Originally posted on theheylady.com
No television, no e-mail, no cell phone. No dramamine.
It took me a full day out on the water – two separate three-hour sessions on the lake of glass-like tranquility – but I finally got my sea legs.
At the campfire last night, I was a little disappionted and jealous as my fellow kayogis (kayak + yoga = get it?) described their floating meditations. One woman stopped to examine a field of a thousand lilies. Another recounted how time dropped away as she watched the droplets of water from her upraised oar land on the lake and ripple away into the universe. Still others recounted whitewater adventures and poured over river fantasies.
When it came my turn to share my experiences, I passed. I jammed a marshmallow on the end of my s’more stick, and thought, Who gets sea sick on a kayak?
But when they were counting to see who was up for the 6 am paddle, my hand was among those raised. This was my vacation and I was determined to make the most of it. Armed with a pocket full of crystallized ginger (for the tummy) and the longest oars I could get my hands on, I set out on Lower Goose Pond a little after dawn. Just off the Appalachian Trail, Lower and Upper Goose Pond are beautiful. Connected by a perfect little canal, the sunlight off the old-growth trees that border the coast make it seem like the forest is alive and dancing.
And for the first time since I stepped foot in that wobbly plastic hot dog bun, I took a real deep breath. I put down my oar and looked around. I pulled my feet out and put them on top of the kayak – something our instructor calls “cocktail position” – and felt the (calm) bobbing of the water.