Kayaking's Infectious Smile

For a few weeks every four years, Olympic-level whitewater slalom racing enjoys the bright lights and world-wide attention that only the power of the Olympic stage can deliver. From the athletes to media to sponsors to mainstream sports fans alike, it’s a short window in which a niche sport like kayaking enjoys pure sunlight and then tries to sustain that energy for another Olympic cycle.

So, as the 2008 Olympic selection gets set to start in the coming weeks, I begin to wonder what are the pieces from this Olympic run that will fuel this sport for another few years following the Beijing Games? Of course the U.S. program has a few bona fide medal contenders and genuine people like Scotty Parsons, who set an impeccable standard of performance and character. But, while observing “seriously good” racer after racer nimbly blitzing their 11-foot carbon boats through the slalom course at the U.S. Open Whitewater Championships this past weekend, I couldn’t help to feel that the already wide gap between kayak racing and kayaking had just widened out some more.

And then, something changed. First, Emily Jackson barrels down the course exuding happiness from ear to ear. A few minutes later, her father and my ’92 Olympic teammate, Eric, flexes his grin while making the tricky course look too easy. Finally, Dane, the youngest of the family, is happiest when changing the challenge of navigating whitewater and gates into a blissful learning on-they-fly pursuit. Together, these three are the heart and soul of kayaking’s infectious smile, the brand logo of the family’s world-class kayak company, Jackson Kayaks. The smiling symbol represents an attitude that has changed kayaking and redefined what fun is on the river. For a few minutes at one of the most intense slalom races of the spring, the three Jacksons have made me forget that whitewater slalom is an elite endeavor that is extremely hard in which to break in and belong. For a few minutes, the nervous anticipation of family and friends watching from the shore has turned into a simple and fun spectator experience.

The one brand that has profoundly impacted kayaking more than any other in the past decade is the one brand that whitewater slalom needs more than ever. The Jacksons acutely understand what their paddling stands for and they share it with others in connective ways that go far beyond what kayaking people thought was possible in this sport. Quite simply, nobody sells “smiles on the river” better than the Jacksons.

More than any other segment of kayaking, whitewater slalom racing could really use a few smiles right now and that’s about to happen.

While racing at the U.S. Open last weekend, Eric and Emily qualified for the U.S. Olympic Trials next month in Charlotte, NC where their energy and approach will be a welcome addition to the biggest whitewater slalom event held in the U.S. since the 1996 Olympic Games on Tennessee's Ocoee River. Their approach and style will stand out and resonate with every touch-point of the event. While infectious smiles alone will not get the Jacksons to Beijing this summer, it’s reassuring to know their spirit will be a part of the “Olympic journey.” And maybe for the first time in a long while, the gap between kayak racing and kayaking becomes a little smaller.

(photo courtesy: Bob Hollifield of www.ColemanRoadProductions.com)

PaddleStrong

In the mid 1990s, a junior kayaker named Brad Ludden from Montana would regularly travel with his family to Idaho’s Payette River during the summer time. On one such occasion, I had the opportunity to coach Brad during a national-level competition. The Olympic side of kayaking tends to quickly “size up” young athletes for their potential to be top performers on an international stage. From that standpoint, Brad had all skills you look for in a blue-chip competitor and the potential to go as far as he wanted to go in the world of Whitewater Slalom racing – World Cups, World Championships, even the Olympic Games. But Brad did better – he did none of the above.

From a very young age, Brad was one those people who was “wise beyond his years” and no matter how well he could paddle, you knew he was headed for bigger and better things. Polite, grounded, humble, and connective – the words that fit Brad then still fit him now. Using these qualities, he started “First Descents” in 2001 as a way to promote healing through kayaking for young adults with cancer. Seven years, later, Brad and a passionate group of friends and family have grown First Descents into one of the most significant and impacting kayak programs in the world. In each of this year's nine sessions in four states, First Descents participants will immerse themselves in the outdoors and gain new perspective on life.

Christian Knight was fortunate enough to accompany a First Descents outing and writes a fabulous article about his experience in the latest issue of Paddler Magazine – take a look at:

http://www.paddlermagazine.com/issues/2008-2/article_.shtml

The work Lance Armstrong has achieved for cancer patients and research is nothing short of amazing. Better yet, the platform for getting this work done was built upon Lance’s success on a bicycle. You can’t do much better than that – applying your world-class talent and passion for doing favorite activity into your life’s most important work for the benefit of others. Nicely done, Brad.

For more information about First Descents, please visit their web site:

http://www.firstdescents.org/

A Very Thin Line

I love thin lines. Thin lines in politics. Thin lines in business. Thin lines on the river and on a bike. But, the thinnest line I’ve come to know between man and dog starts and ends with Jeff King. Jeff King is professional musher and as I head to bed on Tuesday night, still a four-time winner of the most famous dog sled race in the world, the Iditarod. But, if you call Jeff an athlete, he’ll be the first to correct you – “I’m a coach!” he says proudly.

He’ll tell you that his real “athletic” work during the race starts as soon as the team arrives at rest areas – getting the dogs fed quickly so they can get some sleep is critical in 1,000 plus mile trek across Alaskan tundra. As for the “work” that gets done while the sled in his motion, Jeff is paying attention to the team – how they’re “getting along,” working together, and ultimately determining the best combination that will allow his team to finish strong.

But for Jeff and his family, the Iditarod is hardly a race. It’s way of life. And one that doesn’t stop. Nearly every touch point in this man’s life connects with his passion for living and this is where that thin line gets thinner. In fact, one of the coolest things we did on one of our Alaska trips was to visit his kennels, which thousands of people do each year. While many would view this as one great business operation, Jeff sees it as a way to acclimate the pups to large crowds - another opportunity to gain an edge, do better, and simply keep learning.

When we visited his kennels just outside of Denali in 2006, Jeff couldn’t wait to start talking “performance” – every aspect of performance you could imagine – physical training, mental preparation, nutrition, alternative training methods, and equipment technology to name a few. The conversation weaved back and forth between humans and canine so many times, it just eventually blurred into one. Which is where I believe Jeff is most comfortable and at his best too.

People ought to have more thin lines in their lives – they are good for your perspective and good for your soul. Thin lines are places where “passion for living” happens.

Sometime between when most Americans went to bed on Tuesday night and when they woke up on Wednesday morning, the 2008 Iditarod’s first and second place positions on the podium will be known. Jeff will have finished in one of those two spots and of course, the margin between first and second will have been, by all Iditarod standards, a very thin line. Where else would you find Jeff King?

Beyond Judgment and Perspective

Kayaking is a sport that is naturally associated with risk. In fact, for many, accessing and taking risk is a part of the sport’s appeal. To me, the opportunities and challenges associated with kayaking are far more about judgment and perspective than they are about risk. This is as true when I’m driving a car or walking in a city as it is about paddling on rivers 200 days each year.

One of the truly great people with whom I shared the river is a major contributor to my own judgment and perspective on the river and the larger society around us. John Mullen, who tragically lost his life on the river in 2005, is the subject of a touching article written by his brother, Kurt, in the latest issue of Paddler Magazine:

http://www.paddlermagazine.com/issues/2008-2/article_319.shtml

My family and I came to know John, a writer and editor for the Washington Post, when he traveled to the Ocoee River in 2002 to cover my training for the Olympic Games in Athens. John was an aspiring and enthusiastic whitewater kayaker himself at the time but while in Ducktown, he wanted to “live and learn” my daily pursuits as an Olympic hopeful. While living in our home with us for four days, he paddled, ran, lifted weights, and mountain biked with me never missing a workout or an opportunity to engage further into the subject at hand. He just naturally “fit in” with the people with whom he wrote about and valued them, often better than they valued themselves. The great “students of life” seem to have a unique way of doing this.

John was much more than a great writer although his “Outside Line” columns every Sunday were among the best written pieces in a top-flight newspaper. His passion for living and willingness to keep asking himself, “can I do better?” became the fuel that brought him to the 2004 Whitewater Olympic Trials in South Bend, Indiana – not as a journalist covering the race but as a competitor racing in the event.

It’s been said that great writers often possess great conflict. In my opinion, here was John’s - in a world where so many are living a pursuit of “understanding” themselves and the world around them, John understood others and their world around them in a deep, personal, connective, and profound manner much better than he understood himself.

The ironic part of this is that while his path of self exploration may not have resolved all of his own questions, his process of getting there brought purposeful clarity to many others in his circle. And coming up on three years since losing John, not only is the spirit of John’s pursuits alive and well, I believe his circle of influence upon others is growing and stronger than ever.

Thank you, Kurt, for the great article and reminding us of the good for which John stood – John would be proud.

An Experience Worth Repeating

Ask a few kayakers what they enjoy about their sport and you’re sure to hear more than a few times, “Getting away it from all.” Certainly compared to the busy work-driven lives of many, rivers can deliver on removing you from the masses and bringing you solitude. Here in southeastern Tennessee, that experience is a little different. Sure we have a great river running through the heart of a National Forest and the nearest town is small even by small-town standards with just two traffic lights and a few stop signs. Removed it is, but a wide open river it isn’t.

Within a three and half hour drive of more than 20 million people, the Ocoee River is one of the primary centers of whitewater culture and rarely a place you’ll find yourself alone on the river. My river friends in Chicago routinely drive 20 plus hours roundtrip for a weekend on the Ocoee and that’s not as uncommon as you might think. And in addition to the many kayakers, you’re paddling among rafters too. Not just a few rafters either, lots of them – more than 300,000 last year.

So I started thinking about it, “Why do paddlers keep coming back to the Ocoee?” After all, more remote rivers are flowing not too far away and for that matter, other activities and people are competing for your time, attention, and resources.

For kayakers, as much as people like getting away from it all, paddlers enjoy sharing their river pursuits with other like-minded paddlers. It is an intensely personal sport but one that’s very easy to share with friends on the river, particularly one that attracts so many different styles of paddlers from so many different places. The Ocoee is a special river that does cut across those lines.

But after living here for 15 years, I’ve observed something else too. If the Ocoee was a river where people just enjoyed the activity of kayaking, then the numbers of paddlers would have dried up years ago. After all, the rapids, rocks, and water flow on this river remain unchanged. But, more people kayaked this river last year than ever before and many of them were the same people I see paddling this river every year. Why? In a sport that loves its unpredictability and not exactly knowing what’s around the next bend, there’s something pleasant about something familiar – whether it’s the river itself or another a paddler you’ve been seeing on the same river for many years.

It’s a powerful perspective on change – not necessarily change in the sport, equipment, or the river but how a lifestyle pursuit becomes the lens for how we see the changing world around us.

Dancing vs Fighting

Whitewater kayakers learn and re-learn this lesson every time they head to the water – if you’re not working with the river, you’re working against it. No matter how proficient you are paddling through rapids, one fundamental rule of whitewater kayaking never changes – you’re never stronger than the river.

Life mirrors the river too in that the field on which we play also has energy to give and take – and in navigating its challenges, we either dance with that energy or fight against it.

In the world of politics, when candidates shout at me how much they will “fight” to win, the red flags go up. In the world of business, when CEOs use analogies of war, I tune out. In the world of sports, when coaches speak about the struggles of achieving success, I instantly wonder if there isn’t a better way.

For seven consecutive years, bicycle racing television commentator, Phil Liggett, has often used the phrase, “Dancing on the Pedals” when describing the way Lance Armstrong “glided” UP the sides of French mountains the way most of us could hope to “glide” down. Sure, there’s an output of serious work there but before that, there’s taking whatever you can get out the mountain first. Surfers use the same principle with the wave, mountain bikers with the trail, and kayakers with the river.

Of course there’s going to be challenge on the road to living better and perseverance plays a big part in overcoming obstacles. But knowing yourself and the field on which you’re playing are key “game-changing” dynamics throughout the journey of getting there.

As kayakers know, there’s plenty of energy out on the river and most of them will tell you, “It’s never too late to dance.”

Escaping What?

In starting a blog, I started to read a lot more blogs. It’s astonishing how many posts there are about escaping your job, your office, your company, your cubicle, your co-workers, your commute, your home, your neighbors, your friends, and even your family. In other words, “escaping” your life.

As someone living the outdoor/adventure lifestyle, this strikes me as fairly drastic thinking. Sure we want to do better in all facets of our lives, raise standards, be happier and more enlightened. But what is realistic and most likely to put us on such a road?

Too often I see people trade out their current lives to “start over” again here in the mountains. Drawn by the appeal of anything that is the antithesis of their current existence, a new home, a new culture, and a new environment make for a huge change. But too often, it doesn’t work out so well. It was too much change too quickly and people were never well situated to gain a decent "outside looking in" perspective of themselves and successfully evaluate such a change in the first place. They never quite knew or understood what it was that they were escaping.

Over the years, the happiest people I’ve seen (and continue to see) on the trails and rivers seem to achieve great balance in their lives with a deep understanding of how the activities they love doing integrate into their “bigger picture.” In other words, they are intentional about what they “live for” as opposed to what they are “escaping from.”

I enjoy encouraging and supporting friends to follow paths toward happier pursuits. I’d be the first to admit that changing “realities” is one exciting journey. But on such an important journey, getting the “big result” requires a lot of bite-sized change. “Wholesale Change” thinking is powerful, but implementing small, attainable, and tangible goals into your current lifestyle starts moving you in a better direction.