By Johna Till Johnson
Photos by Vladimir Brezina
This was the fifth year that Vlad and I raced in the Blackburn Challenge, the 20-mile circumnavigation of Cape Ann, Massachusetts. The race is named for Howard Blackburn, a 19th-century mariner of uncommon grit. (You can read about him here.) Any human-powered watercraft can participate, and there is usually a wide range, from paddleboards to rowing shells, dories, and dragonboats—plus several flavors of kayaks.
Thus far, I’d placed every time, helped out by the relative smallness of the field of women sea kayakers—there are typically only half a dozen or so in my class.
After collecting two third-place and two second-place finishes, I yearned for a first. Last year I missed it by a mere six minutes. And I just knew I’d gotten faster this year. I’d trained hard—though not as consistently as I’d liked—and still had some stamina left over from completing the Everglades Challenge earlier this year.
So I was pretty sure that this would be my year.
You can imagine my reaction when I checked in at 6 AM the morning of the race and heard, “Congratulations! You’re the only woman in the sea kayak category.”
Hmmm.
On the one hand, if I managed to complete the race, I’d get my first place medal. Yay, me.
On the other hand… if you don’t beat anyone, what does it mean to “win”? I’d have a medal, sure, but would it really count?
Then and there, I decided to reset my goal. Since coming in first was (almost) a given, I’d shoot for something else: to finish in under four hours.
It was an ambitious goal, but eminently reachable. Other female sea kayakers had done it. And it represented shaving less than 4% off my previous times (the past few times I’d finished in around four hours and 10-12 minutes). If there was nobody else to race… I’d race myself.
We wait our turn as the paddleboarders get ready to start
So as I waited in the Annisquam River to be called to the starting line, I recalled the advice my friend John, an accomplished racer, had given me a few days before: “Locate your competition. Stay with them—but not ahead of them–the first half of the race. Then pull away from them in the second half.”
The male sea kayakers and I all started together, and I followed John’s advice. I started fast, but managed to avoid the urge to push ahead at an unsustainable speed.
Conditions were fine: temperature in the high sixties, with plenty of cloud cover, but very little wind. And the current was with us as we paddled down the river.
I pulled ahead of some of the slightly slower boats, including a yellow-and-white kayak, and settled behind a paddler in a white kayak. More specifically, I “drafted” him: paddled in his wake, which takes less effort. Drafting is an important part of racing strategy, since it allows you to conserve your strength for the final push. Some races prohibit it, but in the Blackburn Challenge, you’re allowed to draft—but only another boat in your own class.
I kept that up until we came up to the Annisquam Lighthouse. Last year I’d nearly capsized on some rocks at its base (the rocks took a nice chunk out of the gel coat of my then-new Tiderace). So this year I gave the lighthouse and its rocks a wide berth, and headed farther out into the open ocean, passing the white kayak (and a few others) with ease.
Off in the distance ahead of me, I could see Vlad paddling along, his yellow hat at a jaunty angle. Behind me, somewhere, was the yellow-and-white kayak. And all around us were arrayed the other boats, colorful in the peekaboo sunshine.
On the course, being overtaken…
I felt good, and paddled strongly. But I remembered from previous races that the course is deceiving: the current stays with you almost until the halfway checkpoint. Then it turns against you, and everything slows down. The second half of the race is grueling—and the hardest part is the very last mile.
So my optimism was somewhat tempered when I caught sight of the halfway checkpoint a few miles off. But still, things looked good. If I could make it to the halfway point in under two hours, I’d have a decent shot at finishing in under four.
… and overtaking, with the halfway point dead ahead
Sure enough, I passed the halfway point with five minutes to spare, well in the lead of my cluster of chosen competitors.
As I shouted out my race number, 173, I felt a blaze of hope. Maybe this would be the year I’d break four hours!
And then it happened: I “bonked”. I’d heard the phenomenon described, but never felt it happen. My limbs went weak and shaky, and my pace dropped precipitously, from just under five knots to just over three.
Maybe it was the heat. The sun had suddenly broken free of the clouds, and sweat was trickling down my nose.
Or maybe it was something else—something I’d eaten, or failed to eat. The caffeine from this morning wearing off. Who knew? But at this rate, I’d be lucky to make it in four-and-a-half hours, never mind four!
I stopped to drink some water and eat some Kendal Mint Cake, hoping I’d revive.
In the few minutes that took, boats began to pass me by. First Vlad, then the yellow-and-white kayak, pulled ahead. I felt everything I’d accomplished thus far begin to slip away. (I felt only marginally better when I noticed that the yellow-and-white kayak was also a Tiderace—one of only three of us in the race.)
I started paddling again, hoping I’d speed up. And slowly, slowly, the numbers on my GPS began to inch up. I still felt weak and shaky (and slightly ill), but at least I was paddling faster.
A few minutes later, the sun went back in, and I was suddenly surprisingly cold. The air grew misty, and the water felt downright chilly on my hands. I thought maybe my metabolism had gone haywire—but later Vlad told me he’d felt the same thing.
I kept paddling. Long, slow, swells rolled in from the left, crashing against the rocks on the right in a swirl of green and white. As always, the coastline was spectacularly beautiful… but I didn’t have much time to appreciate the beauty. I just kept focusing on each stroke… stroke… stroke…
Slowly, slowly, we crawled along the coastline towards the rocky point that marked the last part of the race. I passed a paddleboarder, then another. Then a dory or two. Everyone looked exhausted. We were all pushing as hard as we could, and it didn’t seem like we were moving at all.
Ahead of me, tantalizingly close, I could see “my” cluster of kayaks, including the yellow-and-white Tiderace. I focused on that paddler, willing myself to get closer… and closer…
We turned the corner and raced along the breakwater, riding the swells that rolled in from behind us. I caught up with Vlad, close enough for us to talk for a bit. Then he pulled ahead once more. And once again, I focused on paddling. Stroke… stroke… stroke…
Then we rounded the tip of the breakwater. We were in the home stretch: all we had to do was cross Gloucester Harbor, and we’d be there.
But that “all” was the hardest part.
The harbor was relatively calm; the only waves were the wakes of the lobster boats that zoomed busily in and out through the channel.
Ahead—far, far ahead—I could see Vlad in the red Feathercraft. And there was the yellow-and-white Tiderace. And far ahead, off in the distance… was that the finish line?
I pushed harder. And then I glanced down at my watch. I’d been going for… about three hours and 40 minutes. If I could make it to the finish line in under 20 minutes—I’d make it! But it looked at least a mile away, maybe a mile and a half. At a four-to-five knot pace, it would take me maybe 12 minutes per mile. This was going to be tight!
Out of nowhere, my pace began to pick up. I was paddling strongly, with a strength I didn’t know I had. But would it be enough?
The minutes ticked by. The shore drew closer. I could see the Greasy Pole that marked the finish line, and beyond it, the beach, where a white tent covered the post-race buffet.
I could see people on the beach, and kayaks. And I could hear occasional shouts of laughter, and some strains of music from the live band.
Up ahead of me, the yellow-and-white kayak passed the finish line. Next up was Vlad. I heard him shout out his number—146—and glanced down at my watch. Three hours and 56 minutes. If I could make it to the finish line in the next couple of minutes… I’d make it!
I paddled harder. Stroke… stroke… stroke…
And suddenly I was there, shouting out my number. I could stop paddling. But had I made it?
By my watch, I had a minute to spare, maybe two. But I’d have to wait for the official results to know for sure.
For the next couple of hours, we enjoyed barbecue and beer, and chatting with other paddlers—including Billy, the paddler of the yellow-and-white Tiderace. It turned out this was his first Blackburn, and he’d been delighted to follow me for the first half of the race. (I advised him that I hadn’t been quite as thrilled to be following him for the second half—especially as I never quite managed to catch up!)
Then it was time for the awards ceremony.
I knew what was coming—half of it, anyway. But still, when the announcer said, “In first place, Johna Till Johnson…”, I felt a thrill.
She went on: “With a time of…”
The pause seemed infinite.
“Three hours, 58 minutes, and four seconds.” WOOHOO!!! I did it!!!
And as I shook hands with the organizers, and smiled for Vlad’s photo, I realized: the hardest race I’ve ever paddled was against myself.
And I did it!
I did it!
Vladimir Brezina (RIP) 
Johna Till Johnson
Wind Against Current 
Congratulations!
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Thank you!!
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Hi Johna. Congratulations with your memorable time and victory. A big hug from here. Well done :-)
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Thanks Hanna! Hug most appreciated!
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:-)
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Great feat! Congrats!! When I did the Manhattan race some years back I had “someone” (won’t mention his name :) riding on my wake for the first half, only to pull away at Spuyten Duyvil and win the class; how I hated that guy!
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Yes, I remember! And the same thing happened to John–that’s actually how I learned of the concept of “drafting”.
If it makes you feel any better, I actually asked the guy in the white kayak if it was okay (he was very nice about it).
And, of course, there was this exchange between me and Vlad in the middle of the race:
Me (pulling up behind him): “Hey, cut it out! I’m trying to draft you, and you’re wiggling and wobbling all over the place!”
Vlad: “You go ahead. I’m going to take a break and drink some water.”
Me: “No fair! I spent all this time catching up to you and you won’t even let me draft you! Argggh….”
(shortly thereafter)
Vlad: “Hey, cut it out! I’m trying to draft you, and you’re wiggling and wobbling all over the place!”
:-). You know what they say about payback….
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congratulations Johna! Well done!
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Thanks, Pamela!
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YOWZA! Good work!
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Thanks Bonnie!! Hard work, at least….
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Good job! Way to go!
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Thanks!
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congratulations! that’s so awesome. We are our toughest critics so why not be our toughest competition too : )
I’m glad you won!
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Thanks! And thanks for reading, and posting.
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Congratulations!
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Thanks!
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I was on the border if my chair, this was a super exiting read and an awesome win! Congrats!
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Oh wonderful! A bit hard to inject narrative tension in a race with a foregone outcome, so I’m glad I succeeded… that’s why I set myself the goal, after all–to have something to race against!
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Awesome!
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Thanks!
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Well done! Congratulations!
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Thanks, Anna! I was so hoping you read it. :-)
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Yeah, you did it! Glückwunsch!
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Thank you! And thanks for the good wishes!
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congratulations, Johna! wow! it felt like i was in the race too reading your blog and had a big smile when your name was called out! awesome!!!
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So happy to hear! Thanks for reading, and posting!
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Congrats!
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Thanks!
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Congratulations, Johna! It’ll be fun to draft you next year! :)
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Ha, ain’t happening, Jean. You’re too fast. My ulterior goal is now to get you and Julie to race–in which case, I’ll be lucky to place 3rd!! :-)
Best of luck on L2L–I’m thinking about entering, actually….but it’s such a SHORT race :-).
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You maintained 5 knots! INCLUDING time out for munching. Formidable :)
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We wish! It was only about 4.4 knots. (When they say it’s a 20-mile race, they mean land miles.)
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Whoo hoo! Great job a persevering!
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Thanks!
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Way cool. Congrats!
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Wow, Harry, means a lot from you. Thanks!
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so enjoyed reading about your Race against Yourself!…good job!…Johna!
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Thanks, and I’m glad you enjoyed it!
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You did it! High five!
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Thanks!
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Congratulations!
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Thank you!
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Yay, Johna!! Such an awesome feat! Congratulations to you!
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Thanks! And meow.
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Well done ! Two Qs , 1- How would you rate your TR Explorer’s performance in the race ? 2- Did you have that gelcoat damage from last year repaired and if yes by whom ? I have some gelcoat damage on my TR Xcite and might DIY .
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Thank you! In reverse order, since #1 is more complex:
2. No, it’s still there. Near as I can tell it’s not structural damage, and looking at it reminds me to keep an eye out for rocks. If I were to get help repairing, it would be from the trusty folks at NY Kayak Co.
1. Wow, that’s a hard one. I would normally say that the TR is “much faster” than my Avocet. Except there’s a problem with that statement: My time last year (the first with the TR) is about the same as my times in previous years (with the Avocet). This year, yes, I did considerably better—but I worked WAY harder.
I think that a more accurate statement is that the TR goes faster with less effort, and is capable of going faster with more effort.
Meaning that if you have a comfortable paddling speed, you can maintain the same speed on the TR as with other boats, with less effort. The problem is… that’s exactly what you end up doing. You get accustomed to working less and getting more for it.
But if you’re willing to paddle at an UNCOMFORTABLE pace, you’re able to go much faster in the TR.
I’ll also note that the TR is extremely sensitive to good form in the forward stroke. I never properly moved my hips until I started paddling it–because the difference between with and without hip motion is so noticeable.
So I guess the bottom line is that with the TR, you get out of it what you’re willing to put into it. Which is better than a boat that absorbs all your effort without delivering a return—but it’s not quite the fantasy of a “fast boat” that you might have (“you” meaning “one”, of course).
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So fantastic! You had me on the edge of my seat. Bravo and well done!
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Thanks, Sue! Thanks for reading, and posting.
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Well done.
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Thanks!
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Good work!
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Thank you!
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Awesome account of your victory!!
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Thanks!
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This is beyond awesome!!!
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Thank you! And good luck on the triathlon!
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An amazing feat, Johna! Well done and congratulations. :)
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Thank you! And thanks for reading, and posting.
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A narrative suspenseful enough to be fiction! Hurrah for you, Johna. You reframed the whole thing in your mind, and then pulled it all off body and soul. Brilliant. Congratulations!
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That’s it, you nailed it exactly. I reframed it on the spot. Thanks for reading.. and posting… and appreciating!
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It’s a double win, Johna, so a double congrats to you!
And your story was riveting – I almost felt like I was in the kayak with you. Am so proud of you!!!
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Thanks! And thanks for posting, both here and on FB.
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Johna, Well done and thanks for sharing. Jeanie and I missed the race this year. We launched our sailboat instead. Time was our issue too. We didn’t have enough to do both! We will be back again next year. See you then! Your narrative made it happen for me anyway. Thanks. George
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Oh! We were looking for you two. Hope the sailboat launch went well, and I’m glad you enjoyed the post!
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OMG, well done, Johna! Congratulations from the other side of the pond.
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Thanks, Dina!
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Congratulations, this is fantastic news! Awesome considering how grueling the trip was.
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Thanks! It was mostly only grueling because I pushed hard this year….
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This was such an exciting story! Congrats to you!!
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Thanks! And thanks for reading, and posting.
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That was an exciting read. Congratulations to you !
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Thanks! And thanks, as always, for reading and posting…
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Congratulations
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Thank you!
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Congratulations!
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Thank you (on behalf of Johna)!
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Way to go. Your thrill of success comes through in your picture!
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:-) Thank you!!
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WOW! Congratulations and way to go! What a great story. Everyone is so happy for you!
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Thanks! And thanks for hopping over and reading!
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Great narrative, I even felt like I got to be at the party, too! Does number one mean you won in your class? Congrats!! Sounds exhausting but fun. I could never sit in one position in a boat for 4 hours. My back would never be able to handle it. What a feat!
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Yes, Johna won in her class :-)
Well, for long kayak trips, being able to sit in your boat for ever is the number one skill they don’t tell you about. I don’t know how Johna manages it, but my Feathercraft is really comfortable, and roomy enough that I can shift about a bit now and then…
This skill has certainly come in handy, for instance in the Everglades Challenge. The longest we sat in the boats was about 30 hours, albeit with a couple of breaks, not so much to stretch but because we were falling asleep…
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30 hours!! Holy mackerel!
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Well, if you are going to cross any distance of open water, you really have no choice…
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Better you than me. :-D
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