A Public Apology
I’m sorry I snickered to myself ~okay, it was out loud… with a snort~ when the Man ordered an inflatable stand-up paddle board because it was a great deal on WOOT. We have a sit-on-top kayak that never goes out. It’s just a skosh too heavy and / or awkward for me to bother getting it to the water.
The inflatable SUP isn’t much lighter, but just enough, that I can wrestle it down the alley to the dock. And I love it … in a very different way than I loved the kayak when we went out together in Florida. Kayak surfing was awesome. Poking around the mangroves to peep the creatures was beautiful. But I had only to tie it across the Jeep, then chuck it off again at the water. We have no mangroves here, and even less surf than West Palm. It’s a different beast in a different habitat.
It’s the difference between my cross-trainer and a Dutch bike, hunched over and craning the neck to see where I’m going versus being upright and in command of the road ahead. It was a bit of a Peter moment, too, like walking on water.
At the other end of the spectrum, I also felt like a page from an Athleta catalogue, mildly overpriced athletic wear (but not as obnoxious as LuluLemon ~ I’m fairly certain that Dress to Impress yoga misses the point) in pretty patterns for hip and trendy women, probably younger than I. In the spring there was a spread of tan, lean girls doing yoga on their stand-up paddle boards… in Hawaii. I was living the dream in Croatia last week where the water was stunningly clear. Not so much here, but that’s okay. It’s still good exercise.
Quiet, peaceful, alone: an excellent workout for hermits and the antisocial! What with the preponderance of big blue medusae drifting around down there this year, I’d rather be on the water than in it even. The one swim workout I did in the sea this summer left me stung on both ankles. Bother. So! I remain theh2obaby and am resuscitated by getting out on the water, head up, and feeling strong.