This is it. We leave tomorrow. Our wakesurfing lessons begin on Wednesday. Did I happen to mention that our wakesurfing lessons are with the 6 time world wakesurfing champion? Incredible. I'm so excited that I'm having a hard time sleeping. Last night I laid awake at 3am, mind busied by random thoughts: What if we miss our connection in Minneappolis? What if I'm starstruck by Drew and am reduced to squealing and screaming like a Bieber fan or a Belieber or whatever they are called? What if that alligator gets my dominant wakesurfing leg? I need that leg. What if I forget how to wakesurf and Drew has to spend 2 days teaching me how to stand on the board? What if this is a big joke and Drew doesn't actually show? AAAAGGGGHHHH!!!! Go to sleep!
I feel as though I've prepared myself as much as I possibly can. I stuck to my training regime for the entire month, participating in at least 3 crossfit workouts a week, spending countless hours on my indo board, longboarding down the rotary trail whenever possible (snow this week interfering -but we all know that Mother nature is a biatch), watching multiple wakesurfing videos of the pros and the amateurs, eating as "clean" as I possibly could bear, stretching every spare moment I had, and visualizing pure awesomeness in my shower. I even went for a few runs outside. This is huge. I hate running. I run like a fat kid. Running hurts. I only run when chased by bad men - so this was a big one.
This is me running. For real.
To celebrate the end of the month and our upcoming lessons in Florida, I've created a photo/video montage. I've always been inspired by the movies where the main character is training for a big sports event or dance competition and approximately 5-8 minutes of the movie are dedicated to a montage of the training. I could be laying on the couch, hand in a bowl of popcorn, and when that training video montage appears, I have the sudden urge to start doing push-ups. And it's a sure thing - if there's a training video montage, the character will, in fact, win whatever event he/she is training for. It's an unwritten movie rule. Case in point, Flashdance. As Alex sweated profusely (yet attractively) in her sweatband and leg warmers, there was no doubt that she would make the cut while she was "dancin' for her life." In Dirty Dancing, "Baby" went from clutzy rookie to sexy pro dancer in her 5 minute video montage, whilst managing to capture the heart of the Swayze (RIP Patrick). And who could forget Rocky? Actually, I can't quite remember how it ended, but I do know that he ran up and down those steps which completely prepared him for the fight of his life.
Here's my wakesurfing training video montage. I am so pumped. So unbelievably pumped.
Every now and then I share a tale from the good 'ol hockey days. I've received some positive feedback regarding the hockey, so I figured you may all be tiring of the wakesurfing training and this might be a good time to open the vault and retrieve one of my favorite hockey tales. (I am still training my ass off though. Bring on Drew in 1 week!!! It's awesome!)
Warning: Get comfy. Grab a beer. Top up your coffee. It's a long post. I promise you that it's worth it. You will laugh. You will cry. You will bang your fist against the keyboard and shout, "NO WAY!"
Ev often gets asked how and why he made the decision to retire from pro hockey. He was making a good living, traveling the world, living in fabulous places. Why, oh why would he sacrifice that life to join the "real" world? Although his desire and drive dissipated when his NHL contract came to an end and the Montreal Canadiens determined, essentially, that he had "expired," I can actually pinpoint the exact moment when the decision to hang up the pads was made. We were driving a 30 foot U-Haul, towing a 20 foot boat down the interstate through rush hour traffic in the city of Atlanta. We had approximately 4 hours to get to Charlotte, North Carolina. I was holding a broken side mirror out the window, screaming, "Change lanes now!" That's the moment. Read on.
The year started out so promising (detect foreshadowing?) Evan had signed a contract with the Nottingham Panthers of the Elite League in Britain. Historically, they were a winning team, had lots of dough to keep players and their wives happy, and I was actually able to work as a Speech Therapist in England, given the reciprocity between therapists in the commonwealth countries. Perfect, right? Oh you know this turns bad, don't you?
Rrrrrar....show us sexy panther
The first few months in Nottingham were fantastic. Ev, Biloxi, the cat, and I lived in a cute little flat and drove a cute little car (actually resembling a panther with whiskers. I'm not joking). I was loving my new job and co-workers at the hospital, and much to the amusement of Ev and his hockey team, my official job title was "Swallowing Specialist" (yes, it was actually on my name tag). I learned how to drive the little panther car on the wrong side of the road, shifting with the wrong hand each and every day. What an adventure! The Nottingham Panthers, as per usual, were winning. Ev was holding the highest save percentage in the league. I was beginning to make friends with the coach's wife, a lovely Dutch girl who shared in my hockey angst and suffered from the same anxiety during games. We drank wine and comforted each other. All was well. Until...dun dun dun, it all came crashing down.
The team lost their first game. This was then followed by another loss. And then another. Although the games were close (3-1, 2-0, 4-1, etc), the fact was, this team was not supposed to lose. There was too much money invested in this team to lose. Although Ev's save percentage slipped to 3rd in the league, I wasn't too concerned. I mean when the team is only scoring 1 goal per game, you will not win hockey games, no matter how solid your netminder. Goalies don't score goals.
I began noticing that the coach's wife was becoming distant, politely blowing me off during games and leaving my phone calls unreturned. Fans that had previously waved eagerly while I drove by in the panthermobile were now slipping me the bird. I then broke the cardinal rule of hockey wives and checked the fan forum online. Every hockey wife knows the fan forum is dangerous territory. The fan forum is a place for fans to bitch and complain and share their "expertise." Rarely does it contain anything positive. It's the equivalent of the basement in horror movies. I want to look, but I know I shouldn't...Don't fricken go there! Against my better judgement, I forged ahead through the posts. My heart sunk as I read a post titled, "Who needs to get the axe?" It would appear once I read further that Evan Lindsay was #1 on the chopping block according to the fans. They blamed him.
Within days, Ev was called into the coach's office (FYI: coaches don't call you in to their office to tell you that you are awesome). Evan was fired. Interestingly, as he was being fired, the new goalie was moving his gear into the dressing room. They had been working on replacing Ev for weeks. The coach's wife called me to apologize. It must have been extremely awkward for her to be my friend, knowing that my husband would be fired within a matter of weeks. Business was business. I blubbered my way through my 2 weeks notice at my manager's office, sobbing as I relayed this new development. Thankfully, they were sympathetic and I was able to get out of my 7 month contract with the hospital. The team was responsible for flying us back to Canada. It was December 18 and we were thankful that, at the least, we would be spending Christmas with our family. The team presented us with a red eye flight set to depart on Christmas eve. Merry F'n Christmas! We chose to pay the difference and fly home earlier on a more expensive flight. Biloxi, the cat, was angry. He hates Air Canada.
We returned home miserable, jobless, and in a state of shock. Ev's coping skills included eating anything and everything in site whilst excessively playing video games. He gained 15 pounds. In my depressed state, I stopped eating and began sleeping away hours of the day. I lost 10 pounds. We were a mess. Every day, Ev's agent would call with interest from various teams across the world. Ev had to finish out the hockey season somewhere. My job in Prince Albert didn't start until May 1.
Eat another chip, Ev. It will make the pain go away.
One team that expressed interest was a team in NowyTard, Poland. Wha? I know. Where the eff is NowyTard? Although they were offering Ev very good money, once we googlemapped it to find a desolate, snow covered town (much like Prince Albert) and then discovered that Evan and I would be the only English-speaking folks on the team, we replied, "Hell no!" Ev threw a handful of chips in his mouth and I went back to bed.
We finally decided to take an offer from the Pensacola Ice Pilots of the East Coast Hockey League. They were losing. They would not make play-offs. But we had been to Pensacola before and recalled the beautiful white sand beaches and the ocean view from the rink. Why not? We packed up Biloxi, the cat, and a few suitcases and drove our little green jeep to Florida. Other than almost getting arrested at the border for treason (I will totally share this gem of a story with you as soon as I check with Lawyer to ensure that we can no longer be arrested), we enjoyed a lovely trip together down south.
Just tell them the goalie will be a little late tonight
Pensacola was fine. It took Ev a few weeks to get back in the groove (and lose those 15 pounds), but I met some fantastic hockey wives who were very sympathetic to our situation (you can always count on hockey wives to "get it"). We spent every free day at the magnificent beach and endless hours lounging by the pool. It was obvious that although Ev had finally stepped up his game, his heart was no longer in it. Once very structured and strict with respect to pre-game ritual, Ev was now lounging by the pool hours before he had to leave for the rink. He just didn't care that much anymore.
During our time in Pensacola, we found a great deal on a boat in Texas. We had it shipped to our location in Pensacola and intended to tow it back to Candle Lake once the season had ended. Once our boat arrived, we looked at it parked next to our little Jeep Sport and realized we would need a larger vehicle to tow this beast home. We put the Jeep up for sale, with the intention of buying a new one in Florida, and within days had a couple offer us full price for the "electric" Jeep (they thought the extension cord for the heater meant it was electric. hehe). It was literally hours after our little green Jeep pulled out of the parking lot that Ev received the phonecall. He had been traded.
Traded? But the tan's finally coming!
The Charlotte Checkers were poised to make a play-off run and required another goalie. They needed Evan in Charlotte, North Carolina to dress for a game in 48 hours. Evan was speechless as they asked him how he would be getting to Charlotte. "Do you have a vehicle or do you need a flight?" asked the coach. Ev looked out the window and responded, "I have a boat." Shit. We had a 20 foot boat, no vehicle, and had 48 hours to pack everything we owned and travel 700 miles north to Charlotte, North Carolina. "We'll figure it out." replied Evan.
I will never forget that day. Ev was suffering from a man-cold. You have to understand the man-cold. Ev played net with a separated shoulder. No problem. He once actually pushed in a protruding hernia and suffered through a play-off win. No biggie. Ev's a tough dude. The man-cold; on the other hand, destroys him. And me. It takes everything in me to feel sympathetic towards him as he shoves his fingers in his ears and creates this aggravating noise in the back of his throat ("It's how I scratch my throat when it's itchy.") As I tried to line up a rental vehicle with the capabilities of towing a 20 foot boat, Ev "scratched his throat" repeatedly. Staring at my husband, I silently chanted, "I love him. I love him. I love him. I just don't like him very much right now." Talk about a marriage-builder.
We finally secured a 30 foot U-Haul truck with a hitch to tow the boat to Charlotte. This truck was huge, especially given that we were traveling with only 4 suitcases and an angry orange cat. We quickly said our goodbyes, hooked up the boat, and began our journey north. Although we needed to haul ass, we would arrive on time. Spring break was in full gear on Pensacola Beach. As we sat in traffic on the bridge with hundreds of spring breakers in convertibles, jeeps, and motorbikes, pumpin tunes from their stereos, Ev manually rolled down the giant windows of our U-Haul truck and shouted (with a stuffy nose and scratchy throat), "What's up, bitches?" That's when I knew that he gone crazy.
Marriage-builder. Picture this + Man-cold AAAAGGGHHH!
Within an hour, we realized that the side mirror was not positioned properly. It was difficult for Ev to switch lanes with 50 feet of rig. As I leaned out the window to turn it, it snapped off. "You're going to have to hold the mirror, Kirst."
This brings us to the moment when we knew. The end was near. I held that side mirror out of the window and shouted, "Now. Change lanes now!" Once the dust had cleared and we had safely switched into the desired lane, Ev and I looked at each other and said, "What the eff are we doing with our lives?" Good Gawd.
We spent the next 7 weeks in Charlotte. It was a great city. The hockey wives were really fun and I still remain in contact with a few of them. But...we were done. Ev was done. I was done. The nail was firmly hammered into the coffin. We needed consistency. We craved normalcy. The journey had ended.
The fabulous ladies of Charlotte. Boys lost. Season over. For us, the end of an era.
That brings us to our current situation. 5 years later, Ev and I have steady "real" careers, a business, a house, the addition of Dundee, the little white dog. Life is consistent. It's pretty "normal." However, there is no doubt that our hockey experiences certainly shaped who we are today. We joke that we have a fear of commitment - and we do! A fear of commitment to location. Since Ev quit hockey, we have been unable to stay put in a house for more than 2 years. ("I'm bored, let's build a different house!") We miss those highs that emerge after really low lows. Although life is still full of ups and downs, they are not nearly as dramatic or as interesting as they were in the hockey world. Which is good. It's comfortable. It's secure. But...there's something unbelievably exhilarating about packing everything you own, grabbing an angry orange cat, and traveling into the unknown together.
One element of my wakesurfing training that was recommended by Evan was visualization. Many accomplished athletes use visualization as a form of mental rehearsal. For example, Wayne Gretzky reports that he would visualize a game in which he could see himself skating to where he sensed the puck was coming next. Tiger Woods visualized the perfect swing…over and over again (I wonder if he visualized cheap whores at the end of each hole – oops, offside!) The 1989 Grey Cup Champions, the Saskatchewan Roughriders, (whoot whoot) actually placed a piece of tape on their finger prior to the Grey Cup final, visualizing the Championship ring….and everyone in Saskatchewan knows how that one turned out!
Athletes swear by visualization. Science supports it. Brain imaging studies show that when we visualize ourselves performing an activity, the same neural pathways and chemicals are activated as when we actually perform the activity. Essentially, we are tricking our brain into thinking that we are doing it. So if we continually visualize ourselves doing an activity successfully, our brain doesn’t ask any questions. It just thinks that we are awesome! So what if I can’t ride behind the boat in the middle of March. My brain doesn’t have to know that. Perfect. I’m totally ready to trick my brain into thinking that I am the wakesurfing champion of the world.
Ev suggested that my visualization occur during a routine activity occurring at the same time every day. I chose the shower. I shower before I go to bed. The shower is my “happy place” in our home. I specifically designed our bathroom in our new house to promote relaxation and pure joy. I could spend hours in that shower. My first experience with visualization was a little harder than I had anticipated. As I rinsed the conditioner out of my hair, I tried to picture myself on the wakesurf board, behind Drew’s boat. My brain immediately got off topic.
Hmmm….what color is Drew’s boat anyway? Does he have to pay for those boats? I bet he doesn’t because he’s so awesome. That would be so cool. Perhaps someday someone will send me a boat because I’m so awesome. This conditioner sucks. Haha, it reminds me of Billy Madison, “Shampoo is better!” Has Adam Sandler been in anything lately? Man, 'Inception' was such a good movie. What if, like, this isn’t my reality? Freaky!! Are these even my real hands? Who knows? Haha, I like that part in Bridesmaids when she’s giving the speech at the shower and starts singing Wind beneath my wings...is that what she sings? Speaking of shower, I’m supposed to be visualizing!!!
Ugggghhhh! Why is it so hard to just focus on being awesome behind Drew’s boat?
So I practiced. Every night in the shower my visualizations became more vivid and focused. By the 10th straight day, I actually caught myself moving my feet subconsciously as I visually performed my shove-it. I smiled as I imagined Drew and Ev cheering from the boat as I performed the 360 rotation. My showers became longer. Confidence was high. I began watching videos of amateur riders after my shower, heckling, “That’s all you got? Look Ev. I’m better than this chick.” I actually began to think that I was awesome.
By day 11, I began to run into some minor difficulties. My performance-enhancing visualizations began turning into distracting daydreams. I found that as soon as my mind was not focused on a particular topic/duty, it wandered back to the lake – the gator-less lake, of course (Drew promised) J
As I stood at the Nurses desk, writing orders for a patient, I felt my pen stop and my mind wander to a beautiful Florida Day.
I was riding the wave with ease and fluidness as The Offspring’s “You’re gonna go far kid,” cranked out of the speakers. I was not stooped over. I was tall, bending at the knees. With perfect balance, I squatted down on the board, placed my weight on my front hand and slowly raised my back leg in the air. Just a little further….
Dr. U: Yes, um, is Mr. Brown able to swallow or do we need to insert a feeding tube?
Um…wha? Oh, a Dr was actually asking me a question about a patient. Frick, Dr. U, give me like 1 minute. I was just about to execute a perfect “fire hydrant.” Ugh. Talk about bad timing. GAWD!
Once my dream bubble popped and I was thrown harshly back into the reality of my position as Speech-Language Pathologist at the hospital, I realized that my performance visualizations had gone bad. I vowed at that moment to keep the visualizations in the shower. There are some things that should only be done in the privacy of your shower. Visualization is one of them.
The good news is: my brain thinks I’m fricken awesome.
Heart racing, I awoke this morning at 5 am in a panic.
If you've been keeping up with my blog, you are well aware that I'm an anxious person. It's part of my genetic code. Thanks, Baba. Although I would love nothing more than to be that calm, cool, easygoing person, I am not. I am trying, but I'm not there yet. I have a completely irrational theory about panicking. I honestly believe that if I envision the worst case scenario and then spend waste time panicking about it, it won't happen. Crazy, right?
This is my latest worst case scenario: Being "death rolled" by an alligator in Drew's lake.
Ev and I lived in Ft. Myers and Pensacola, Florida for bits and pieces of various hockey seasons. As much I loved living in Florida, there was always a fear of unexpectedly running into an alligator. When we lived in Ft. Myers, we did not have our vehicle with us. Ev's road trips were painfully long and I was often left to my own devices. Being that I was extremely low on the hockey wife food chain (hockey girlfriend with no sign of lifelong commitment from hockey player = failure), I never felt as though I was accepted into "the group." I filled long days lying by the pool and going for walks. I realize that probably sounds quite lovely, but it wasn't. It was lonely. In addition, from all those hours in the hot sun, my skin turned an unflattering shade of orange (much like the old lady in "Something About Mary"). Part of my routine became a daily walk along the golf course to the local Kroger grocery store. One of the hockey wives inquired how I was "keeping busy" while the boys were away and I relayed my daily walk to her. "Aren't you afraid of the gators?" Um, excuse me? Apparently gators love to cool off in any body of freshwater, especially water hazards. It's quite common to golf alongside alligators in Florida and as a general rule, you don't bother the gators and they won't bother you (but c'mon, we've all seen "Happy Gilmore"). My daily walk came to an abrupt end.
So when I awoke in a panic at 5am, I couldn't help but think that there is a good possibility that alligators reside at the lake where Drew will be running our wakesurfing lessons. Obviously, Drew has made it thus far without being mauled by an alligator; however, there is a big big difference between Drew and myself. I fall. A lot. After watching hours of videos of Drew on his board, it appears as though he doesn't fall. Ever. I envision myself surfing behind Drew's boat, wind in my hair, warm Florida sun on my back. I am living the dream. As I mentally prepare to attempt a shove-it, I'm thinking, "push back with left leg, keep body stable, focus on the wave, for the love of God do not fall or the alligators will snatch your leg, pull you to the lake bottom, and perform a "death roll." Anyone ever hear about the death roll? Sounds quite ominous, doesn't it? That's because it is, folks. The alligator drags it's prey to the bottom and rolls it until it's...you guessed it...dead. EEK! No pressure.
Don't fall, Kirst!
This vision has changed my training approach. I'm now training out of sheer fear. Each and every time that I lose my balance and fall off my indo board/bosu ball/longboard, I picture myself floating helplessly in an alligator-filled lake, knees to chest so as not to lure the gators with excessive movement, waiting anxiously for the boat to reach me. Now that's motivation to stay on the fricken board!
If I close my eyes, it's summer.
Speaking of my wakesurfing training, it was an intense week. Ev typed up a very thorough training schedule and I've been following it faithfully all week along. In between my regular Crossfit workouts (this week included lots of pull-ups, thrusters, and wall balls), I continue to stretch (my crappy tight ankles crack like a 90 year old woman), squat, lunge, and rotate on each and every unsteady surface I can find, longboard for hours (even took the longboard outside today!), and watch hours of wakesurfing videos (nothing is more inspiring than observing athletes who excel at their sport!) I awoke on Thursday morning feeling unbelievably stiff and sore. Even my flippin' pinky finger hurt. I'm also eating as healthy as I possibly can, avoiding sugar (with the exception of "cheat day Saturday," in which I put myself into a sugar-induced coma for 24 hours). In addition, I'm striving for 8 hours of sleep per night - studies have shown that one key difference between average athletes and elite athletes is that elite athletes consistently receive at least 8 hours of sleep per night. It's recovery time. I wonder if those elite performers wake up at 5am panicking about alligators? So as you can see, I'm taking this very seriously. I mean business, kids.
Ev and I have been spending hours in our "wakesurfing training facility (WTF)" (AKA: our garage). In the WTF, we crank the tunes, play on our boards, and offer each other constructive criticism (I'm not nearly as sensitive as last week). It's fun. It's quality "together" time. It's extremely therapeutic after a stressful day in the real world. I am well aware that boarding in your garage with 'The Offspring' blasting is more indicative behavior of 15 year old boys than a 32 year old married couple. When I was a kid, I was always hearing teachers, coaches, and adults comment that I was "very mature for my age." Obviously, my behavior, at some point, spun a 180. Being an adult (committing to a career, having a mortgage, paying bills, and enduring Evan's "budget talks") kinda sucks. Once I felt that I had "entered adulthood," I'm not gonna lie, I became a little judgmental of my peers who hadn't reached that point yet. I remember texting Holowaty, "What's up?" to which he replied, "quit my job. Traveling to insert some exotic destination here." Wha? How irresponsible to quit a job to travel. How was he ever going to become a responsible adult? haha. Let's be honest. I wished I was him. I wished I had the guts to take a chance and follow my dreams. In fact, since I'm 'seizing the day,' perhaps it's time to sever all responsibilities. I don't need a steady paycheck. I don't need the structured 9 to 5. I need freedom! Let's try it out: Hey Health Region! I qu....... I qui............. I qui............. I quite likely we be at work on Monday.
Ya, I think I'll stick with the job and strive for more WTF time. For now.
I am still adamant that it's perfectly acceptable for 32 year olds to play in their garage, despite societal pressure to attend PTA meetings, host elegant dinners, and meet with financial planners. If anyone tells me to "grow up," I will stubbornly cover my ears with my hands and yell, "I can't hear you!"
Here are some pics from our "Wakesurfing Training Facility(WTF)" What happens at the WTF, stays at the WTF, except for these pics that I will share with all 30 of my "followers." :)
In completely unrelated news, Dundee, the little white dog, has taken to violently ripping the faces off of his stuffed animals. I saw this on 48 hours Mystery once. He doesn't want the victims looking him in the eye when he finishes them off. Oh dear.
We attended a funeral yesterday for a wonderful woman who died at the age of 90. Family was so important to this lady and that was apparent by the number of children, nieces, nephews, grandchildren, greatgrandchildren, great-great grandchildren, etc.who were in attendance. After hearing how much she was loved and adored by her family and friends, we watched a slideshow depicting this woman's 90 years of life. It always blows me away how one's life can be reduced to a 10 minute slideshow. Toddler, child, teenager, wife, mother, grandmother, great-grandmother - it's like watching someone's life on fastforward. It's terrifying. On the other hand, it was touching to see what a wonderful, long life this woman lived, and all the lives that she touched in her 90 years. Although there were many tears, it really felt like a celebration of her life.
I did not feel this way at Ryan's funeral. He was robbed. We were robbed. I was angry. Upset. It wasn't fair. In our 30's we are supposed to attend each other's weddings and baby baptisms - not funerals. It upsets me to think about that day, so as of yet, I will continue to suppress that memory....and then bury it under happy thoughts. I'm sure this is what psychologists would support and recommend? :) In keeping with that strategy, I am currently recalling a fantastic day on lake with our buddy.
Ryan was climbing into the boat, soaking wet, after a solid surf behind the boat. We were all impressed with his latest trick which involved sitting on the board and riding it, on his ass, facing forwards.
Me: Holwaty, how did you do that?
Holwaty: Well, you see, I was just riding - you know. And then I just...well...I just sat down. Like this (sits on board). You know.
Haha. Needless to say, Ryan never published any wakesurf training manuals. He was that kind of guy - no talkie talkie. Just go out there and do it.
Ev has set up my wakesurf training regime, and although there's tons of "doing" (each day includes specific stretches, indo board time, longboard runs, diet recommendations (no sugar -ack!) and CrossFit workouts - and I still have to work 8 hours a day!), there's also 3 days a week of video review. Talkie talkie. I envisioned "video review" to include hours of drinking beer whilst watching Kelly Slater rip it up. Nope. "Video review," as I discovered last night, is quite brutal.
The ego takes a beating when one is criticized; however, the "source" of that criticism certainly makes a difference in how one responds. When Heidi informed me that my flute playing initially "looked painful," my feelings weren't hurt. She was the expert. I would try to look less pained. During the crochet when Grandma pointed out that I was "swooping too large," I took it in stride and attempted to decrease my swoop circumference. When Ev; however, scutinized my wakesurfing videos, pointing out my "broken paw" amongst other things (I will explain), I'm not gonna lie, it stung just a bit.
We began our "video review," by watching the Woman's World Wakesurfing Champion, Bri Chmel. She's pretty awesome. And hot. Her winning ride exuded steaze. She's smooth, she's confident, she goes for it. It was impressive. There was, on the other hand, a little voice inside my head saying, "you're not that far off, Kirst." Other than the fact that she's way younger, hotter and tinier than me, I was quite convinced that I was a comparable rider. (Sound of annoying buzzer). WRONG.
This is Bri. She's pretty good.
We then watched numerous videos of my surf rides last summer. Evan immediately pointed out: Offense #1: "The Broken Paw."
I do this retarded thing with my hand when I surf. I hold it up to my chest with my wrist cocked. I look like a fricken bear with a broken paw. Hence the term. In addition, while Bri exhibited a "quiet upper body," allowing her hips and legs to the work, I was obviously using way too much upper body, hunched over, and as Ev described, "clawing my way to the world champions." Haha. Funny. That godamn broken paw.
Offense #2: Bad Ass
We then watched video of my 360 attempt. The key word is "attempt." It looked NOTHING like Bri's 360. While Bri stayed low to her board, ass down, she had complete control, tracking her position as she spun her board 360 degrees. I, on the other hand, stuck my tongue out, made an angry face, and threw myself wildly around as fast and as uncontrolled as possible, ass high in the air. Remarkably, I bit it at about the 250 degree mark (Amazingly, always managing to plug my nose as I wiped out). Wha? Good Gawd. I suck. Ev then threw some salt in my wounds by stating that I had "terrible ankle mobility." Gasp. The horror. Now we're picking on my ankles? At that point he sensed my increased sensitivity and informed me that we would make it better. Well, thank god for that.
Offense #3: This is not Dancing With the Stars.
As a final straw, Ev pointed out how cool, calm, and focused Bri appeared during her ride. In contrast, we watched endless video footage of me choreographing my surf to whatever song happened to be blasting out of the speakers. Although pretending that I am "running just as fast as we can" in time with Tiffany or indicating with body touching that "I'm hot sticky sweet from my head to my feet" with Def Leopard is tons o' fun and frankly, extremely entertaining for observers, it utilized a whole lot of my energy...and gas. Ooops. Must focus.
So I swallowed my pride, took Ev's brutalhurtful constructive criticism in stride and decided to get started. I have to say, after one 45-minute session in the garage on the longboard, the broken paw is healing nicely.
Stay tuned!
Whoa. That's setting the bar a tad high. Let me rephrase: March goal: Train like and learn from a World Champion. That's a little more achievable.
I am so stoked about this month. I have to admit that's it's not completely outside of my comfort zone, but I figure that after diving with sharks, playing in net, and surrounding myself with small children, I earned a "me" month. This month's goal is something not completely foreign to me, but rather involves one of my favorite summer activities. However, in keeping with the theme of this year-long project, I will be pushing myself beyond my limits and meeting someone very special. In addition, I have a partner this month. Ev. He's in. I guess it's not a "me" month but an "us" month. Yay us! Speaking of us, Ev and I had one of those hectic, frantic weeks where nothing seems to run smoothly.
Exhibit A:
I awoke to Ev's phone alarm on Wednesday morning.
Me: What time is it?
Ev: 5:10
Me: why did your alarm go off at 5:10 (we usually get up at 6:45)
Ev: I don't know
(We both fall back asleep for like 2 minutes until I roll over and look at my alarm clock)
Me (frantic): Ev! it's 7:20! Get up! Why did you think it was 5:10?
Ev (looking closely at watch): Oh. We're 510 meters above sea level.
Me: super helpful
Sometimes I feel like Ev and I are passing ships in the night. Real life is hectic and stressful and every now and then I feel like we fall into this lame, scripted pattern: "How was your day?" "meh. You?" "Meh. " "well, love you. good night.""yep." Sucky. Especially since I think Ev is so cool...and we are capable of having so much fun together. So that's what makes this month extra special. Ev and I are working together on this one. And we get to "play."
Ok, here it is. Remember my post from waaaaay back about finding an inspirational girl who longboarded? I told you guys about Ev's admiration for the 5 time world Wakesurfing Champion, Drew Danielo.This is the phenom from Florida who Ev facebook stalked friended. Since my last entry, he has won another championship! 6 world champions! Prior to every set behind the boat, Ev would intensely watch Drew's iphone app in which Drew describes and executes each and every wakesurf move known to man. Ev would confidently, yet unsuccessfully attempt a "shove it," wipe hard, surface, stare to the sky, and plead, "Drew! What am I doing wrong?" I don't want to freak Drew out (what if he reads this?) but he has become a household name around here. We don't "know" him, other than to watch him ride via u-tube videos, but we're pretty sure he's a super cool dude, and obviously extremely talented. I mean, World Champion? And not just once, but 6 times???!!!! That's huge. I was the 2nd best bowler in Canada in 1994 (someday I will share that amazing, yet tragic story) and I thought that I was the s to the h to the i to the t. I can't even fathom being "the best in the world" at anything...except maybe headstands. We'll see.
Well...somehow, someway, we've managed to score lessons with The 6 time world Wakesurfing Champion, Drew Danielo, in Florida at the end of March! Can I get a whoot whoot! When Drew confirmed our dates and I pressed, "purchase" on expedia for those flights, I fist pumped. That's right. Fist pumped. My first instinct was to grab my vintage white samsung cell phone that everyone loves to mock (leave me alone. I just learned how to text message like 9 months ago) and send a text to Ryan. Shit. That is just the WORST feeling in the world. It's that feeling when you suddenly remember that...he's gone. I just so badly needed to share my exciting news with him. He would have LOVED it! I needed a "Ryan" text. I needed his high-pitched squeally girl voice exclaiming, "F'n Gnarly!" or "Rad!" At that moment, it suddenly hit me like a ton of bricks. I would never get a "Ryan" text again. I took half and hour and cried. I miss him. Ryan was "into" so many things: skateboarding, fishing, diving, quading, surfing, music, wakesurfing, etc, etc, etc. I think that's why he had such a diverse group of friends. Every friend of Ryan felt like they had a "thing" with him. Wakesurfing was our "thing". He loved it just as much as we did. We'd have a beer and discuss the shape of the wave for hours. He would have received my text, responded with pure uncensored excitement, and then immediately booked his flight to join us for these lessons. I know he would have.
I figured my longboarding buddy, Randy, would appreciate the magnitude of my news so I sent him a text explaining our upcoming lessons with Drew. Randy pulled through:
"Dope! How did you set up that dealeo?"
It was exactly what I needed to hear. Thanks, Randy! :)
So yes, we will be receiving wakesurfing lessons from Drew on March 28 and 29 at his own private lake near Venice, Florida. Oh my god, I just hyperventilated.
One of these things is NOT like the other:
Ev shreddin' the gnar
super steazy
drew has a better camera angle
This is a big deal. Ev and I cannot show up and expect to get anything out of these lessons in the shape that we're presently in. Given that we currently reside in a frozen tundra of despair, we are unable to train like most world champions, which would include hours and hours of time behind the boat. It's been 6 months since we've surfed behind the boat. We have 1 month to get ourself into world champion form. Conveniently, Ev owns a gym (technically, I own it as well but it creates a lot of pressure to appear as though you are actually in good shape. Therefore, I call it "Ev's" gym). Ev programs specific workouts for various athletes (hockey, lacrosse, soccer, etc). His new obsession has become researching the training regimes of top surfers, wakesurfers, and wakeboarders, and creating workouts for us that focus on explosive power, balance, flow, single leg and rotational strength (I don't know what that means, but I trust him...and I don't mind watching videos of Kelly Slater at all. Yum). We also own an Indo Board - a wobbly board that targets balance. It is now situated in front of the TV and will become a daily practice tool for us. In addition, we have big plans to configure a longboarding track in our garage. It's awesome. Me and my buddy Ev are on a mission. Impress Drew or die trying. We have 25 days.
This vid is one my favorites. Drew's at the end but he's worth waiting for....notice there's no lady riders. Pick me! Pick me!
