Early evening glass on Watts Bar
…I think I’ll go home now.

In the famous words of Forrest Gump, that’s how I felt towards the end of this weekend’s paddlestravaganza…which really began Thursday with snow play, into Friday with a long(ish, for me) run.  We went out Saturday on Watts Bar for an hour of interval work and I did.  Not.  Want.  To.  Go.  It was 38 degrees at the warmest part of the day, and I gently suggested to Hal that maybe we should do yoga.  I give him credit for pushing us to do the workout anyway, but boy was I miserable to start.  But you know what – that misery really only lasts the first approximately 4 minutes until you warm up, then it’s tolerable, extra caution to not fall in notwithstanding.  We felt smug about our interval work and opted for a long paddle as planned on Sunday, going all the way back to White’s Creek in some gorgeous sunshine and 55 degree “heat”.  I had a brief exchange with a fisherman – I waved, he waved.  “Cold?!” he asked.  “Only if I fall in” I replied.  We went around the island to spook several hunderd seagulls into the air (no poop, thankfully) and endured some chop coming back over to paddle home.  With about 2 miles to home, I had to make a woodland pit stop (maybe the egg salad for lunch was a poor choice?), and at that point wanted to crawl home versus getting back on my board, but soldiered on.  All in all I logged 9.3 miles that day, but at the end?  Kinda done.  Kinda sore today.  BUT.  That’s where the magic happens, right???

Hal heading towards the Creek