This paddle was personal.
Twelve hours. Forty miles. A heat index of 106 degrees. Most people would call it crazy. For me, it was necessary. It was a test, a tribute, and therapy all rolled into one.
I set out that morning on my paddleboard not just for a workout or a fundraiser, but to honor the men I’ve known—Marines I served with, brothers who died before, during, and after my deployments. Also, some were first responders I worked alongside, and some were fellow veterans who lost the battle at home. I wrote their names to remind me why I was out there and to keep pushing.
The Challenge
I’m still relatively new to stand-up paddleboarding, but I’ve approached it with the same intensity I bring to my strength and conditioning work. My training leading up to this included my usual strength training, balance board drills, breathwork sessions, and focused endurance conditioning.
In the weeks before the event, I tested gear setups, fueling strategies, and paddle cadence—prepping for long duration output without redlining. That prep paid off: I stayed standing the entire 12 hours, kept a consistent pace of 3.3 mph, and knocked out 40.1 miles at an average pace of 17:57 per mile.
According to the data, I spent 93% of the effort in Zone 3 and 4—holding steady between aerobic and threshold output. That kind of sustained pacing, especially in 106°F heat index, shows the value of consistent prep, strong breath mechanics, and nervous system regulation. I only touched Zone 5 for 3% of the time and barely dipped into Zone 2. This wasn’t a casual paddle. This was high-output endurance work.
My respiration rate stayed steady—33 breaths per minute average, maxing at 43—which tells me the breathwork I’ve been doing is working. It was controlled, effective, and never dysregulated, even under fatigue. I didn’t just survive this effort—I performed.
This 12-hour paddle was a test, but it wasn’t the final destination. I see more extreme trips in the future—multi-day paddles, endurance challenges that push the mind and body in new ways. This is just the beginning (sorry, Lori).
Physically, of course, it was fatiguing—twelve hours on the water will test anyone. But this wasn’t the first time I’ve done something difficult for that long. I stayed moving, kept a solid pace, and stayed standing the entire time. Balance matters out there. You have to be able to move your feet, shift your weight, and stay light and reactive. My grip and feet are quite fatigued today.
I used every tool in my kit: LMNT for hydration, CoolMitt to cool my core, Work Epic supplements to keep energy steady. I made sure my feet were strong and mobile, as your feet go numb after awhile on the board. I leaned on everything I had trained for, including a strong mindset (easy day, check).
The Why
People understand PTSD. But fewer understand Operator Syndrome. PTSD is about avoidance, trying to stay safe by avoiding trauma triggers. Operator Syndrome is the opposite—you go into fight mode, over and over, until you can’t shut it off. For me, when stress rises, I don’t shut down—I over-function. I don’t sleep. I get stuck in operator mode. It’s part of why I chose to do 12 hours. I get stuck and just keep going. It reminds me of the character Baymax, the robot medic from Big Hero 6, when his batteries are low…he still tries to help even when he’s completely drained.( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sBvPky7RU6g )
I had to explain this to VA doctors. Many had never heard of Operator Syndrome. That alone should raise concern. These aren’t just invisible wounds—they’re misunderstood and untreated. My nerve injury is one example. It starts in my neck and runs down my arm. The only numb spot left? Right where a trigger would rest on my index finger. Trauma can wire itself into the body in ways we’re only beginning to understand.
The Lessons in Pain
There were moments when I had to dig a little deeper, but I never considered quitting. Every stroke reminded me why I was there. I used breathwork to stay calm, tapping into my breathing drills I use in recovery. I drew on mental imagery, on memory, and on the quiet strength of those who no longer have the chance to fight.
Pain, in this context, wasn’t suffering. It was purification. It was therapy.
This paddle was therapy in motion. For many veterans and first responders, movement is one of the only places where healing happens. When talk therapy fails, when the meds don’t work, when your nervous system is fried—you move. You breathe. You carry something heavy and let the process pull the trauma out.
The Mission
Operation Antifragile was built out of this need. Many do not know how to treat these unique injuries, but we have developed a system that can make a big difference. We are creating a national network of coaches and professionals who understand these invisible injuries. We deliver care packages with equipment, coaching, and breathwork protocols. We host group workouts, retreats, and peer support.
We train in strength. We train in breath. We train in balance. We move, we connect, we recover.
There are more of us than you think—veterans and first responders with similar injuries, carrying similar trauma, hiding behind toughness until it all breaks. We need places to turn. We need each other.
Final Thoughts
If you’d like to support the cause, donations are still open. I was asking for pledges to match my 40-mile paddle—whether that’s 50 cents, a dollar, or five bucks per mile. Every bit helps us support veterans and first responders dealing with invisible injuries. Even a share goes a long way.
Donate or share here: https://www.classy.org/campaign/operation-antifragile-stand-up-for-mental-health/c692060
This wasn’t just a test of endurance. It was a statement: We don’t forget. We don’t quit. We don’t shut down.
#OperationAntifragile #SUPChallenge #MentalFortitude #RideForThem #PTSD #OperatorSyndrome #NeverForgotten