I've always found one of the most challenging parts of training to be knowing when to hold off, or go a little easier. It's easy to say that you know your limits, but in reality athletes are constantly pushing, constantly trying to reach the edge of their limits. The 'limit' isn't even about making revolutionary changes to training or technique - it's about pushing your limit a little further, about making it slightly harder to reach next time. And the next.

In slalom it's kind of hard to define, because we don't really push physical limits in the same way as cycling or swimming. It's more about exploring what quality of training you can project each day, and how consistently you can maintain it. To simplify it a little, it's easy to have a great day when the sun is out, you happen to wake up in a good mood, and your boat does everything you want it to do. Mistakes seem less significant, and it's easy to think your way around problems. It's harder to have a great day when it's snowing, your boat is a little bit battered, and you've let something put you in a bad mood.

These things are always in an athletes control. It's a choice, to let something put you in a crappy mood, or to allow yourself to get brought down by something out of your control (boat repair, in retrospect, is 100% in a paddlers control!). You decide how you feel, and with some effort, you can put yourself in the same zone day after day.

So my problem is when to know it's time to back off. I know that a few things can clear my mind and put me in a good mood. Climbing (which I'm terrible at, but love), cleaning (modern-day 'nesting' I suppose), running (which I never thought I'd acknowledge in any positive way but hey) and other easy, feel good things. So when it comes to a session, it feels like the loveliest part of the day. I spend all my time making my brain happy, in order to have a quality session.

Then your body says no, I'm done today. Sorry. My elbow hurts, and I'd like you to take some time off. I know you're not tired, but you're gonna have to suck it up and do what's best.

I spend a lot of time ignoring excuses that my brain and body offer me. Nothing is too hard, because the price of a good session can't be too high. So a niggling pain that won't quite go away after the session, or a little itch in the back of my throat, feel like really easy things to ignore. But they always creep up on me. I'm prone to tendinitis in my forearms, but to be honest in slalom forearm pain is part of the package.

In a world full of uncontrollable variables, I just want something that tells me exactly when to stop, to let certain things recover. When is pain bad? Should I ignore it or keep going, because keeping going is what we do? I guess the answer is, don't expect black and white answers in a world where nothing is as easy as that. I think paying more attention to what my body is relaying to me is also fairly key - it sounds stupid but it's really hard for some athletes to open up to that. This year I've caught tendinitis before it gets bad - icing and rest, sauna and ice baths. It's hard not to question yourself, but at the end of the day, you know your body best.

So my birthday came around in March, carrying me into my first senior year of competition. Approaching senior selection, where only the top three boats can qualify to race at the world championships, I knew this was a time to lay down everything I had learnt in the winter, without fear or reservation. A chance to throw caution to the wind and display what I know. I think it's possibly the first time I have ever sat on the start line of a selection race, and really looked forward to the run. Other races have always felt different; you can play with different approaches, different plans and styles of attack. Selection has for me, always been a time for reservation, for using only what I know I can do 10/10, every single time. 

I started the series with a strong race, coming fourth overall on the first day. The second day was a little tougher, a tricky, technical course that I never quite found my flow on, leaving me with a fifth place. Over the three day race, it's your best two results that count in the end, and so I felt strong and confident coming into day three. 

What happened on day three was a little bizarre for me, and I felt it highlighted an area of racing that I can now spend a year developing and enhancing. I spend twenty five minutes warming up for a single race run, running through physical and mental processes that I have found put me in the right state for racing as hard as I can. I do turning drills, some stretching, sprints to build my lactic levels up to optimum and breathing exercises to prime my focus. I run through the course a set amount of times in my mind, and going up the conveyor belt to the start pool I know exactly how I will feel, and what I want to do. 

In my semi final run on day three, the start person called fifteen. At this point my vision focusses, and I get that first rush of adrenalin that absolutely directs every stroke. I pull into the flow, and at ten seconds to go, I begin my start sprint. In my semi final run, I heard a hiss and bang, but it didn't register at all. I was already absolutely in the moment, in the perfect zone. I flew through gates one and two, and was on the charge to gate three when I heard voices and shouting that were absolutely out of line with what is normal. People were shouting for me to stop - some of the pumps had overheated and stopped. 

I sat like a gibbering mess in the eddy next to gate three, my brain already four gates ahead, underneath the bridge. My whole body was shaking with suppressed energy that didn't know where to go. Finally a friend told me to get out of my boat, I had to go back to the start pool. My coach carried my boat to the top, and I was told that in five minutes I could start again. A better athlete would have refocussed. At the time of course, I was confident that I could reset. You have to be - there is no other option when approaching a race. To be honest, perhaps my whole race run would have gone like that anyway - off camber, nervous and hesitant into all the moves. There is a good chance that was what could have happened anyway. But I'm annoyed with myself for letting an opportunity to practise self mind control, overcome my race. I don't know how I would have finished with a perfect run. I am only absolutely concerned that it was not how I planned it would go.

But the beauty of this is I am free to travel around the best slalom courses in Europe, and commit to essentially a second block of winter training - in the summer months. I can go away and work on what it was that let me down in London, and bring back everything when we race all over again next season. Thanks everyone for your support, love and making my kayak life the best it could be. I look forward to sitting on the start line with everyone again, and hope to watch and celebrate our senior team demonstrating the highest standard of racing in the world series 2017. 

Thanks Peter Milsom for the photo!

In a world of intense concentration, critical analysis and repetitive training, I think I'm learning some of the most valuable cycles of thought. Everyone talks a lot about relaxing and regenerating, but I think for people like me it's quite hard to understand that thinking you are relaxed is very different from actually being in a state of relaxation. When you are truly in the zone of regeneration, it doesn't make sense to apply a word to it. Why would you waste energy saying it? Or bother thinking about how relaxed you are? Being absolutely focussed on yourself is one thing when you are training or thinking about improving. But it is absolutely another exercise entirely to focus on yourself in a kind, gentle way. 

For me this often means giving myself permission to do things that are not essential or directly 'productive'. I know already that if I can sit down and do a couple of hours of work, or organise the dreaded paperwork for the next few weeks, I get a feeling of 'relaxation' that is lovely and makes me content. But that's a cycle that involves doing something non relaxing in order to feel satisfied. Which is quite similar to training, so one could argue that it is not the same kind of 'relaxed'. 

What I think true 'brain recovery' is, is doing things that in society are often negatively identified as being lazy or unhelpful. When you are in a zone unconnected with the future or past, there is nothing to worry about other than what is directly in front of you. I think training should revolve around this principle, but the nature of sport requires that we look at our times from the session and analyse what we have done, and what we will do to improve. So the only time you can truly be 'in the present' is actually when you are required to do nothing at all. Maybe a film, or playing a game, or in a particularly exciting conversation. Or even just drawing, napping or reading. 

Quite often I can get stuck 'trying to relax,' as ridiculous as that seems. I don't know if my brain just ticks over too fast for a whole week of the training and relaxing cycle. But sometimes taking a step in what feels like the opposite direction of relaxing actually works. Going for a long walk or sitting in the sun isn't what I'd immediately think of as a relaxation technique, especially as an athlete. But I think it works to firstly clear my brain a little bit, and when I finally get down to doing some serious chilling, it contrasts so that the relaxing seems a bit more lovely. You can get quite committed to this; I think doing exhilarating things are the best methods of clearing your brain, like cliff jumping or swimming in cold water. But they put you in the most receptive position to relax properly afterwards. 

Ok so I'll admit it's pretty hard to keep track of blogging while you're travelling - not necessarily an excuse, but I think working by the 100% effort rule when it comes to both training and relaxing is definitely guilty for how little I've done here! If you're here you've probably come via Facebook or Instagram. So you may also have seen where I've been spending all my time.

January was a month spent learning about myself, admittedly in New Zealand and possibly with a lot of sun and wonderful company. But beginning to learn about what makes me tick as an athlete and as a human is one of the most valuable ways a person can spend their time. Chess, making gin and tonic, and writing are also extremely high on this list of valuable off-water activities. All of them are about relaxing your brain so that you can come to sessions ready to give maximum effort. 

Having an opportunity to race abroad before the 'real' season starts is another incredibly valuable experience that I strongly recommend. Paddlers who are learning to be independent of organised trips, paddlers who love to travel... Basically anyone who loves to race and wants to have a unique start line experience should find a way to get into a pre season race. Everyone there is training hard, usually right through the event - so it feels a little different to a normal season competition. The competition is still high and intense, but there is a sort of camaraderie approach to the levels of fatigue that everyone is experiencing. We all know, we've all been there. It's incredibly enjoyable to share it with other paddlers. 

On coming back to the Northern Hemisphere, I've dived back into a coached regime. Racing in New Zealand gave me an opportunity to identify for myself what I want to work on for the next year, and I am delighted to find that many of them have been addressed in the first week of our Scottish training camp in France. We are based in Saint-Pé, a small natural course near Pau in the Pyrenees. Having a smaller course to drill out some bad habits and experiment with new styles is invaluable, especially when I get a chance to apply them every day on one of my favourite courses in the whole world, Pau. 

This is a new experience for me, because usually by this time of year I'm dying for the taper that comes with the first races of the season. New Zealand ignited a fire for racing that usually only lights by selection for me, and it's amazing being able to train with that level of focus and intensity. Of course, slalom is full of ups and downs. You have to be prepared not to feel on fire constantly. At least in a good way - the lactic block is yet to start! Until then though, it's important to seize the sessions where you feel awesome, and enjoy them. Remember those feelings to hold on to when it gets a little tough. 

Winter months in canoe slalom are hard. Even when the weather isn't record-breakingly cold, the frozen mornings and black night sessions can make it seriously difficult to create a '100%' attitude. Everything takes just a bit more energy, and as soon as you're physically exhausted it can be difficult to remind yourself why you are there. 

I guess part of what gets me on the water every day is knowing what the return will be. The immediate return is physical and mental satisfaction. I am confident every time I get in my boat I will learn or become aware of something new. When the temperature drops and my hands start to hurt, I know that I am building a layer of resilience that very few people are lucky enough to have an opportunity to build. 

It's easy to talk about learning new things when sessions are going well - when sessions are going in the wrong direction, or you can't seem to turn on the speed, it can begin to feel like you're going backwards. Added to the dark evening sessions and freezing water, motivation can take one look and run screaming for the warm changing rooms. 

Finding ways to keep yourself motivated between sessions is a very personal routine, and it can keep changing through an athlete's career. At some points in my paddling, it has been about reminding myself how far I have come from the beginning. Other times it can be remembering the feeling of sitting on a start line, and being absolutely happy that I have done everything physically and mentally possible to create a good run. Right now, it is about the future, and where I will see myself in four years time. When you look at long term goals, it is easy to zoom out too much and be drawn into a fantasy about the ultimate dream. But when I can connect the dream with the day, and the day with the session, it becomes about the exact moment that I decide to get into my boat and paddle. 

So there's loads of places people choose to go and do winter training in slalom - Australia, New Zealand and Dubai are probably the favourites. There are also a load of awesome races that slalom paddlers like to go and chill out in at the end of the season - Adidas Sickline in Oetztal, Austria; WhitewaterXL in Wero, NZ. 

​Having just come back from my coldest session so far this year, a brisk 3 degree tech session, now felt like as good a time as ever to write about why I picked Liptovksy Mikulaš to start my winter preparation. 

Liptovsky (for anyone who hasn't been there) is a small town sitting at the foot of the Tatra mountains. I think mountains can bring a couple of mind sets.   I could understand why a certain type of person would feel enclosed or restricted; the mountains surround you, and they have that unavoidable, volatile mountain weather. It's easy to get entrenched in daily routines, because they're easier than trying to walk around in the snow and rain and ice every day. Being alone with your own mind can be pretty tough too.

So that's kind of what makes Liptovsky better for hard training than a load of places I've been. There's the slalom course, which has everything that a paddler could need to learn and develop. There's a big flat section of water, for when you want to suffer and do loops! The mountains are there to help you fly, not weigh you down, because once you know  you can climb one of the biggest ones, you realise you can go anywhere you want to go. You have to be absolutely comfortable with being alone, because things like walking in the cold every day give you an opportunity. You can choose to brood, or be impatient. That's so easy to do here; you know it's the home of some of the greatest slalom paddlers in the world. There's always that little voice in the back of your mind screaming RIGHT NOW! I want to be the best NOW.

Or you can choose to live in the moment. Enjoy being tough in the cold. Choosing to think about what makes you happy, or inspired, or calm, rather than annoyed, or down, or frustrated. It's not a comfortable topic of conversation for a lot of sports people, to discuss mindset. It's sort of stigmatised as a big mystery, and I suppose it sort of is a big mystery. Nobody can see inside anybody else's head. Although then I don't think it would be anywhere near as interesting. At the end of the day, athletes are encouraged to give 100% in every single session. In terms of physical output, that's ridiculous. We'd never get anything done. But you can give 100% effort, and 100% commitment, and 100% attention. It's fascinating to play games with mindset and observe the outcome on your training. It's even better when you realise how easy it can be when you stop thinking about it. Once you're giving 100% effort, the session does itself. You can just enjoy.

So this is probably going to seem like a circular ramble, starting and finishing with the same point. But I quite like verbally vomiting onto the page, mostly to look at my thoughts in words but also to see if they have any similarity at all to what other people think. So please, bear with:

Everyone has difficult days on the water. I don't think I've ever seen or spoken to a single athlete who would claim that every session is perfect. What I HAVE learned, from the very best people, is that sometimes progression is more like damage control. You take a difficult session, where maybe you're not quite focussed like you normally are, or you're tired, or nothing seems to be going to plan; and you use it. It becomes an opportunity to identify what has upset your balance, and figure out what it is that will get you back to square one. Not necessarily immediately in the session. But say you identified the same catalyst in a race, or in an important preparation block. You would be able to identify it a lot quicker, and also REACT to it a lot quicker. It's like having the tool in your hand before there's even an engine problem. 

(I looked this paragraph back over, and think it could do with an example. So, say I'm having a full runs session. It's on Nottingham, and I'm just having a bit of a nightmare. I prepped like normal, warmed up, mentally rehearsed everything, but I'm still wobbling down the course and touching every gate in sight. I get a bit raging. I go to my coach, who brings my attention to the fact that there are a lot of people on the water, and I don't seemed to be as focussed as normal. I have to bring my focus back to the gates, because nothing else matters. The next time I do full runs, the session is even busier. But I am prepared: I know that it requires a little more time and effort from me to focus properly during a busy session. So I react to this environment accordingly; the session goes more to plan, because I keep focussed on what I am doing.)

So obviously, because we're really complicated humans, there's about four thousand million different tools it would be great to have. For me personally, I generally only come about these tools once I've needed them, and not had them to hand. I wanted to write this post on the back of a tool I picked up this morning, in another full runs session (funny how these often seem to be the best sessions for 'picking up tools'). 

Now, I rate myself as a pretty hard working athlete. Actually that's British of me - I think I work seriously hard, and give 100% in every single session. So I was a bit surprised this morning, after two pretty slow full runs, when I identified what the problem was. I wasn't PULLING. Looking at the video, I was hesitating into every upstream, using reverse strokes where normally I'd extend all the way around for a big bow rudder. Instead of smashing through stoppers, I was shying away from them, throwing edges where I thought it could save me some energy and generally backing out of loads of big stroke opportunities.

I'd like to think this is most unlike my normal style. I've been training hard in Nottingham for a week now, so naturally I'm pretty sore. I'm also not used to having gym the afternoon before a full runs session, so my body felt slightly more fragile this morning than I am used to. But the fact lies in that I was just not putting as much effort into everything I did, as I normally do. The CAUTION button in my mind was flicked on, and I was letting my body try to protect itself by moving slowly and carefully.

I guess it's silly to come to the conclusion that I should be more ruthless and ignore pain in training - I mean, DUH - but sometimes it takes a reminder like that for me to remember to get the tool out, and having it lie there just in case I need it. Muscle pain is normal, it shows you're developing and training hard. Obviously there are some kinds of pain you really shouldn't ignore. But this time I got the balance a little bit wrong. Luckily for me I noticed this after two runs, and was able to do another two with that CAUTION button turned off. But that's definitely not always the case; it can take a bit longer to find the right tool!

Well I've done another good job of neglecting to write in my blog for a few months; hot days and bad internet just make for about zero motivation to sit in front of a computer screen! But it's a lot easier when lying in the sun in Scotland, about ten degrees cooler! I'm coming to this post having just returned from the most important race of my slalom career so far, the under 23 world championships held at Krakow, Poland. 

I could happily share about a thousand details of how awesome it was to be immersed in slalom with some of the best athletes in the world for three weeks. Teams that welcome you into their groups, relax with their fellow competitors and create an event that is less about the race, and so much more about the slalom. I got to race in front of a grandstand of people, and walk in a city in kit and people asked what our sport was and what we were doing. I loved all of it. Which is really the opposite of what I was expecting. To explain myself properly, I need to rewind about three months, to the weeks post selection.

I'm going to share some things that I found challenging after the race in London that got me a place on the U23 GB team. The first, and perhaps most significant, was that my level of expectation and self judgement went up massively. Better, older canoeists than me might look at this and remember, or roll their eyes, at a classic outcome-focussed mistake. But all of a sudden, sessions became life or death. Races became more nerve wracking. And I don't think my body or my mind stood a chance with the abuse I let myself inflict on them. Rather than relaxing, and giving sessions 100%, I felt as though I was functioning at 100% constantly, and sessions were the point in the day where my brain just couldn't take anymore and I would struggle more than I have ever struggled to refocus on the gates. I did not enjoy a time period that I should have been having a great time in. 

I think this is one of the biggest mistakes I have ever made. Luckily for me, no important races or deadlines overlapped this learning period. Of course, it didn't stop me judging the hell out of any decision I made - was this what a PROPER athlete would be doing? You might laugh, and luckily I can now. But I was not expecting that! Mostly I was  furious with myself, for wasting almost two months on being a ridiculous nervous wreck. 

BECAUSE. When I got to Krakow with the GB team, I seemed to remember two things. That I was here, first and foremost, because I love canoeing. Secondly, that there is absolutely nobody and nothing that can distract me from my job. Sitting in the GB tent, waiting for my first run on an international stage, I was relaxed, and the happiest I've been in months. Why wouldn't I be? I'm waiting to do the most important job so far, and I've prepared perfectly for it. I could be as annoyed as I like about stressing for the last few months; that isn't going to change anything. Or I could use it as a contrast. How I can let myself feel things that are totally irrelevant to the project at hand and get completely weirded out, or I can give it 100%, allowing everything else to fade away into the noise. 

Tully is always an eventful race. If the fifty metre bank-to-bank gap or the eighty per cent chance of it snowing in late March weren't enough, organisers and paddlers alike get to enjoy an up to two metre water level change. The charms of having a six-hour watershed with a colossal loch at one end. In non canoeing terms, the river got really high, really quickly, and all hell broke loose on Saturday.
Writing from a paddlers perspective, there was an atmosphere of resigned amusement hanging over the event. Pretty much everyone held on to their common sense, and thanks to the quick reactions of all involved, we were able to do a single, final-style run on Saturday. Sunday was less fraught, but had the equally annoying problem of the river dropping about a metre from the start of the race to the finish. But true to the laws of canoeing, the most flexible, capable paddlers won each discipline, adapting to the conditions and being surprised by nothing. 
I came away from the weekend with mixed feelings. On the one hand, I had runs which would have put me respectively third on Saturday and fourth on Sunday. WOULD. Except for the mystic situation I managed to get myself into on gate three, on all three runs of the weekend, costing me two half-heads (fifty second penalties), and a beautiful down in the eddy (when you're supposed to go upstream through it, its a fifty second penalty). Being aware that I am racing fast enough to medal is wonderful, and extremely irritating when you consider the fact I had three otherwise clean runs, with a monumental mistake in each. 
Although without sounding too annoyed, I actually had a great time. I love racing Tully, mostly because its my home water. But also its the only race of the year I get to stay at home, and chill out with my family and boyfriend during the lead up and inevitable come-down. Truly, it was wonderful being absolutely sure of myself on the start line, and knowing that no matter what, the important things never change. 

I've had a lot of really nice comments, messages, and feedback from my last post. It's pretty amazing to realise how many people can be touched by what you write, especially when it's something you aren't 100% sure anyone else will connect with. It turns out food is something that almost EVERYONE I know connects with, in some strong way. There's always some element of uncertainty in sporting life, and unfortunately, due to the British education system, there is no way of educating people in how to look after themselves. Healthy lifestyles are perceived to be for athletes. Active lifestyles are for 'outdoor people' or 'gym junkies' or 'green smoothie tribe'. Have a look in my 'Eat Well' section for a recipe that I've found useful recently.
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Actually, everyone's entitled to being healthy, active, happy human beings. There are thousands of different ways of doing this, and if you're willing to have a look, there will definitely be one that fits you. It doesn't have to be difficult, or a struggle. I do canoeing because I love canoeing, even when its snowing and the gates are all in the water because I forgot that it rained hard overnight and should have raised the poles an extra half metre. 
But anyway, racing season has started! And its amazing to be on the start line again. See you in London :D