60 Mile Lake Travis PTSup

getoutgirl.com
1023.
The day after. Three days, two nights, 60 miles of paddle boarding with 10 other friends, now teammates, Foundation 1023 Team PTSup. The first to ever navigate the length of Lake Travis 60 miles on paddle boards.

Launching in Marble Falls, Texas at Camp Creek at dawn on a Friday and heading south toward Mansfield Dam, ending at Emerald Point Marina at 4pm on the following Sunday. Personally, almost 40,000 paddle strokes, over 11,000 “paddling” calories and 60 amazing miles on a Texas River that I adore and have lived out my entire life on.

Most know that this event was a bucket list item that Kristin McLain and I had imagined 3 ½ years ago. What I didn’t know at the time was the story wouldn’t begin or end as it was originally scripted. But that is life - and as I have learned, “Things do not happen for a reason, but it’s what you do with what happens that becomes your reason.”

Through the course of the weekend and at the wrap up of our accomplishment, I’ve been asked countless times, “What would Kristin think of your journey?”


Kristin was an athlete and as with the best of them, she was  always trying to raise her own bar. When you have that inner drive, you’re always “driven” by other’s accomplishments - that is how we continue to grow ourselves and reach higher levels. Kristin would have been inspired to go do something similar or something greater - to raise her own bar, increase her own potential. 

“Jealous?” I’ve been asked. No, “Driven” I’d respond.

Similarly, she would have been our biggest fan. Kristin was in the profession she was as a flight nurse because she truly cared about the wellbeing of others. She was a caretaker and a cheerleader all rolled into one. She was a planner, an organizer. She paid attention to details and made things happen. She would have helped plan, pack, organize and cheer every last team member to the line. Encourager.

Since we’ve finished I’ve received so many messages, so many social media postings that Kristin would be “so proud”, “so honored”.

I've struggled with those. Proud? Honored? Kristin was very humble. She was a backstage “doer” - not a front row “spotlight”. She’d roll her eyes at most anything, but especially at the statement or thought of putting herself to the forefront. She was the person that while you were busy thinking of how to get it done, she would have it done and already written the report. Focused.

Friday was a beautiful day to paddle. No wind, no waves. What seemed like hundreds of herons; dozens dive bombing, hunting osprey; and gorgeous white egrets galore. And the single monarch that flew with us the entire day. Even a double rainbow which arched the horizon, one from Kristin, one from Jessica. Who gets that on an October morning on the river? We even had a homemade rotary “flying object” come up the river high above us, pull back, hesitate, then dive bomb straight from the sky in front of us, to our jaw-dropped questioning stares, pulling up just in time to fly parallel to us 50 feet above the water and give us a huge old fashioned fist pump. Ecstatic.

Saturday night we got walloped on the houseboat with a rogue windstorm. Those of us sleeping on deck battened down to not blow off - literally. It subsided by daylight - somewhat, so we decided sporadically to explore Cow Creek and get almost six miles in. A half mile from the mouth on our return a fisherman yells out, “Hey, are y’all that group paddling dam to dam that I saw on the news?” “Yes,” says a teammate. He shouts out, “Do you know Cindy Present?” “Eddie??”  I shout and paddle over. It was a water ski mentor and friend that had escaped death’s door several years ago and helped me reframe my life one day as I nudged him from his hospital bed to do another hot lap down the hall with me. Little did I know he was meant to find us in a small cove off Lake Travis out in the middle of nowhere this windy morning, to let me know angels are always around us. Perspective.

The rest of Saturday was brutal. Gusts of 10-25 for almost 22 total miles. Eight miles into our day, Brett and Joey, Travis County Sheriff Lake Patrol, and one of only two boats on the lake that morning, came roaring up the lake, see us and sharp turn over to us. They never left our sides - or our bow - for 14 more miles. Blocking wind, letting us draft in their wake, helping us as eleven people would get scattered with severe gusts, doing all they could to even stay atop the boards, sitting or standing. It became a mental game as we broke into teams, half with the Sheriff and half with our own support crew. We had help so we could divide and conquer. Passing the Gnarly Gar, all in the restaurant either stood or came to the edge, applauding, shouting us forward. Stamina.

Sunday morning a Texas Northern came barrelling in at 6am. After strong rains, wind and some hail, it pushed through leaving in its wake north winds up to 30mph. We knew there would be a straight away of three miles with direct head winds. After a one mile brutal battle to the northwest shoreline, we regrouped and proceeded as a Team, on our bottoms, outrigger style, digging one paddle stroke at a time with 18” swells coming over the front of our boards, skirting the shoreline so at any moment's notice we could put our feet down to hold our traction. It became mental warfare. Mindset.

Sunday afternoon we got to the far north shoreline and the cliffs blocked the severe wind. It began to calm, perspective regained, souls re-freshened, "Team" renewed. We ducked in, finishing our few miles playfully and eating (anything and everything we could) in Devil’s Cove. Composure returned, dawning of what we had all just gone through to get to 59.5 miles. One half mile to go - yet none of us knowing it would end as the toughest.


As Foundation 1023’s Team PTSup, we created a paddling floatilla and slowly moved the last half mile across the lake to the finish, Emerald Point Marina. Once in the protection of the docks, our SUPport boat followed with the tunes of Proud to be an American echoing. We slowly paddled, taking in the hoots and hollers of those on the docks and decks, “honoring” our accomplishment. Humbling.

As we rounded the corner of the marina entrance, Captain Dan, boat handlers, board handlers, marina boat owners and a crowd from the balconies above cheered us on. Then probably not to anyone's surprise, a great blue heron was sitting there - just waiting - on the rocky edge by the No Wake sign. As we neared, she rose, banked, and flew across the front of our group, then led us to the center of the docks. Affirming.

Within minutes the cheers were drown out by the rising sound of a StarFlight helicopter, coming from behind us across the lake, following our path, to meet us at the marina. There she was. As it did multiple circles above us with the crew's arms extended, waving through the windows, we all stood, paddles raised, tears flowing. The dream was realized - not just for 11 paddlers and crew, but for all involved who knew and loved Kristin. Afterwards, as we celebrated the journey of PTSup, we learned that the crew Kristin flew with the night of her accident had been adamant that they fly this mission, their first since the accident, for Kristin. The waves, the cheers, the fist pumps were not about any of us, but about the triumph of the past 2 1/2 years, all of us overcoming, and now there to live out the dream of the sweet, sweet girl that we had paddled through sunshine, rain, wind - and now - time for. Honor.

One of the many messages I received today was from Jessica Hollis’ best friend, Shannon:

“Sending an extra hug your way on this 10/23 day. You honored Kristin in an incredible way this weekend.”

This one was the first to resonate, to bring me to tears. The first time the word “honor” had been used as a verb.

Yes, it was a “privilege” to paddle in Kristin’s memory. Yes, it was out of “high respect” that we did it. But as a verb, I drop to my knees why I did it:

Honor: v. to fulfill (an obligation) or keep (an agreement).

Missed you, Kmac. We got it done.



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