Wrecked… But the Dream Must Go On

This week (Week 8) hurt in a different way.

But the numbers look great on paper...

Just over 103 miles on the bike. That is like riding from Syracuse all the way down past Fort Wayne and still having enough legs to circle back toward home.

10,000 yards in the pool. It takes me back to training for Lap the Lake when I would spend hours swimming back and forth, chasing black lines and chasing belief. I kept thinking about that while staring at the bottom of the pool. The same water I spent over 500,000 yards training in is starting to feel like a rehearsal space again. Familiar. Quiet. Honest.

20 plus miles of running at an 8:30 pace. The kind of miles that build you without announcing it. No fireworks. No celebration. Just steady foot strikes and controlled breathing.

Five strength sessions layered on top of all of it. Grip work. Core work. Stability. The kind of sessions where your hands feel like they have been wrung out like a wet towel. The kind where you finish and sit there for a second before standing up because your body needs a minute to catch up with what you just asked of it.

And then there were 12 hours of deep work while standing on a balance board. Building time on my feet. Building the small muscles most people ignore. Training my body to stay steady when it would rather shift and compensate. All in preparation for nearly 2 million paddle strokes over 40 plus hours. Nonstop.

On paper it looks strong.

In real life it feels heavy.

The long sessions are getting long in a way that lingers. A four hour training day does not end when you put the bike away. It follows you home. It sits with you at dinner. It shows up when you try to sleep. It shows up when others are watching.

I catch myself zoning out and staring off into space until Rikki or Bre snap me out of it. They know that look. The one where I am physically present but mentally somewhere out on the water already. It is not distraction. It is load. It is the quiet weight of something big building underneath the surface.

This week I woke up in the middle of the night more than once. Not anxious. Not stressed. Just sore. The kind of soreness that settles deep into your shoulders and hips and reminds you that paddling from Lake Wawasee all the way to Lake Michigan without stopping is not something the body casually agrees to.

There are moments at 2:17 in the morning when you roll over and feel it. The accumulation. The cost. The question that whispers, “Are you sure?”

And the only answer that comes back is, “Yes.”

Nutrition is starting to show cracks too. After a four hour effort, your body needs fuel whether you feel like eating or not. There were moments this week where appetite lagged behind output. That cannot happen on a forty plus hour push. Systems win at this level. Discipline wins. Adjustments are coming and the systems are getting tightened up.

Because the dream deserves precision.

And yet this week was full in ways that matter.

Five handwritten letters showed up from supporters. Real envelopes. Real handwriting. I stood in the kitchen holding them and felt something shift. This is not just silent training anymore. People are watching. People want to be a part of the adventure.

I read those letters slowly. Twice.

It reminded me that this is bigger than miles.

I signed a new contract for 2026 with the team. That felt steady. Grounded. Like the work I put in during the 2025 season meant something. Like the sacrifices were seen.

I also received a job offer to help another company build and scale behind the scenes. Opportunities are showing up while I am in the thick of it. That is humbling. It is strange how life expands when you commit to something that scares you. Doors open while you are still sweating.

Physically I am wrecked moving into Week 9.

Mentally I am clear.

Every single day this week I journaled. Even on the tired days. Especially on the tired days. I forced myself to sit down and put words to the experience. The fatigue. The doubt. The gratitude. And I feel more connected to life right now than I have in a long time.

Connected to the work.

Connected to my family.

Connected to the community that raised me.

Connected to the version of myself I am becoming.

Follow the Flow begins at Lake Wawasee. The same water that shaped me as a kid. The same shoreline where we made history last summer. The same docks and channels that watched me grow up. And it will not stop until that water reaches Lake Michigan.

One current.

One direction.

One man on a paddle board trying to keep up with it.

There will be moments out there when it gets dark. When the shoulders ache. When the miles blur together and the mind starts negotiating.

But quitting is not part of the blueprint.

I am sore. Sleep needs work. Nutrition needs refining.

But the dream does not shrink just because I am tired.

It grows.

And so do I.

If this journey resonates with you, do not just read it and scroll on.

Join the email list below and follow this thing in real time. I send the real updates there. The raw ones. The behind the scenes ones. If you are local and want to paddle a section in training, reach out. If you want to help crew. If you want to meet up along the route. If you simply want to send a note like the ones that showed up in my mailbox this week.

Connect with me.

This is not meant to be watched from a distance.

This is meant to be experienced together.

Let’s build something that lasts longer than the paddle.

Love you all,

Jace

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