My love affair with sailing began my sophomore year of college.
We sail small boats on the sailing team at school, two-person FJs where the skipper drives the boat and deals with the big sail (called the main sheet) and the rudder, while a crew uses their weight strategically to lean (heel) the boat correctly and handles the jib sheet (an auxiliary sheet).
My first day, with the intention of trying sailing once for the heck of it and never doing it again, I got in the water as a crew and expected nothing much. The wind picked up—it was a gloriously sunny day, the water at City Island sparkling blindingly. My very first skipper calmly informed me that we were on a close haul and that I needed to hike—what? Hike? Hike where? — I was frantic, fumbling with the line in my hands—what do you need?? — The boat was tipping, tipping!—I threw my weight to counterbalance—it wasn’t enough— The captain and coach boat trailed behind us on a motorboat, where the captain yelled “stick your butt out!”
So I did. With my feet secured under hiking straps, I threw my body out of the boat and kept myself upright with my quads, my butt and back just inches above the water we were racing over. The boat slowly righted. Everything fell into place. I felt the sun on my face, the spray of water on my shorts, the rough jib sheet in my hands as I pulled to keep the sail taut and the boat balanced.
Suddenly, inexplicably, I was in love.
A year of eager days on the water later, I was back on City Island that grey choppy day, the remnants of storms sending sporadic rain to hit our faces. A dearth of skippers led to the coach deciding that it was high time for me to learn how to skipper, despite my relative inexperience. I was excited—a whole two-to-three hours driving a boat! And for the first hour and a half or so practiced losing all my speed on tacks, hopelessly tripping in the boat, alternately losing hold of the rudder and the mainsheet, and generally bumbling around trying to get the boat to actually move in 10-15 knots of a healthy breeze. We didn’t capsize, which was my goal.
Downwind is tricky for the skipper: with wind constantly filling the sheets, deciding when to gybe (or to turn the boat by moving the stern through the eye of the wind) requires decisiveness and a clarity of intention. During a gybe, the boat needs to stay as still as possible while the boom (a long metal pole parallel to the boat which is attached to the bottom of the mainsheet) swings to the other side.
We were gybing on the coach’s whistle. It was wickedly punishing cycle. I’d gain a little speed as the wind filled my sheets—there was the whistle! —pull the rudder towards me (too much, as I was later informed), and keep myself flat on the boat to wait for the boom to swing over—aha!— and jump back up the steady the boat and try to gain back all the speed we’d lost (by that point—all of it).
In my overwhelming arrogance this inefficient method which had worked for the first few gybes, I was convinced, would continue to work. I could time the boom going downwind despite the fact that there was no clear way to tell when it would come over. How clever of me, to avoid manually pulling the boom myself by yanking on the lines connected to the mainsheet, like all the experienced skippers were doing.
Fourth gybe—I was flat on the boat, eying the boom and waiting for it to do its deadly swing over. The boom, like the head of a daffodil, was delicately bobbing back and forth—was it coming? Was it coming? —the cold rain hitting my face I was like a gopher peeking out of its hole when I cautiously lifted my head from my prone position, keeping my eyes on the boom.
It wasn’t coming over. I moved to sit myself back on the boat, taking the time to look over at the coach boat behind us and— WHAM.
The boom did not feel like a daffodil when it nailed the back of my head.
I was dazed. Miraculously, I continued steering the boat straight. My crew asked anxiously if I was okay. I felt okay—no bumps, no bleeding. It was all going to be just fine.
The next day I woke up with a headache. The fuzzy feeling in my head felt like a million cotton balls stuffed behind my eyes and got worse over the weekend. I couldn’t admit to myself that I had a concussion until I attended a midterm review session for one of my favorite classes, abstract algebra, only to find that the construction of concepts that had been solid and unshakable only a few days ago had crashed like a Jenga tower. I was Charlie Brown, except my parents were paying too much money for me to hear the professor go “wah wah wah.” I left the review session, cried my eyes out, and headed to the ER.
It’s a fascinating experience, having a concussion while attending college, where my only obligation—literally—is to use my brain. Medical professionals advise that concussed individuals should refrain from reading, using electronics, and studying. My three biggest pastimes, all at once forbidden!
Homework and exams had to be put on hold. For the first few days, all I was able to do after sleeping the requisite 11+ hours was lie in bed, trying to meditate through a head full of cotton. Sometimes I even managed to doodle.
I won’t go into the details of my recovery, but suffice to say that I missed the entirety of the rest of the fall sailing season.
As the days get shorter and winter begins, I’m left to reflect on the tumultuous season and sailing’s role in my life. Balancing love through trauma is the big lesson here. Plenty of football players can attest to how hard it is to stay out of the action when you’re injured. I’m in a more precarious position. The honeymoon period of sailing has come to an abrupt end, and reality has set in. I haven’t been on the water since the day I became concussed, and to some degree that scares me. Will I be able to go back? Will I get hurt again? Will my fear stop me from pursuing something that I’ve loved (and hope to still love?)
The obvious answer should be no. But unlike a footballer -- I'm not that great at sailing, and probably don't need a lot of motivation to give up. For now, until next fall when I return to campus after a semester of studying abroad, I hope that distance will give me some perspective on my relationship with sailing. And that I won't give up.
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| That's me skippering! |
