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PORT PERRY STAR -- Tuesday, June 4, 1985 -- 23 OUCH!!! A N\ ~ . S~---- = C - XS Paddling for the pain of it all or, Girls Just Wanna Have Blisters by Cathy Robb Never again, that's all I've got to say. Every muscle in my body is crying out for Ab- sorbine Junior. Or Senior. The stronger the better. I'm so sore the sores on my sores are sore. I don't even think a jacuzzi and a massage from Hulk Hogan would improve the situation. I'm 24 years old and I think I'm more than prepared to spend the rest of my life in a retire- ment home. In a wheel- chair, with my legs wrapped up in a thermal blanket. With nurses, in- jecting me with mor- phine each and every hour. Oh, the intense pain of it all. Mark my words, if I ever canoe again it'll be too soon. In the beginning, I thought Canoe the Non- quon might be a wee bit of a challenge, but nothing serious. You know, just a friendly paddle down the shores of Scugog. With no inten- tions of winning, natural- ly, but with every inten- tion of just sitting back and enjoying the sunshine. Well, first of all, there was no sunshine Satur- day at five in the morn- ing, when I got out of bed. No sunshine, just these twittering birds, stupid things, up at five. There still wasn't any sunshine at 6:30, when Paul-baby (my partner) and I met up with Rick Cooper, the guy with the canoe. But there was fresh, hot coffee in the pick-up truck, which was real nice of Rick, but I couldn't drink it. One of the things I was most paranoid about was having to go to the bathroom halfway through the course of the race. And there's no way, for nothing, I'm go- ing to embarrass myself in a canoe race. So I went to the bathroom about six times before the race and then calmly poured Rick's coffee in a neighbouring bush. ALREADY CURSING By 7:10 a.m., or thereabouts, Paul-baby and I were dishing the canoe into the water, near a little bridge on the eighth concession, just north of Port Perry. By 7:12 am., I was already swearing at Paul. I mean, he may be my boyfriend, and I may - have known him for, like, two and a half years, but we've never canoed together before. In fact, I haven't canoed serious- ly in six years, and for him it's been more like ten. I realized this might account for trouble about two minutes into the race, when Paul steered us directly, whomp, into . the far side of the riverbank. "I know," 1 said snarkily, 'you didn't see that bank coming at you. Isn't it amazing how these things just jump right out in front of the canoe?" Paul-baby just grinned. Which I am glad for. Because 1 certainly wasn't grinning. As it turned out, Paul couldn't steer worth a you-know- what and we spent the entire race shuttling back and forth from one riverbank to the other in an amazing 'Z' pattern. "Can't you make this thing go straight?" 1 roared, after hitting the riverbank for the ump- teenth time and wat- ching umpteen canoes zip by in seamless, perfectly straight lines. Paul-baby just grinned. These small grins irk- ed me beyond belief and 30 minutes into the race I was seriously consider- ing divorce. Meanwhile, everybody and their mother had passed us along the river. HISTORY? ME? Todd Steele and a bud- dy with a moose on his head passed us, with war-like glee, shrieking, "You're hi-ist-ory, Robb." And just about everybody who went by asked me how come I wasn't taking pictures. Geez, I was having enough trouble keeping the front end out of the riverbank to even think about my camera. Which was sitting in a puddle of water in. the bettom of-- the canoe. I also seem to remember Mark Ken- dall, a twerpof akidI've |, taken pictures of before, passing by our canoe with total lack of grace. He too made a smart aleck remark about passing me and Paul-baby. But he spoke too soon. About 10 minutes after he passed us, we passed him. Seems he and his part- ner decided to take a short-cut through the marsh and got stuck on top of a particularly large hump of weeds. We paddled by just in time to see motor-mouth Mark jump out of his canoe, waist-high in slimey water, to push his boat free of the weeds. GIMME A BREAK When we were safely by him, he shouted back. at us, in his best whiney voice, 'Oh, no, I can't bee-leeve it. We've been passed by Cathy Robb from the Port Perry Star." As if he was being passed by a 90 year old granny or something. A fate worse than death. With that, Paul-baby and I put our backs into the task at hand, piling up the distance between Mark and us. And truth' is, we never saw the twerp again that day. We suspect he called in a helicopter to beam him to the finish line but I can't prove anything. And as it turned out, his canoe was the only one we passed in the en- tire race. Everybody passed us, absolutely everybody, but the straw that broke Paul-baby's back was whens<the two girls paddled by us as easily as if we were stan- ding still. "I can't believe it," moaned Paul-baby. "Passed by two gir-irls." But being passed by two girls was the least of Paul's problems. About halfway down the river he decided he had to go to the bathroom. "Don't stand up in the canoe, please," I said as Paul-baby struggled to his knees, rocking the canoe back and forth and Partners in the Ladies class of Canoe the Nonquon, Millie Ives and Riet Orde get a helping hand setting their canoe in the river, just before beginning a gruelling 21 mile race. They made it, though, just fine, in under five hours. scaring the stuffing right out of me. "Please Paul, don't stand up in the canoe," | repeated calmly, while I vainly tried to keep my balance against the sud- den turbulence. I sighed, resigned. **At least," I said, "aim. for the weeds." LUNCHBAG LETDOWN About halfway down the river, which winds up and down the coun- tryside like a snake with a hangover, we began to tire out. I kept thinking to myself, it's just around the next bend. The lake is just around the next bend. But it never was (well, it was eventually), just beaver dams and low bridges and other perils. I think we got stuck on every beaver dam in the whole river. I also think Paul did this on purpose, the same way he'd run into other canoes. Seriously, he did this. A canoe could be on the other side of the river and Paul-baby would find some way to steer our canoe directly into the side of other canoes. And if he couldn't hit them, which he did most of the time, then he'd do the next best thing. Cut them off. I was embarrassed. But not as embarrass- ed as I was tired. It was' sometime around 10:30 or 11 a.m. when we final- ly hit the lake after a draining few hours on the totally a . : " ' Ths A i "ig ek Fe Ae %, river. | had been looking forward to the lake seg- ment of the race for miles, thinking it would be some kind of break for my river-tired muscles. Boy was | wrong. The lake was anything but a break. The wind was so strong and the waves were so high I thought, for a beserk moment, that we'd never make it home. R.L.P. All of our energy and power (what was left of it, after zig-zagging down the river) was directed into keeping the canoe from blowing across the lake. Our progress for- ward was slow and fitful and I began to have serious doubts about finishing the race at all, never mind in the three or four hours I had so confidently predicted. About five miles from the finish, Port Perry was just a white dot on the horizon and I was getting surly. I always get surly when I'm tired and this was the most tired I've ever been. We were still zig- zagging down the lake but this time it was due more to the wind and the waves than Paul, but I couldn't get a rise out of mother nature so I harped at Paul. I must have told him to do obscene things to himself at least six or seven times, as he push- ed and prodded me to keep paddling. And somehow, how- ever feebly, I did paddle, the muscles across my back burning up, my arms heavy with lactic acid and a slow thudding ache. "I just can't take this," I kept saying to Paul, over and over. . 'Yes you can," he'd throw back, through grit- ted teeth. 'Just keep paddling." The only thing that kept me from giving up was a ten dollar bet I had "made a few days before. Ten bucks and my self esteem was on the line, and somehow, some way, it was enough to see me through to the government wharf, the finish line. Where the an- nouncer mis-pronounced Paul-baby's last name, and the kindest man in. "the world handed us glasses of lemonade. HOORAY! Four hours and 49 minutes after we hit the water, Paul-baby and I were back on dry land. Where, if we had of had any brains, we would have stayed in the first place. But hey, anything for a good cause, and you've gotta know, the historical society and museum combo is as good a cause as just about anything. Still, I wouldn't care if it was far the starving children of Utica, er, Ethiopia, you couldn't get me near that canoe race. Ever again. I may be crazy, but believe me, 21 miles is insane. Tim Allsopp and Mark Kendall look a bit arm weary as they haul their canoe from the lake after 20 miles in difficult conditions. Cold and wet, Mark was still not speechless, as he told his Mom that his back was a bit sore.