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A trio of mothers in their mids were among more than intrepid sailors in a motley armada sailing the unpredictable and spectacular Inside Passage in the Pacific Northwest.
A s we walked through the dark marina at 3. Bananas are considered to bring bad luck on boats and we needed all the good fortune we could summon to make it the next cold, wild, watery miles. A few teams aimed to be first; the rest of us just aimed to survive. Unlike other sailing races that are fraught with complex regulations, the Race to Alaska is purposely simple: no motors and no outside support.
My team — a trio of women in their mids dubbed Sail Like A Mother — were unanimous as to why we were taking part in the race: we were hoping for a midlife reboot.
My stomach was knotted with nerves as we hustled through our final preparations. A ragtag fleet of vessels — most of them smaller than a pickup truck — ghosted towards the start line as sunrise painted the horizon pink. Crews ranged from parent-child duos to year-old soloists to a boat full of seven strangers. Some were six-time R2AK veterans while others, like me, had never sailed the course.