I do not possess balance, a fact I discovered last weekend when my wife convinced me I need to try one of her parents’ kayaks.
Although I wasn’t in the mood to go kayaking, I figured that would change once I was out on the lake.
As soon as I stepped in the kayak, I realized I was making a mistake. The kayak tipped and water spilled in, drenching my bottom. I didn’t expect to go kayaking, so I was wearing khaki shorts. Fortunately, I had taken my wallet and cell phone out of my pockets in the event of a klutzy error.
I should have ended my kayaking experience right then. Since I had gotten wet, I had an excuse. I could have said, “Sorry honey, I need to dry off.”
But no. Instead, I firmly entrenched myself in the kayak, which isn’t meant for people like me who are 6’4” and weigh 280 pounds. Without thinking, I cast myself off from the dock, away from the safety of something I could hold onto, and into the wet wild.
Immediately I started tipping. Equally as fast, I shifted my balance to the opposite direction, hoping to find that happy medium. Kayaks don’t work like that, though, and it tipped in that direction.
I continued tipping back and forth, spilling water in my little sitting area, causing my wet bottom to grow into a wet bottom half.
“Just sit still and relax,” my wife kept telling me. All I heard was the voice in my head screaming at me to get out of this devil contraption.
I could have bailed out, since I was already wet and the water was less than two feet deep. But we were in some mucky water and the sludge on the bottom of the lake was more disgusting than the crud in my mother’s compost pile behind her house. So I stayed in the kayak until I inched my way back to the dock.
Embarrassed by my failed attempt at kayaking, I hurried out of the deathtrap and cut my hand on the dock. I grabbed the kayak, emptied the water in it and set it back on shore. I wanted to hurl it into a tree, just to prove my supremacy over it. But knowing it defeated me, I sulked my way back to the lake house to dry off and read my book.
I always suspected my sense of balance was lacking. I’ve tried skiing several times, but I always ended up going downhill on my bottom. The one time I tried waterskiing my legs did the splits and I tore an inner thigh muscle. When I was a kid, I hung out with the skateboarders and had my own board. I couldn’t ride it worth a darn, though. I faked it and fortunately nobody noticed.
But I never attributed my failure at these things to a lack of balance. The kayaking incident puts everything into perspective and my mind at ease knowing I don’t have any balance. It gives me an excuse not to step into a kayak, go down a ski hill or attempt an ollie the next time these opportunities present themselves.
Although I wasn’t in the mood to go kayaking, I figured that would change once I was out on the lake.
As soon as I stepped in the kayak, I realized I was making a mistake. The kayak tipped and water spilled in, drenching my bottom. I didn’t expect to go kayaking, so I was wearing khaki shorts. Fortunately, I had taken my wallet and cell phone out of my pockets in the event of a klutzy error.
I should have ended my kayaking experience right then. Since I had gotten wet, I had an excuse. I could have said, “Sorry honey, I need to dry off.”
But no. Instead, I firmly entrenched myself in the kayak, which isn’t meant for people like me who are 6’4” and weigh 280 pounds. Without thinking, I cast myself off from the dock, away from the safety of something I could hold onto, and into the wet wild.
Immediately I started tipping. Equally as fast, I shifted my balance to the opposite direction, hoping to find that happy medium. Kayaks don’t work like that, though, and it tipped in that direction.
I continued tipping back and forth, spilling water in my little sitting area, causing my wet bottom to grow into a wet bottom half.
“Just sit still and relax,” my wife kept telling me. All I heard was the voice in my head screaming at me to get out of this devil contraption.
I could have bailed out, since I was already wet and the water was less than two feet deep. But we were in some mucky water and the sludge on the bottom of the lake was more disgusting than the crud in my mother’s compost pile behind her house. So I stayed in the kayak until I inched my way back to the dock.
Embarrassed by my failed attempt at kayaking, I hurried out of the deathtrap and cut my hand on the dock. I grabbed the kayak, emptied the water in it and set it back on shore. I wanted to hurl it into a tree, just to prove my supremacy over it. But knowing it defeated me, I sulked my way back to the lake house to dry off and read my book.
I always suspected my sense of balance was lacking. I’ve tried skiing several times, but I always ended up going downhill on my bottom. The one time I tried waterskiing my legs did the splits and I tore an inner thigh muscle. When I was a kid, I hung out with the skateboarders and had my own board. I couldn’t ride it worth a darn, though. I faked it and fortunately nobody noticed.
But I never attributed my failure at these things to a lack of balance. The kayaking incident puts everything into perspective and my mind at ease knowing I don’t have any balance. It gives me an excuse not to step into a kayak, go down a ski hill or attempt an ollie the next time these opportunities present themselves.
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