon Deity which could not be interfered with. Fortunately, our boats, with a crew of 21, were better sports (with no rocks to throw).
Dragon boats can vary in size, varying from our 40 foot span to ones that hold upwards of 50 or even 80 paddlers, plus a drummer and sweep.
There are also much longer races than the one we were participating in. Our three hundred meter sprint was nothing compared to others. The Three Gorges Dam Rally along the Yangtze River near Yichang, Hubei province, China covers up to 100 kilometers (62 miles) and the Ord River marathon in Australia covers over 50 kilometers. The record holder is a relay event, on the Missouri River with a distance of 340 miles in a mere 38 hours and 5 minutes.
As we positioned the boats for our 300 meters, I thought back to how we had gotten here.
In the morning's first two heats, we had gone up against a team called the Mississippi Tailbiters for a chance at a gold, silver or bronze medal. Our combined time was 176.51, which was four seconds better than Saturday's best time. But still not good enough to beat the Tailbiters from Dubuque. So the good news was that we were stronger and faster than before. The bad news was that we were heading into the consolation race later that afternoon.
At two o'clock, we were lined up against Lot One, a team of novice paddlers of similar age. I think both teams were disappointed to be where they were, so every effort was being made to finish with a win.
Despite our best efforts (and after the first heat) we found ourselves less than a second behind heading into the second and final heat. We had struggled with our start time, as half the boat paddled faster than the other. With poor coordination, the boat struggled to hit its cruising speed, costing us valuable time. Making matters worse, one of our rear paddlers broke his paddle during the start, reducing the push we desperately needed out of the gate. Despite the poor start, we fought back. By the time we reached the end we had made up most of our lost time.
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The dragon boat rocked slightly as I heard one of our team members say that our second heat times had been better than our remaining competitor's time. But as the morning's race had shown, when pushed to compete, time trials were not a good indicator of how the race would go.
It was here and now, I thought -- as we switched lanes and positioned ourselves for the start of the final heat -- that we would find a way to beat this team.
It was time to have fun.
Time to hold our heads up and smile.
Time to win.
Our weekend consisted of two time trials on Saturday and then two competitive races on Sunday. Our first two time trials were against a group of 11th graders (E.D 11th) and a team called Solid Steel. We did well against the boat of eleventh graders, but reality set in as we faced off against the Dubuque Midtown Marina favorites, Solid Steel Dragon Boat Club.
Solid Steel has seven boats that compete around the world -- most recently in the 2013 World Dragon Boat Championships in Hungary, where they won two golds, seven silver and 13 bronze medals helping Team USA to a third place finish.
Needless to say, we were intimidated, even though our sweep told us to ignore them.
Time trials involved teams from all three divisions, so we were not actually competing against them. Easier said than done, as I found myself repeatedly watching their deep, strong strokes. Their coordination was machine like, complete with a video camera attached to their drummer. Our quess was that they used the video to train and monitor paddlers who were out of sync. It was the only race where we were swamped by the wake created by the other dragon boat.
Time trials involved teams from all three divisions, so we were not actually competing against them. Easier said than done, as I found myself repeatedly watching their deep, strong strokes. Their coordination was machine like, complete with a video camera attached to their drummer. Our quess was that they used the video to train and monitor paddlers who were out of sync. It was the only race where we were swamped by the wake created by the other dragon boat.
But we were able to see how much hard work and coordination would be necessary to beat the teams that were in our division. Sunday's race would tell us if we were good enough to medal, or bad enough to go home early.
I tried not to look at the paddlers of Lot One, but the temptation was too great -- I wanted to know if they looked tired, triumphant or worried. I quickly realized our competition looked just like us. Some faces were drawn and tired. Others were determined and eager for another chance. A few were trying to encourage others by telling them to "give it their all" and "fight through the pain." But as both boats settled into their race positions -- paddles forward -- a quiet settled over the dock area. Everyone knew what they needed to do. It was going to come down to who did it better.
The powerful, dual tone air horn blasted through the humid air. I sunk my paddle to the hilt, pulled through the water and lifted. Grunts and shouts of ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! SIX! SEVEN! EIGHT! NINE! TEN! escaped each paddler. My eyes were focused on Susan, our pace setter in the front of the boat, and I tried to follow her lead with every reach, rise, and push of the paddle.
Another ten shouts and our boat hit its cruising speed. Paddling became easier and the pace of our strokes increased. The boat to our right appeared to be slightly ahead, despite a better start from our team. A float passed by marking the first 100 meters, then a second as we continued to push. The boats were side by side as a cry rose out from our boat to PUSH, PUSH, PUSH! From the back of the boat someone was yelling PULL, PULL, PULL!
It was the final fifty meters when our boat took its first lead of the race -- albeit a small one.
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Suddenly a cheer from shore broke through the silence as our boats flashed past the finish line and our flag puller grabbed our flag. By the smallest of margins, it appeared to me that we had taken the flag first. But who knew... The winning decision was still minutes away as the announcer waited for the final electronic results.
Heads sagged and bodies leaned forward as our boat coasted through a gentle turn. We held our breathe in anticipation of the results.
Minutes later, the announcer spoke again. "With a second heat of 87.03 seconds, the La Crosse Fire Dragons have a combined time of 174.73 seconds. Lot One has a final time of 87.79 seconds and a combined total of 174.76 seconds."
At first my mind was too tired to understand what that meant. Seconds later, our team let our a roar as we realized we had won by a total of .03 seconds. The amount of time it takes for me to blink my eye was all that separated our win from a loss.
We had come to Dubuque looking for fun. In the end, all of us left looking for win number two.
