Beat-Down (In Other Words, I Windsurfed Today)

I love windsurfing about as much as I love leaving parties. Which is a lot. (Why socialize when you can take your bra off at home?) This sport is pure adrenaline. It is also pure pain and frustration. And today was my first time out on the water this season, accompanied by my professional of a father. Now a couple hours later, I am at home (bra-less, of course) and nursing my wounded pride.

Yes, I windsurf. And I drop that little factoid at any opportunity I come across. But never assume that I am actually good at it. That would be a falsehood, and very obvious if you saw me floundering like a drowning rat in the river. It's the type of sport that has an extremely slow learning curve, so I am proud that I can do it, but a little sheepish that it is so aesthetically horrifying, 

I have a lot of things to thank windsurfing for. My cussing habit, for instance, is the spawn born of fighting for my life and dignity everyday on the blustery waters of the Columbia. The reverberating echoes from my profanities would be heard from the shore if not for the fact that my mouth is typically full of water. 

Also, is it so impossible to have people I know pass me on the water when I am actually sailing? Granted, I am usually emerging from the frothy waters like a newly created Orc 57% of the time. But what about the other 43% where I look like a total balla? Does that not count for something? Why does no one witness the moments when I intentionally jump a baby wave? Or go rocket-speed fast? It's really quite unfortunate. 

And can we discuss how easy this sport looks for other people? My sexy friend Kenzie, for example. She fell off the hot tree and hit every. single. branch. Oh, and she will kick your booty booty windsurfing. I saw her father out on the water today and was reminded of how unbelievably talented my lady-crush is. This paragraph really seems out of place. Oooops. 

Kenzie, I would apologize for how creepy this is, but I have a feeling that you understand. 

This sounds like an essay full of complaints. It may seem to be that way, but I actually really do love to windsurf. When you finally get up and start ripping with the wind, you feel free. You feel like a dolphin or orca whale or sea leopard. You feel like a sea fairy. Or a unicorn that also turns into a mermaid.... You get the point. 

The author after being brutally battered. But the smile and shaka indicate her ridiculous excitement over sailing on her new quiver of sails.