Events: Draggin' Boat

I’D BEEN APPREHENSIVE about dragon boat camp in the first place, and after a quick survey of the other paddlers in my boat on the first day, I knew my anxiety wasn’t misplaced. Despite the hoods of the rain jackets we wore to shield us from a steady drizzle, I could see that the men and women in my boat were a good 20 years younger than I am, and not only knew each other, but knew what they were doing. When, in a moment of madness, I’d signed up for this camp, I was under the impression that novice paddlers like me would be given special instruction.

Apparently not, since I was in a boat with members of the Canadian national dragon boat team.

 I was put in the rear of the 20-person boat and had no sooner slipped my butt pad in place than the coach barked, “Paddles up!” I hadn’t the foggiest notion what he was talking about. I looked around, and everybody but me confidently raised his or her arms in the air, then hit the water in a strong circular stroke. I tried desperately to mimic their motions, but felt like a novice swimmer flailing the doggie paddle. On top of being mortified, I finished practice discovering muscles I didn’t know existed — and they all hurt. When lunchtime came, there was only one thing I could do: take a nap.


WHEN MY GIRLFRIEND Jill Porter, the Daily News columnist, suggested that a group from our book club fly to Florida for dragon boat camp in April, I figured, why not? The idea of camp conjured up wonderful childhood memories of camaraderie. And because my previous experience with dragon boats — a half-hour in a charity event on the Schuylkill — had been relatively easy, I figured this camp would be fun, despite the fact I’ve never been much of an athlete. What I counted on to get me through the week was my lifelong dedication to fitness. Where sports call for skill, exercise needs only commitment, and I’ve got plenty of that.

About six weeks before D-Day, our quartet — I, Jill, Eve Biskind Klothen (an administrator at Rutgers Law school, and a bona fide jock) and June Wolfson (whose idea of a good time is a 60-mile Breast Cancer Walk) — got an e-mail from the Great White North Dragon Boating association in Canada, outlining an exercise regimen to prepare for our adventure. I read it, blanched, and called the association immediately to say that I was, to put it politely, a senior citizen. The director pooh-poohed my concern and assured me I’d be fine. I hung up and immediately hired a personal trainer.

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