A State of Extreme Unwinding
When Washington Pressure Junkies Head for the Hills, A Quiet Getaway Is the Last Thing They Have in Mind

By Linton Weeks
Washington Post Staff Writer
Tuesday, August 29, 2006

DEEP CREEK LAKE, Md. -- Like many Washingtonians, Dennis Friedman is a pressure junkie. He can't turn it off. He works intensely, he plays intensely.

As chairman of cardiology and research at Shady Grove Adventist Hospital in Rockville, Friedman, 57, is responsible for, as he puts it, "interventional cardiology." He operates with tightrope precision to insert balloons and stents into coronary arteries. Whenever he gets a couple of days off, he packs up the Passat and drives here, three hours west of suburban Washington, to validate his skills in other ways.

The wilds of Western Maryland -- an increasingly popular magnet for adventure sports fanatics -- are the perfect place to observe Washingtonians in aggressive relaxation. People no longer come here just to find a rocking chair on a porch, crack open a book and wait for the leaves to change. Year-round you find folks doing all kinds of high-energy undertakings. On summer days, they slalom and wakeboard on the lake, mountain bike at Wisp Resort and state parks, white-water kayak and raft on the Savage, Cheat and Upper Youghiogheny rivers. In winter, they downhill and cross-country ski, dogsled and kite-ski on the snow and ice just about everywhere.

It's so American -- turning play into work. Especially in the Washington environs where BlackBerries are fashion accessories, Metro cars are mobile offices and self-examination means testing oneself to the max.

Washington, where "laid-back" is the seldom-used seat position on the firm's jet and "hanging loose" is twisting in the political winds. Where kicking back, propping up your feet and taking it easy are lost arts. And where many people vacate only when there's a bomb scare.

Friedman says he takes lots of mini-vacations. Competitive skiing on a hot August day, he says, does his heart good. He belongs to the Deep Creek Lake Water Sports Club, a loose fellowship of 30 serious water-skiers who gather to zigzag on single skis around fixed gates. The arcane enterprise requires patience, practice and total concentration. One false turn of the ski and you can do harm.

The speed, the sureness, the envelope-pushing exactitude is exactly what the doctor likes. "In water-skiing," Friedman says, "you can make no mistakes. It is a precision sport. It requires a lot of stamina and technique."

A high-level skier "cannot waver in your concentration," he adds. "It gets easier as you get better. That's a good feeling."

Steve Green, one of the owners of High Mountain Sports -- a lakeside adventure sports store -- says that lots of people are looking for that good feeling. "I think whether you are at work or at play, when you've done a tough job well, there is a release of adrenaline. There's a rush."

He says, "That's what keeps these people going -- getting that out of their system. Whether it's slalom skiing or waiting for the release on the Upper Yough or running the moguls down the ski slope."

By "these people," Green is also referring to himself. Originally from Rockville, Green, 39, had every intention of being a lawyer. While attending the University of Maryland, he worked as a ski instructor at Wisp Resort -- by winter a ski center with 32 slopes and trails, by summer a mecca for downhill mountain biking and mountain boarding. Somewhere along the way to law school he decided to focus his intensity in other directions. In 1991, he bought into the ownership of High Mountain Sports.

The constant need to prove oneself "can be very difficult, very demanding," says Richard Restak, professor of neurology at George Washington University Medical Center and author of the soon-to-be-published "The Naked Brain: How the Emerging Neurosociety Is Changing How We Live, Work, and Love."

Pressure junkies, he says, are "setting up situations that will make them anxious. They seek self-affirmation all the time."

Restak worries that extreme-pressure junkies are more interested in performance than in interaction. "These guys don't necessarily do very well in retirement."

The pressure junkies who are drawn to the edgier, more adventurous opportunities in Western Maryland are usually intelligent, says Michael Logsdon, executive director of Adventuresports Institute, an offshoot of Garrett College, the local community college.

A physics professor at Garrett and a former guide on Cheat River, Logsdon says, "They are problem solvers -- whether it's a rock face or a white-water river or the slickness of the snow. They like to solve problems, whatever the challenge is. Here the challenge is coming from some force or action of nature." The athletes "have to understand what's going on and work with nature -- not try to defeat it."

The new adventurers are also gearheads who use state-of-the-art equipment. "They love gizmos, new gadgets," Logsdon says. For example, they carry global positioning system technology for backcountry navigation, not the age-old maps and compasses.

And pressure junkies love the supreme bursts of adrenaline. "The outcome is unpredictable," Logsdon says. "That is one of the definitions of adventure sports. That unknown is an attractive aspect."

Though they enjoy putting themselves on the spot, he says, "they are very safety-oriented. Some look crazy, but they have gotten as good as they are through technical skills." It takes a long time and a lot of practice before going over nearby Swallow Falls in a kayak, he says.

Instructors at the institute have included Susan Haywood of West Virginia, a past member of the U.S. Mountain Biking Team, and American Canoe Association-certified kayaker Nancy Zbel.

Nancy and her husband, Roger Zbel, are good examples of folks who revel in the pressure. A former Washingtonian, Roger, 50, is a world-class kayaker who was among the first to paddle an uncharted river in Peru in 1986 and was on the ill-fated 1998 National Geographic-sponsored trip down the Tsangpo in Tibet when another American kayaker capsized and was killed by wicked whirlpools.

In the 1970s, Roger owned a contracting company in the Washington area. In 1981 he opened Precision Rafting in Friendsville. He and Nancy, 36, lead rafting and kayaking trips along the region's rivers when the water is right. Roger still likes the pressure. "I end up in some pretty tough spots and don't want to fail," he says. "I like to test myself. Make sure I'm still up to the challenge."

On a recent Friday afternoon, a large group of rafters and kayakers is just coming in to the Zbels' shop at the corner of Maple Street and the Upper Yough river. Roger, who led the trip, is the first one ashore. He hurries to the outdoor grill to flip burgers for his clients.

Kayaker Ken Redfern walks up. For 18 years, Redfern, 55, ran a pressure-washing business in Washington. Eventually he moved near Deep Creek Lake to be closer to the white water and the downhill slopes. Now he kayaks about 50 days and snow-skis another 80 days a year. Today he has shot the Yough with the Zbels' group.

Redfern, standing in the sun on the sidewalk near the Zbels' shop, is still dripping wet. His voice is tired, and the kayak at his side has been banged up and severely scratched. As has Redfern.

"I took 15 stitches in my face a few years ago," he says. "And my knuckles look like a boxer's." His fingers are scraped raw from rolling among rocks.

But he is smiling. Again he has pushed himself and met the challenge. Like any self-respecting pressure junkie, he has moved from one pressure-washing endeavor to another.