A good friend of mine, who I don’t get to spend enough time with, recently asked me to join him in the Rip Friot Canoe Race last weekend on the Oswegatchie River, which benefits the Frederic Remington Museum and is hosted by the St. Lawrence Valley Paddlers.

My old adventure canoe is beat up, built for neither speed nor comfort, but has served me well. It was a substantial upgrade from my previous canoe which had a sponge plugging a small hole and required a bit of bailing now and then.

When we arrived at the Rip Friot race, more than an hour early, I realized our only real goal would be to finish within the time allotted. I knew that wouldn’t be easy since the current wouldn’t be helping us thanks to a strong headwind.

As experienced paddlers were waxing their canoes, most of which looked like they probably weren’t bought second-hand for $200, I was working on a playlist of music to listen to for the ride, which I knew at this point would not be leisurely.

The participants we talked to during the pre-race were friendly and many had traveled several hours just to compete in the race.

I knew there was a big difference between a canoe run and a canoe race, but what I didn’t realize is just how bad at paddling I really was.

When we finally got on the water, we quickly fell behind as the experienced paddlers used their energy with grace and precision. We shoveled water with about as much grace as we’d shoveled manure on the farm in our youth.

We were fortunate enough to start in the recreation line, which gave us a solid headstart from some of the others.

But not long before we hit the portage around the dam, we were well behind even the second line of paddlers, though there was a rumor that perhaps one person was still behind us. I had a feeling the friendly gentleman who said that was just trying to make us feel better.

As the folks I can only describe as professionals passed us, we laughed and joked with them, some even offered advice.

There was a group in a four-person canoe who were so in sync it was like watching a machine. Their paddles hit the water in unison, their heads turned in unison and I don’t think they wasted any oxygen or calories on anything but their goal.

We were quite mindful that we were playing a different game than the others in the race at this point. We pushed on enjoying the music and the beautiful weather. We didn’t push ourselves as hard as we could have, but we certainly were giving a solid 75%, which is still a lot over the course of a 10-mile paddle.

Despite our clear lack of paddling knowledge, improper equipment and any sort of real preparation we finished the race.

We were greeted by the friendly paddlers, who were well rested and recovered when we arrived. They clapped and celebrated our finish I’m sure as much as they did from everyone else.

As we packed up the canoe tired, sore and hungry, I couldn’t help but be amazed by the skill and dedication of this community of paddlers. It’s pretty amazing what they are able to do.

I probably won’t enter another canoe race, out of respect for the sport, which I clearly have no business being in. But I’m glad we tried it. I learned that there is truly an art to paddling.

I also learned that I’m more of a “canoe run” guy than a “canoe race” guy.

Jimmy Lawton is news editor of North Country This Week and NorthCountryNow.com.