As we turned the last corner, we could see the finish line. 415km and 43 hours of paddling had taken its toll, physically and mentally. The relief we felt when that final gun went off was as monumental as the feat itself.

Just over 100 hours earlier, that same gun would sound, except this time it was signalling the start of the race. Pat and I could barely keep ourselves upright. If you could put those two images side by side, you would find it hard to believe it was the same two people in the craft.

We had dipped our toes in endurance events, but a multi-day event was new territory.

The Massive Murray Marathon is a 5-day paddling event that has been running for nearly 50 years. It requires individuals and teams in various crafts to paddle from Yarrawonga to Koondrook, stopping at various locations along the Murray River. This year, the October floods resulted in the course being altered due to a lack of access in some sections.

Our route would be as follows;
– Yarrawonga to Tocumwal (89 km), which we would do twice.
– Picnic Point to Moama (76 km).
– Moama to Torrumbarry (80.5), also twice.

This race is not possible without a support crew. My old-man, Blair, had completed the event in 1987 and I had asked if he would crew us, given he was now retired and had a caravan i.e. nothing better to do. Pat’s parents would also join us after the second day, a welcome addition to the team.

In the 4 weeks leading up to the event, Pat and I had paddled about 150km, around 20 hours. We had a couple of 4-5 hour stints on the Yarra River under our belt, but we could barely stay in the boat for 2 hours without having to get out and stretch. Or, we risked falling in.

Truth be told, we wouldn’t have accumulated 40 hours in the kayak when that first gun went off, yet we had (perhaps naively) confidence in our ability to learn and grind. Both of which are somewhat of an obsession for Pat and I.

Day 1 was nothing short of a battle. We had been moved to the last group of the staged start, a definite mistake, as this was supposed to be a field of the fastest paddlers. Within minutes, we were at the back of the pack, struggling to get into a rhythm with the backwash of the other boats throwing us off balance.

We were racing in a TK2, a style of tandem kayak. We would later find out that the craft we were racing would barely classify as a TK2, it was too narrow and was more suited to short-distance, sprint-style events, according to an onlooker who seemed to have much more know-how than we did (not hard).

This meant that the reality of tipping over was closer than anyone would have liked. In the beginning, If I slightly adjusted my seat or even looked to my side, sayonara. We had done so a couple of times in training and had countless close calls.

Despite the struggle, we did manage to stay on top of the water on day 1. However, not everything went to plan. Dad got lost within the first 2 hours of the event, which meant Pat and I went without support or substantial food until the last checkpoint, 63km in. Luckily, we had packed enough snacks and the race support crew topped us up with some water, but we were craving some fulfilling food and a familiar face.

Once refueled and rejuvenated, it was time for the last leg, a painful 26km. It seemed to go on for a fucking eternity. We had to get out several times to get some blood flowing into the legs and ass. Our energy levels were at an all-time low. The boys were silent, head down and awaiting the finish line. We came in just before 6pm, 9hr 41 after we had started.

Day 2 was much the same as day 1, our time was 3 minutes faster (literally nothing) and the boys battled all day long. It was tough having to do the same stage twice, we knew the route and we knew the river was slower than expected. Plus, we knew how long and grueling that last 26km leg was.

What is crazy is how much you yo-yo throughout each day, between feeling strong and absolutely knackered. Just when you feel like you can’t go on any longer or you’re battling some demons, the tides will shift, and you feel unstoppable.

This is where having a paddling partner that you know intimately and can trust with your life helps. A lot of the time, the two of you aren’t in sync in terms of your energy and pain levels. This is an art to manage. If managed right, one has the power to uplift the other. However, sometimes the person struggling doesn’t need to be pushed, they just need to be left alone to fight through it themselves, yet still knowing that the other person is there to support them. Day 2 was a lot of this, and to say we were relieved to see the finish line was a gross understatement.

The Wednesday revealed a new course, and spirits were a little higher. We knew that the 2 longest legs were out of the way and day 3 was shorter: 76km. However, we were still extremely exhausted.

This morning we made the mistake of not giving ourselves enough time. A pre-race morning routine may consist of something like; apply sunscreen/zinc, hit the dunny, pack food in the boat, fit lifejacket and gear, pack phones in a waterproof bag, amongst a few other things. It also helps to get as much of this done the night prior. But, we did neither. 10 minutes before the gun was to sound, we were scrambling, we were barely bloody dressed. We got a 2-minute warning and we hadn’t even adjusted our seats (something we definitely should have done the night prior), let alone got in the boat (not as easy as you might think). We rushed in, scrambled to the start line and, BANG, we were off.

Pat was seated up the back and didn’t have the time to secure his footrest, which is integral to transferring power and keeping balance. Within minutes, his footrest had become unstuck and fell to the hull of the boat. He would now have to battle the next section by pressing his feet to the outside of the boat to give himself support.

Well, the first section of this leg was ridiculous. The river was narrow, quick, and winding. Not to mention we had to dodge logs, trees, and other capsized competitors. Because of our self-inflicted unorganised debacle, we were near the back of the pack – no surprises, really. As we found out, our boat managed flat, straight sections of water quite well – this was what it was designed for. But, give it waves, sharp corners, and logs, she doesn’t do well.

Somehow, we managed to stay upright, where many others couldn’t. If you had put us on this section of the river on day 1, we wouldn’t have stood a chance. Pat was an absolute champion on this section, not once did he complain about having ZERO footrests, but I could really feel the power and support coming from the rear of the vessel. We had made the plan to stop at circa 15km, given this was a 28km leg, but he pushed us to crack on, so we did.

Something changed on this day. We were clearly getting a lot more comfortable in the boat and we had a dog up us. We battled constant headwinds, a quick current, and a broken boat, but we were stronger than ever. We had the full support crew waiting for us at CP2, and even they were surprised to see us as early as they did. We were near the front of our wave and had passed probably 10 boats since starting, a new concept for us.

We finished the 76km in 7hr 41, definitely our strongest day yet, so strong our crew even missed our finish! To see how much we had improved in 3 days was insane. Even the race organisers and crew were starting to notice us, wondering how these two peanuts, who barely knew the difference between a kayak and canoe, were finishing towards the front of their wave.

Trying to explain how we were physically and mentally feeling is tricky. In many ways, we were knackered. Our upper bodies were murdered, we were mentally exhausted and our nervous system was shot to bits. But, on the water, we were feeling stronger and more capable. Our rest times throughout the race had dropped to 30 minutes (60 on day 1), our pace was getting faster and we were more stable than ever. On the water we were motoring, off the water we were hurting. But, only 2 more days to go.

Our start on day 4 was perfect. We got up towards the front straight away, which meant the backwash from the other boats was minimal. For the first hour, it was just 3 boats that were sharing the lead, a strange concept for us now to be managing.

Today was the day we learned the concept of wash riding another craft. This is when you sit directly behind another boat and use its wake to propel you forward. It takes less effort to paddle, but you have to be razor-sharp with your steering and speed. The sweet spot is probably under a metre of wiggle room, so you’ve got to be on your game. After 30 minutes or so of this, we got tired and decided to have a fair dinkum crack at the lead, something we never thought we could hold for long.

Well, we came into CP1 with no other boat in sight, we were the first ones in and no one could believe it, especially our support crew. Knowing we had the lead, we stopped for barely 5 minutes to refuel and we were back out there again. Never had we thought we would have to worry about holding the lead, but Pat and I can be pretty competitive when we want to be.

The rest of the day was surprisingly lonely. We got passed by a couple of the elite guys in the later wave, but, other than that, we held onto the lead from our wave – for the entire bloody day. There were definitely still some grueling and silent moments, filled only with the thought of how much pain we were in, but we pushed on. Not once did we get out of the boat to stretch or readjust other than at our checkpoints, and even they were just a pit stop.

Day 4 saw us rest for a total of 23 minutes, having done 80.5km in a smidge over 8 hours. We were ecstatic. At the start of the week, doubts were definitely creeping in for both of us.

How on earth were we going to back this up for 5 days? Why the fuck do we do this to ourselves?

Day 4 reminded us why. We do this to push the boundaries of what we think is possible. Never in our wildest dreams would we have thought we would challenge for the lead in any wave, let alone hold it for 7 hours. If we can do this, what else are we capable of?

We had pushed ourselves, beyond our preconceived limits. We didn’t really know what was going to happen on the final day, other than we knew we would finish. That was a given, by this point. We would have fucking carried our boat if we had to. We were finishing.

Once again, the gun went off and we dug our heels (paddles) in and got to the front. Yet this time, we had a serious challenger. We thought we were just going slower because we had really put the foot down the day before, but it turned out this guy was giving it everything. For the first half of the day, we kept him in our sights, thinking he would have to tire. After all, he was by himself. But, to his credit, we just couldn’t catch up. He had a fire in his belly and we were not going to put it out.

The last leg for me was up there with one of my toughest moments of the week. I literally had nothing more to give. Pat was feeling relatively strong (relative being the operative word here, he was also wrecked), but he was carrying the team. I knew we only had an hour or two to go, but it felt like an eternity. I was starting to get delusional, barely able to hold a conversation or take in my surroundings. I was deep in the pain cave, begging for the finish line to be in sight.

It’s in these moments that you really learn a lot about yourself. Every single fiber of my being wanted to stop, rest for 10 minutes, anything to ease the self-inflicted suffering. But, I knew this feeling would pass. I also know that in some, perhaps sick way, this is what we had signed up for. I wanted to be here. I was seeking this feeling. So, why fight it? It is in this surrender that character can be forged.

My poorly functioning brain kept trying to convince me that I knew this corner, it was the last one. It had to be, right? Wrong. Turns out that when your brain is half-cooked and you’re delirious, every corner looks the same. After what felt like 223 last corners, we were actually there. The MMP415 finish line flags we had come to adore were finally in sight, we had fucking done it.

Pat and I crawled out of the boat, stumbled our way to shore, and embraced. To share this moment with such a close friend is something that no words can do justice to. Although this post talks a lot about the pain endured, there were just as many fun moments, filled with Harry Potter quotes, banter, genuine dribble, and even some deep ‘n’ meaningfuls. We felt like we had been to hell and back, but we had done it together, and that was special.

This week was filled with rich experiences and valuable lessons. Lessons that I truly believe can be translated into everyday life. Whilst I can, I plan to continue to explore the depths of what’s possible through endurance events, taking myself to places where I doubt and question myself, where I have to endure immense pain and discomfort. Why? Because you’re a fool if you think life won’t come and kick your feet from under you at some point. How are you going to prepare yourself for this moment? What sort of person are you when push comes to shove?

These are the questions I ask myself. This is why I choose to explore the depths of the self-inflicted pain cave. But, hell, it’s not for everyone.