Questioning my reasons for kayaking

I’ve always battled with head games when kayaking, but recently I made another realisation. I do kayaking, but I’m not enjoying myself. This has been a difficult post to write, and is about as much as laying out my thoughts for my own understanding of what’s going on as it is a blog post.

When I began kayaking, around 13 years ago at the time of writing, I became obsessed with it. My whole life ended up revolving around it. As with anyone who begins something they really take to, I was like an information sponge. I sought out the best coaches I could to advance my skills, and I ended up with a great positive crew to paddle with.

Kayaking has given me opportunities to see the world in a way that I would never have been able to do otherwise. I even met my fiancé, Emily, through the sport, and that’s when everything changed.

From that moment kayaking became much more for me than simply taking a piece of plastic Tupperware down a river, and much more about the person I was having those experiences with. Occasionally, kayakers can have a habit of being quite selfish, allowing the desire and obsession to be in a boat overtake their ability to actually appreciate life and the people around them. I find that the experience of kayaking seems clinical and superficial to me through that kind of lens now, as the desire to improve skills overtakes all other considerations. I know, because it used to be me.

For some, that’s their journey, and their choice. But it’s not for me. When Emily first had her diagnosis, it was like a light switch being turned off. When she passed away, it was like the entire electricity supply had been removed. Not only did my paddling confidence take a hit, but even once I began to gain some of it back sporadically, I realised recently that I was getting onto the water for all the wrong reasons.

I’ll get onto the Tryweryn for example, and I’ll go through the motions. In the days leading up to going I still love the idea of being on the water in my head, but once the morning of the paddle arrives I find my motivation slipping away into the ether. I’ll sometimes force myself to get onto the river, and although I have no problems making the moves, I’m not enjoying it: Instead, I’m just ‘there’.

I’ll go to the Mill on the Dee and be the only person sitting in the eddy next to the bottom wave on a warm sunny day, and I’ll fall to pieces because I know that I would normally turn around and Em would be there in Suzi Q, her pink and black Helixir. Sometimes I won’t even go on the wave, instead sitting there with the memories flooding over me.

I’ve realised that I’ve been getting onto the river because I feel pressured to do so. The knowledge other people are doing it, and that I know Em would want me to keep doing it. She even told me so in her final weeks. But, I’m not getting on out of a desire to have fun and enjoy myself.

I’m writing this while sitting on a bench next to Cafe Wave on the Tryweryn. I’ve walked along the river trying to look for inspiration to get on, but I haven’t found it. Part of my head is telling me to make the first step of getting changed, while the other half is saying that I can take it or leave it. I don’t really have any huge desire to get on. Not because of any head game fears, but because the spark isn’t there.

I don’t know what the answer is. I don’t think I’ll ever give up boating, because it’s one of the big things that still enables me to feel a spiritual connection to Emily. But I need to find my inspiration and motivation again, and finding it is going to be a journey in itself.