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. 

The Etiquette of Being Corrected

I love being right. Ask my room mate. We have "lively debates" over pretty much anything, even if we agree with each other. But don't worry, we both have come to the conclusion that arguing (when somewhat respectful) builds inter-brainular cells. If that is the case, then my little noggin has a multitude of very strong, stubborn, inter-brainular cells.

But sometimes I get into an argument or discussion where I am clearly wrong. Now, this doesn't happen too often (that I am aware of at least) but when it does it is painful for me and entertaining to everyone else. Once you realize that your information is extremely flawed, pretend like you knew it all a long. Be like, "oh yeah, I didn't realize we were talking about that". Or, "I think you understood my point incorrectly". Nobody will believe you but you can sometimes scrape by with a little bit of your dignity still intact. 

Let me illustrate this concept with an example...

I will be the first to tell you that I am not the most informed individual when it comes to backcountry skiing. I love to do it but I am still learning and I am on the right track and yadda yadda yadda. BUT, I love to be a mockingbird and repeat whatever my sister tells me so that I sound knowledgeable in group settings. This isn't a unique thing okay? Everybody tries to appear smarter than they really are. 

And this weekend I got an Ava-Lung for backcountry skiing. It's a pretty dope device that allows you to survive longer if you become buried in an avalanche. It looks something like this.

Can you tell that I was a little excited about my new toy? Thanks Jessica and Dan!

Later this weekend, I was feeling a little hardcore and decided to start dropping sick backcountry tidbits into my conversations with friends. This in and of itself was a bad idea because my friends actually know more than I do. Classic mistake.

When it got down to it, I tried to explain how an Ava-Lung works. I was very confident that I knew exactly how it operated. And I was wrong. So wrong, that my explanation of how to work it, if followed, would have killed someone. I guess breathing in one's carbon dioxide is lethal? 

But of course I was very adamant that I was right, and then when I was caught in a corner, I switched my argument around in a sheepish manner. "Oh, I thought I was saying that? Did I say breathe in through the mouth instead of the nose? How silly of me. I must have just mixed up my words a little. I know what I am talking about." Then everybody laughed at me and I changed the subject my pride was wounded.

In conclusion, I would just like to say that Logan Jones knows more about Ava-Lungs than me. And backcountry skiing. And how bikes work. And predicting when it will snow. But not how to process gluten. Totally have you beaten in that department buddy.