May 30, 2016: Today was a good, good day. Kermit the Kayak had a story before she ever dipped her bow in a lake. Before she ever forged a path through a sea of lily pad islands.
I have a goal to step foot on every continent before I’m sixty years old, and I’m not interested in a civilized cruise or all-inclusive resort. South America next year will make continent number five. I’ll be hiking and kayaking through the Galapagos Islands on a trip rated “moderate to difficult”. For whatever reason, I’m drawn to that. And fearful of that. Like I have been so many times before.
“Girl, you’ve gotta learn to paddle”, I think.
Every day, I have a critic on one shoulder, and a champion on the other. The critic is loud. Insistent. “You’re a big girl. You’re no athlete. You can’t. Really … you can’t.” The champion, on the other hand, is so, so quiet. “Just go”, she whispers. “Just go.”
So, I went. First, to REI to ask some questions. Think some. Look on Amazon for a kayak rack for my car. Think some more. Order. Install. Learn how my new boat ought to sit atop its cradle. Think. Learn how to tie the knots that will keep it in place. Take a deep breath. Just go.
I had something to prove today. Not to anyone but my own abrasive critic. Can you get Kermit off the car? Can you get her from the car to the water? Can you get your own damn self in to the kayak without swamping it? Can you get her back ON the car? Can you lift the weight of the kayak over your head? Do you remember all the straps, the hitches, the ratchets, the tension? Do you? Do you?
Yes. Yes, I can. I love my champion. She’s the one to listen to. Just. Go. Hush, harsh critic. Hush …
