I went sailing today.

It was awful.

Ben and I got in the water at 10am, planning to sail across Squam Lake to our rented cottage, have lunch with our women-folk, and return in the early afternoon. Ha. It was 4:30 before I tasted anything but lakewater and humiliation.

Ben is a pretty good sailor but I don’t know my bow from my sheet. Actually, I’m the guy that makes fun of guys that like to sail. I group them all into a general bucket of rich, prissy types who wear pink pants and chat about their portfolios over mango mojitos.

The horror started almost immediately. We spent a full hour attempting to maneuver out of the narrow cove, directly into the wind. I was in charge of the oar. I was useless. Every time we tried to hoist the sail (so many gay terms), we got flipped around and blown into the rocks. Then a boat would go by, towing little kids in their own sailboats, and we were forced to wait for them on the side of the channel. 5 year old kids with individual boats. Reminded me of those little skiiers with helmets–and no poles–whizzing by on the trail, effortlessly.

We finally managed to get out on the open water. But it got less fun. The tiny cockpits (another gay term) are built for something besides comfort. There’s nowhere to sit. So you end up crouching awkardly in the bilge water, trying to balance the weight and avoid the swinging pole (the boom). Your legs are all jammed up underneath you like a little kid and the oar juts up into your ass (everything on the boat has a purpose, except the designer wasn’t smart enough to build a oar-holder).

Every time the boat
tilted (about every 3 seconds), I would panic and throw myself
to the other side. Ben, carefree and confident, started saying things like “Yeah, my wife doesn’t feel comfortable in a sailboat either.”

I just wanted to go home.

But we were far from home. I was in charge of the ‘chart’ (fancy sailing term for map), so I could see with painful clarity just how far from Bean Cove we were. Every time Ben asked me which direction we were headed, I would point in a direction perpendicular to our heading. You can never go straight in a sailboat.

Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, the storm clouds rolled in. We had about 30 minutes to contemplate just how awful it would be if it started raining, and then it started raining. Drenching, freezing rain. My teeth were clacking together and I was shaking. The warm familiar bilge water was soon replaced with ice cold rainwater. Two words: frightened turtle. I was miserable. We made half-hearted attempts at humor, but my laughs were mostly the result of a clattering jawbone.

Then I really wanted to go home. But our adventure had 1 more turn to take.

The rain subsided, the wind picked up, and we started to get some real speed. Gybing (turning) gets pretty crazy in strong wind, because the sail swings violently and the boat tries to tip over. It’s funny because you beg for the wind and as soon as it comes, it’s the scariest thing imaginable.

My worst fears were realized when we tried to turn and the boat tipped to port about 45 degrees. I dove valiantly to starboard. Ben flipped backwards into the water like a scuba diver. My bravery wasn’t enough. The thing flipped me off and turned completely upside down in the water.

So there we were, floating in the middle of the lake, capsized. My first thought: “Thank God, maybe we can go home now.” More than anything else, I was relieved. Literally. (warm water is good for that)

My reaction couldn’t have been more different than Ben’s. The guy freaked out. His life jacket didn’t fit correctly so it rode up over his eyes. I helped him cinch it down, thinking he would relax and start laughing along with me. Instead, he started talking about hypothermia, and how people don’t actually realize they’re cold and then all of a sudden they freeze and die. Or something like that.

It’s worth pointing out that this was a 78-degree July day. At almost exactly the same moment that Ben was crying about hypothermia, my 8 month old son was swimming and splashing around in the water. In the same lake. (You would think I’d have been tipped off by the apron Ben wears when cooking or doing dishes.)

Anyway, some camp counselors on a nearby island rescued us. They helped us flip our boat over, crushing my dreams for a quick tow back to the rental place. We continued on.

2 hours later, we pulled up to the dock at the rental house. It was 4:30. Starved, tired, drenched, and freezing, I couldn’t have been happier to see my family on the dock.

Normally at this point, I would say something nice about sailing. You know, something about a newfound respect for people that battle the elements with nothing but raw intelligence and physics. How it’s actually quite difficult.

But I hated almost every minute of it.