Drew, do you have alligators?

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.

future serial killer?

That Rainbow Brite Sprite never saw it coming.