Ammi Midstokke: The learning curve of a new sport
For years now I have viewed standup paddling as the golf of the extreme outdoors world. I figured when folks got tired of real sportsing, concerned about breaking bones, or just wanted to look outdoorsy without actually having to do anything, they bought a paddle board. Then they stood on it in fair weather and paddled at a rate that makes drunk ferry boatsman look like Olympic athletes.
Like most things I judge harshly, I staunchly avoid actually trying them until having not tried them becomes a social stigma. So last year I went on a standup paddle yoga excursion. Surprisingly, the two things I said I’d never do were combined in a single event. I did not die of shame or lack of extremism.
Instead, I fell in love.
The thing about falling in love with a new sport is that you need new sport equipment. In my house, we consider these costs to fall in the same category as water, sewer, and medical bills as general living expenses.
But I was going to become a SUP boarder. I needed to look the part. Minus the good tan and sun-bleached hair, of course. At least I already owned a Prana swimsuit so I wouldn’t look like a total impostor.
Over the winter months I perused SUP board websites. I read about which boards do which things and then became obsessed with a bamboo board from France. Honestly, I have no right owning such a nice board considering I don’t even know how to SUP. Eventually I settled for a bright red board – because I’m a girl and I prioritize all purchases by their color.
Then it was my person’s birthday and I decided I would promote relationship health by making SUPping our new ‘together’ sport. Historically, this has failure and you-might-as-well-hire-a-therapist-now written all over it – likely because all our other bonding sports are more often combined with near-death experiences or at least sweating blood.
The day finally came when everything was prepared. We had boards. We had some appropriate water shirts I saw on an REI catalog insert where people looked happy while SUPping. We had carbon paddles. We had new Thule board racks on the standard issue outdoors-woman Subaru Outback.
We schlepped our boards down to the beach on a breezy May Sunday. We tossed our flip flops in the car and buried our feet in the sand, frolicking and laughing as we carried our boards to the water. There was so much anticipation and joy, we could have been mistaken for a condom commercial.
We set our boards in the frigid lake (Pend Oreille is not ready for swimming until approximately the last day of summer) and launched ourselves in the direction of adventure.
In my case, that meant stepping onto my paddle board and promptly flailing about in what can only look like James Brown having an epileptic fit. People on the beach, previously impressed by my professional appearance, were now wondering if they were going to have to come rescue me from the cold water.
Unable to steer because I was too busy alternating between wobbling uncontrollably and locking my hips out, the wind carried me into deeper waters and bigger waves. It is not recommended to take your paddle board into waves if you don’t actually know how to paddle board. Even if you are wearing an O’Neil shirt.
After approximately 14 minutes of desperately trying not to fall in the lake, adrenals and ankles exhausted, I made it back to shore where my person was calmly cruising around and saying helpful things like, “This is fun!”
By the end of summer, I hope to be able to actually stand up and paddle. Or I’ll have to find a new decoy sport with limited equipment. Perhaps knitting.