I am mortal, hear me whimper, see me bleed, feel me flinch.
Sailing looks (!) like an elegant sport, sails afurl, the boat moving without any gas motor along a course defined by the team or a coach. Actually manning a boat seems to be a totally different animal. For the last few Sundays, I've been teetering on board a small one man dinghy, attempting to find beauty in sailing. There are moments of sheer fun, catching the wind at the right angle, sailing briskly along. And to balance it off, there are the .. shall I call them Batman TV series moments? The ones that go Wham! Bam! Swoosh!
On my first outing, I capsized. In Manila Bay. Blech! Yurk!
Add to that at least 3 bonks on the head when forgetting to duck while the sail changed direction. Pow!
On my second day out in the water, I first had to get the rig up properly, which nearly found me without a right hand. I let go of the rope when releasing the sail and wham! a metal clasp hit my hand, leaving me bruised, and worried over a small cut (tetanus!!!). I also asked for one of the older coaches so I didn't feel so insecure out there, but that still didn't stop me from being beaned on the noggin once.
While holding my course, I saw one of the more experienced sailors, rigging, jibbing, tacking, taking it on by herself. That's what I needed to remind me what I am aiming for, control on the water, just me and my dinghy.