Ahh, the good old days. In another life (well, to be less dramatic, three years ago), my lovely adventurous friends forced me into trying wakeboarding. Being the overly confident skier I am (my parents had me skiing before I could walk) (on another note, what made me think skiing would be of any help here?), I didn't exactly think it would be much of a challenge for me. Ha ha ha. Wakeboarding, as it turns out, is a WHOLE another ballgame. What I quickly found out was that in order for me to wakeboard, I would need to learn how to stand up on the board in the first place. And I have to say, physics is not there to help you (being pulled by a force that is perpendicular to your natural trajectory sounds laborious, and it is!). But I eventually did learn. And then got addicted, and maybe even decent at it. So much so, that this was me, circa 2012 (read, not afraid of some air):
Then... Fast forward a few years of being too busy to tend to my sport, and here I was a few days ago, on a boat, hesitating. Why? I thought about that for a little while. What was I so scared of? Admittedly, there is no way to sugarcoat this - falling hurts. And when you wakeboard, there is no elegant way of tapping out. You fall. (Sometimes sports are such great metaphors for life, aren't they... :) But isn't it that falling is a part of life, but getting back up is living? I like that thought. So, I got on that wakeboard, and I fell, and I got back up, and it was great. And to my delight (truly, or otherwise I would have felt rather embarrassed), I was even able to stand up on my first try:
See that smile there? I had forgotten how much I loved this. So... Even though there was no jumping this time around (hey, give me some credit for being outside the wake!), I have a suspicion you may see a lot more images of me on a wakeboard this summer ;).
Happy beautiful and scorchingly hot Sunday!!