Getting into a kayak isn’t exactly like sinking into your favorite couch. You’ll tip, wobble, maybe even take an unexpected swim. Ignore the beach-side snickers — trust me, they’re just jealous of your bravery. By the time the sun sets, you’ll feel lighter, stronger, and kind of unstoppable. They’ll be rubbing sunburns and counting wrinkles. You? Glowing, thanks to your wide brim and steady application of SPF 1000.
The struggle is real but worth it. I cannot begin to describe the feeling I get on the water. It’s peaceful, serene, and all other adjectives that describe a state of calmness and tranquility. You feel alone, yet surrounded. Awake, yet entranced. Soothed, yet intrigued. Swallowed by the abundance of liquid wonder, mesmerized by the sheer brilliance of nature’s growth, captivated by the knowing glance of the magnificent winged tree dwellers. Huh — turns out I can describe it after all. Who knew I had it in me?
So you paddle on and on and on. Time swooshes past, the distance impossible to measure. The sun can’t settle in one spot, the breeze flirts from every direction, and the day is ending while you have no idea where you are—or how long it will take to paddle back. And of course… you’ve gone too far. Now comes the joy of paddling all the way back, muttering to yourself, “How did I get myself into this again?”
I can’t feel my ass. I wish I couldn’t feel my arms, shoulders, and neck. Every nerve in my neck screams and burns. I need water. I need to stretch. Stand up. Lie down. My toes kink, my knees are burned, my bladder threatens… damn, I have to pee. Pass me a granola bar—that melted chocolate, gooey goodness. Uhmmmmm… I’m good. Let’s continue.
Suddenly, the trees start to look familiar—if that’s even possible. The same eagle-eyed creature still perches atop the massive white pine, clearly judging every move I make. The duck flock—or group, or whatever you call them—is still sunbathing beside the tattered dock, completely unbothered by my chaos. Weave around the shallow spot, duck under the fallen mighty oak, and full steam ahead toward the lazy watchers, packing up their luxury day-camping gear as if I weren’t about to turn their peaceful afternoon into a performance.
See the beach. Make a beeline straight for it. Dredge the sand with your paddle if you have to. Take a moment to convince yourself you can—and will—stand up, disembark gracefully, and not tip over again. You can do this. Stretch those toes. Take a deep breath… wait, remove the cumbersome life jacket first. Okay, now the big breath. Feet apart, grab the front edge of the seating compartment, and pull yourself up. And for heaven’s sake, step the hell out before gravity decides to have its fun.
Go home, silly woman, and think about what you’ve done.
And yet… despite all the tipping, wobbling, and chaos, I wouldn’t trade a single second. Kayaking is my favorite thing in the whole world—my therapy, my adventure, my laugh-out-loud, arms-burning, toes-cramping, liquid-wonder obsession. Somehow, the chaos just makes it sweeter. So grab your paddle, your wide brim, your chocolate granola bar, and get out on the water. Trust me: you’ll fall in love, too.