Windsurfing always leaves my skin feeling wizened (or what I imagine ‘wizened’ should feel like) and papery. It’s the sun, I think; I slather sun block all over but it cannot withstand the onslaught of water and a 90-min session. Sometimes, I consider the likelihood of skin cancer in the very distant future, seeing as I have had four months of canoe sun and then a month of this, but who am I kidding, really? There is an incomprehensibly large number of actual athletes who have had more sun in a year than I have had in my entire life – or something like that.
(I meant, who am I kidding about sea sports being the cause of my potential cancer? According to a Ted talk about intrinsic human optimism, the average individual has a 20% chance of developing cancer in her lifetime, so that’s my probability. 0.2. Pretty high, if you ask me. Five times as high as an applicant’s chance of making it into Harvard last year.)
In any case, every session leaves me wondering why I procrastinated and lazed so long before going down again, but today must have been the best session I’ve ever had (or second best, if I take into account the fact that I fell off my board as I was returning to shore triumphantly …) and if this is my last jaunt for this summer, as seems likely, then it was a resonant one. I managed to tack and jibe effectively (enough) on the intermediate board and with a 4.0 sail and in moderately strong winds, which, for that matter, felt fantastic. There were about fifteen seconds when I really caught the wind, so I was practically flying, and the afternoon sun was burning itself out into dusk, and the ships lined up against the horizon caught and reflected all its fiery tones, and it was glorious.
I came up pretty close to this giant tanker before my sense of self-preservation turned me around. In any case, I was pretty much grinning throughout, from my clean launch (I am very grateful for this every time I remember the hapless sessions at the beginning in which I spent half an hour trying to get on, stay on and leave the bay) to my return, and I had a few imaginary races with the other novices? journeymen? intermediates? out there.
I feel a lot more familiar with the board and sail, though I’ve only used it twice; it’s very shifty, since it’s longer and narrower than the beginner one, but for some reason, it is more forgiving of missteps. I don’t have to watch my footwork that carefully as long as I maintain balance and control. Holding on to the sail in the wind today really hurt my hands, though, since they were clenched mercilessly around the boom for over an hour, but I could never release or relax them since, well
But enough of the windsurfing rambling for now!
I spend most of my travel time (on MRTs or buses) alternating between staring out of the window (or unobtrusively into space if it’s the MRT/subway) and feeling condescendingly pitying for all the people trapped staring at their iPhones/phones/iPads. Earlier tonight, I took a bus to the airport to pick up my mom – yes, the roles have reversed – and I went up to sit at the front of the upper deck, and it reminded me extraordinarily of taking the bus from Langford to Victoria, and then of company.
… This post ended here last night because my laptop died and I was too lazy to re-charge it, and in any case, I had needed to go to bed then anyway. I woke up this morning – couldn’t, actually, until 11 am – and my throat hurts and my voice is pretty much gone. I … do not understand this turn of events. Going to lunch now so I’ll continue this post later.