It is officially change season. (It has been too long since I drew a comic!)
What is change season, you ask? If you have read my blog since the beginning, you probably have a good idea, though I’ll direct those of you who do not to this video for an example. Essentially, it’s a race where you get to take a few short breaks; a support boat follows your outrigger team with 3 extra paddlers, who jump in to replace teammates as the race progresses.
Now, when I first describe change racing to people, the reaction is almost always something along the lines of “that sounds really scary” and "you are really hard core." And you know what? Yeah, it kind of is scary – but only if you allow yourself to think about it. The 'Fear Factor' of change racing, to me, makes it exceptionally exciting and fun. However, there are moments both in practice and in races where every paddler has asked themselves, what the frak am I doing?
Cheering on your teammates from the frigid safety of the support boat can sometimes become quite comfortable. Then you feel a hard tap on your shoulder as coach mutters, “Get ready. You’re going in.” You remove the drenched jacket or towel that you had draped across your shoulders and take one last swig of fresh water. (You never know which hit is going to be your last.) You step up to the side of the boat and try not to look down at the frothing ocean water rushing by inches below your toes. You spot your comrades out in the canoe, some of them so exhausted they can hardly lift their paddle to take another stroke.
Your chest fills with courage and pride as you wait patiently for the boat to intersect their course line, then “GO, GO, GO!” rings in your ears and you leap over the side. The rush of bubbles and salt water fill your ears and nose as you inhale deeply after breaking the surface from the shock of the cold water. The adrenaline is pumping your heart out of your chest as you call out your seat assignment, blinking the sting from your eyes and swimming to get in line.
Sometimes you enter the water alone. That’s the moment when sinister, unwanted thoughts have the most power. They creep into your mind like spiders.
There, bobbing in the dark waters you wait, a pathetic excuse for a land creature pretending you’re hot stuff in the vast sea. The sparkling surface of the tide that surrounds you becomes suddenly hostile and unwelcoming, you are not the merfolk you used to dream about, you are not a Navy Seal armed with a knife strapped to you leg, you aren’t even wearing plastic flippers or a snorkel.
You are nothing.
You are helpless.
And you look delicious.
Panic never helps anyone, and I have to admit I have had to choke it down a couple times. It is around then when I take rare comfort in numbers and statistics, hearing a C-3PO type voice in my head tell me that the odds of a tentacle demon grabbing hold of my leg and sucking me into the deeps are [insert astronomical number]:1.
As the team canoe approaches, a new set of problems flood your mind. Sometimes you have to adjust and swim so that you don't miss the boat entirely, sometimes you have to lunge your arms out to grab the right place, you have to keep your wits about you. If the surf is choppy, you have to make sure the canoe or the amma don't smack you in the head. When the water is especially cold your fingers go numb and you have a hard time holding onto anything. Other times, you are trying to pee as fast as possible because it may be your last chance for a potty break, but the last thing your lower half wants to do is relax. Once you have a good hold on the canoe, you still have to pull yourself in and start paddling as hard and as fast as you can, not knowing if you'll even get a break again.
So yeah. I think that's pretty hard core. I do apologize if any of you folks who kayak, surf, etc. ever feel like "those outrigger people" are looking down their noses at you. Because well, sometimes we probably are ... but seriously, I feel like we have earned that right. (Said in love. I think. Mostly.)
Ooodalali, I sure do love change season!
