2018 Crossing Blog
This article was originally posted in three parts (with photos) at:
https://jaharts.wordpress.com/2018/06/20/the-crossing-part-1/
When I signed up in January 2018, I didn’t quite know what I was getting into. I mean, I did, but I didn’t. I knew I was signing up to paddle and fundraise. I did not know I was becoming a part of a blooming community and I certainly did not know that I would become involved in the planning. But that’s pretty much how it went. The portal I walked through was disguised in my dreams as a sloop sailing through a rainbow and my experience has been every bit as magical.
Most of you have been following my journey through instagram, facebook or crowdrise and so I’ll start my narrative after the send off: it was exciting, every bit of the journey to the Bahamas was new and amazing and being on a boat with Lori, her son and our Captain Jake, his 1st mate Travis, Heidi, Ben & Lauren was THE MOST FUN BOAT. We danced, sang, laughed, swam and fished our way across the deep velvet blue of the Gulf Streams’ thousands of feet of water. We stopped frequently and whenever I could I jumped in the water, marinating in mother ocean’s depth.
We arrived in Bimini, checked into customs (which took forever, thank goodness we were on the most fun boat of dancing, laughing merfolk), checked into our room and I tracked down the cooler of 200 roses I’d sent over on Jess’s support boat. My roommates, Donna, Cindy, Lauren and I de-leafed, de-thorned, trimmed and hydrated the roses so that they could open up for the next day’s ceremony; having this private, unplanned, group project touching these beautiful flowers was really fun and gave us time to get to know each other. Donna and I had met at a cafe in Stuart, once; Cindy and I had met at the Key West Classic while I was trying to sign-in and Lauren and I had only spoke on the phone briefly. As we drew closer to our 1:00am launch, having all female accommodations was very nurturing for me– just being in their presence calmed my nerves and elevated my mood. And, as it turns out, Lauren is my long lost raver glow stick sister.
Thursday night, there was an island style BBQ that I missed most of because I was in the ocean. I couldn’t help it. The water was so refreshing and clear and the air was so buggy and heavy. Eventually, I got out of the water and waited in the longest line of my life for a bowl of the most amazing conch salad I’ve ever had in my life while, chatting with the guys from Blueline. I made a bet that Steve Miller and Sam English would make the 2-man relay in about 11 hours [ they did it under 12 ] and as the sun set over the ocean, a massive bon fire was lit on the beach.
About 4 hours past my bedtime, I made my way back to the room and immediately passed out. My alarm was set for 3am, and when I got up, the island was quiet. I stretched, ate a snack and set off to find the best place to view the sunrise. While scaling a seawall, I saw Top Dog head out the inlet in the pink morning light, wandered around the beaches, seawalls and jetties of the Resort, had a moment with a night heron and eventually prepared myself for the yoga class I was about to teach with Matt– it was awesome, by the way. Having only met Matt once, I was kind of nervous, but he and I both have an adaptive teaching style that allowed us to flow back and forth seamlessly.
After the Yoga & Meditation, Paul, Carl and Brian helped me retrieve the roses from across the property and LeAnn and I starting handing them out to paddlers as they were staging for the paddle out. Travis rallied us up, his voice raw with emotion, we paddled out, circled up, set an intention and committed our roses to the ocean in a beautiful ceremony honoring those living with Cystic Fibrosis. From there, I snorkeled through the pool of roses, paddled around the marina, stalked a couple of beastly nurse sharks, stashed my board in the shade and took a nap.
When I woke up around three or four P.M., the energy was different, the ordinary pace of building momentum was peaking. This was H A P P E N I N G . I wore my pajamas to the safety meeting, my last chance to wear cotton for what may have seemed like forever at the time. I met the other paddlers in my group, attended another meeting with my Captain, Crew and Fellow Paddlers and was turned loose to make final preparations for our journey across the Gulf Stream.
Just before sunset on Friday, I wandered back to my room. I could still feel the momentum mounting, peaking— the wave is getting ready to break, there was so much to do and definitely no chance of sleep. I packed my cooler and bags, loaded it into Paul’s boat [the Bloody Gaff], adorned my crossing costume [glowsticks, roses, reflective vest, bright, quick drying clothing, PFD, whistle, headlamp, hydration pack] and about then the resort started to buzz with activity as all the paddlers, crew, captains and supporters started moving into position.
The tiny beach filled with paddlers and their respective vessels, the realness of what was about to happen hit me and I started hugging everyone. We could see the boats queuing up into a milling circle, their underwater lights illuminating the clear Bahamian waters, we took a group photo and as the first wave of paddlers lined up on the shore, their boats shifted into position; it had the visceral feeling of gears lining up, pieces falling into place, or solving a puzzle, its that moment when you feel the wave under your body– in yoga, we call it alignment. I felt expansive as I connected with every person awaiting our eventual landing on mainland Florida, every contributor, sponsor and praying grandmother, every paddler eager to get going, every captain and crew member to whom we were entrusting our lives and every committee member that had poured blood, sweat and tears into the production of this event. I connected to the very heart of the Crossing, feeling the weight of every story of a friend or loved one with Cystic Fibrosis. I connected to my sisters and brothers with CF– LeAnn, Piper, Joe, Brett and Ben — there on the beach with me. The moments between the first wave readying their mark and actually paddling off the beach seemed to last for centuries. Time stopped and all I could feel was love, all I could see was light and all I could do was smile; being a part of something so big felt like home in the deepest part of my heart.
I snapped out of my daze when the first wave of paddlers touched the water and like a well oiled machine, the second wave of paddlers lined up on the beach, their boats lined up a few meters off shore, they readied and paddled out. Then it was my turn, the third wave lined up, our boats fell into place, Sean sent us off and we headed for the underwater light that would be our lifeline for the next five hours of night. My team, Brian, Ryan, Paul, Phil and our crew Jeff and Darrell, were on our way, surrounded by the Danilu, Shark Bait, Endless Summer and Jess’s Boat. My heartbeat pounded in my ears as adrenaline flooded my system. T-minus 16 hours till we touch land again. Just. Keep. Paddling.
I hit my first wall about 2 hours in, this is pretty normal for me: all of a sudden, whatever I’m doing seems labor intensive and whatever decision I made to be a part of whatever I’m participating in nows seems really unreasonable. We take a break, begin to establish clear levels of communication with Jeff and Darrell and continue on. I can’t remember how frequently we took breaks, but I remember how grateful I was every time we stopped. Drink. Stretch. Try to Eat. Keep Paddling.
On one of our nighttime breaks, Ryan and I laid down flat on our backs and stared up at the stars. The Milky Way had been visible the whole time, but slightly out of my peripheral vision and I had a few moments to reach deep into space letting my eyes adjust and see more and more tiny points of light floating around in nothing, much like we were. It was a surreal sensation to stare into space while floating on a 14 foot plank suspended by surface tension above thousands of feet of water. I fantasized about getting on the boat and staring up at the stars until sunrise.
Another moment in the night, I lost the bite guard to my water pack and felt a mixture of frustration and gratefulness as I asked Darrell, my support human, to dig through a black duffel bag in the dark to find something the size of an earbud. He ended up handing me the whole bag, and it was like finding chapstick in the bottom of your purse, it takes a minute even if you know right where it is. And we continued on.
I wished the night could last forever; I love night paddling. It may be more stressful on the brain to analyze light and sensation with limited sensual input, but its much easier on my body to paddle at night, primarily because its cooler and I don’t have wear as much sun-protection. My eyes took a while to adjust to the darkness, but once they did, I could clearly see my fellow paddlers and the texture of the water— it was glassy— although my depth perception never did fully adjust until daylight. Jeff, our captain, had a timer that beeped every hour. Whenever someone heard it beep, we would try to remember what hour we were on. At the four hour mark, I said “We’re a quarter of the way through!” and although nothing changed, I felt relief to know we had crossed a threshold: One Quarter. Only twelve hours left.
At some point, we started to notice the sky was lightening. It was still REALLY DARK, but it seemed a little less dark. We agreed to paddle until sunrise and take a “Nice Break.” The sky continued to lighten and the open space behind us started to change into brilliant colors as the sunbeams started to stretch out above the horizon. We didn’t make it all the way until sun up before we all decided we had to stop and stare at the incredible light show. We took some photos, transitioned into our daytime gear and continued on.
The next four or five hours blurred together in a series of moments where I tried my best at everything: tried to eat a hard boiled egg while still paddling, tried to stretch while still paddling, tried to keep a motherly eye on my boys as I watched them transform into warriors, tried to take longer breaks, tried to pee while still paddling, tried to see any signs of life. With the sunrise, our visual connection to the surrounding boats was severed and all we could see was blue sky, deep blue water, our boat and each other. Occasionally, a boat would appear on the horizon and disappear. It was really exciting when a boat would speed past us. The hydrobike cruised past us, just out of range for yelling, but close enough to tell his boat wasn’t being very attentive. As for wildlife, I saw ONE flying fish — it flew REALLY far— and 2 birds. We were paddling across a great stretch of watery desert and I found myself quietly chanting mantra to pass the time.
Around our 10th or so hour, we saw land! It was an amazing moment, literally our first landmark and if the horizon was any hazier, I’m not sure I would have believed we were staring at the distant Miami/Fort Lauderdale skyline. We cheered, hollered, and kept paddling. Land-HO!
Soon after the excitement of the skyline wore off, I started to crash. I couldn’t keep up, I wanted a really long break, I was hungry but couldn’t eat, my back muscles were in spasm and my lack of sleep was catching up. I held onto the boat for a couple minutes, letting it pull me along, checking in with what was going on. It was a carb crash. I had been eating kind of junky food the past couple days and had sacrificed snacking for stretching as we paddled through the night and into morning. I felt the severity of my choices in that moment; I felt hopelessness as I tried to choke down one of my magical smoothy packs and decided that I was going to need to get in the boat— I tapped out. My brain was foggy and I followed Darrell’s instructions, tumbled onto a beanbag chair and stayed there for however long, answering questions about my health. No, I’m not dehydrated, I’ve been peeing every hour. No, I don’t want an IV, I’ve never had one and I don’t feel like that is necessary right now. I just need a little nap. I probably just need food. Someone handed me some water and let me be as I dozed off.
I woke suddenly and remembered: I don’t really know if I get seasick— I’ve been seasick and a little woozy in vastly different circumstances. I dug out some candied ginger and sat down at the helm, checking out the display, asking Jeff questions and taking photos of my team as they paddled on. I was happy to be in the boat. I had planned to get in the boat, recover and get back on the water, but it was actually really nice to not paddle, to sit in the shade, spray my team down with with fresh water from the rinse tank and later when that ran out spray them with water cannons full of cooler water, take cat naps on every available surface of the boat, apply sunscreen to my team’s faces and pour water in their mouths so they didn’t have to stop paddling.
This part of the journey was relatively uneventful for me. I didn’t see anything notable. I wasn’t working particularly hard. I wasn’t paying attention to time, food or water, I spent a lot of time on the gunnel staring at my team sending them love from my roost. Sometimes chatting, sometimes singing, sometimes applying sunscreen or shifting around to stay in the shade, sometimes just staring. My ego was a little bit sad when the roving boat of photographers came by for some footage, but not sad or left out enough to actually get in the water and paddle. Time was passing by slowly as my team paddled closer and closer to Lake Worth.
Jeff, Darrell and I started guessing which buildings up the coast were Lake Worth as the wind began to push a little harder out of the north and my team continued to paddle with relentless determination. We neared shore and the push off the Gulf Stream weakened. My Warriors were now paddling against an unfavorable wind. They crawled their way north, putting in the effort, but not moving much. Jeff and Darrell finally convinced them to tow a few miles up the coast. Just south of the pier, they cut them loose and I jumped back in the water to paddle to shore with my team. I felt guilty for being so energetic, but I felt good to be paddling again.
We rounded the pier and headed towards the buoys marking our way up the beach. The extravagance of the beach landing started to come into focus: flags, tents, the infamous archway and HUNDREDS of people, many of them right at the shoreline waiting to hug us and stand witness to our completion. Boats were anchored up along our watery landing strip creating a corridor by which mother ocean birthed us back onto land. Meters from shore, the emotional impact of our journey hit me like an anvil.
OH, Wow.
My dad had his arms wrapped around me before I even realized I was touching the sand. He asked if he could carry me up the beach. I said no, I’m okay. He begged and I refused, moving on to hug my mom. I was sobbing— so overwhelmed with love, the only way my primitive, little body could express it was through tears. I was passed from embrace to embrace, my friends holding me up whispering sweet affirmations under the scorching afternoon sun. My gear was carried off to temporary storage and I was moved up the beach where my team and I passed under the archway and through a champagne shower in a huddle that felt like a bearhug. More hugs, then the podium. Lots of photos, off the podium, more hugs.
Everyone was standing around me, smiling gigantic, sparkly smiles, offering assistance in whatever way they could think of, my brain was foggy and one by one my friends said goodbye. I started making efforts towards getting a meal, getting a bath and sleeping. The rest the afternoon into the evening was a blur and I’m so grateful that my parents were there to help me. Eventually, I got to my room and into a bath, my mom brought me some food and I showed her pictures of the Bahamas while my Dad helped clean up the beach.
On Sunday morning, I missed all the activites. I was so beat, all I could do was lay on my hotel room floor. When I finally left my room to load up and check out, the Awards Ceremony was over and for every 30 feet or so of walking, I fell into deep conversation with a passing Crossing Crusader; Warriors of Love that I couldn’t draw myself to let go of, even though we were obviously headed in opposite directions. I continued to walk towards the beach, stalking my father who had gotten up early, on Father’s Day, to come back for another day of volunteer manual labor. If I wasn’t hugging someone I was crying; it was an emotional mix of adrenal fatigue and separation anxiety. I wanted to hang with my dad, but I broke into tears at the bar and we made a quick exit for some fresh air.