So a few days ago, Tom took the kayak out for me so I could paddle around Oquirrh Lake just as the sun was going down. I have no trouble getting in the kayak. I just plop in, and Tom pushed me afloat. It take 50 minutes to circle the lake, which is shaped like a doughnut.
Kayaking is satisfying, because it is silent, and one shares it with ducks and geese and yellow iris growing along the banks. I had no trouble paddling consistently, but I couldn't help thinking about Becky Richins crossing the Great Salt Lake in her kayak and running into a full blown storm in the middle of it. I heard her read about three and four foot waves blasting her around and was only comforted by the fact that I knew she had made it through.
I'm much too old to take on that kind of onslaught.
Apparently, I am also too old to get out of the kayak. I hadn't kayaked in three years and in those three years, my knees have pretty much given up the ghost. Tom hauled me onto shore and I said, "I don't know how to get up." He gave me his hand as if to pull me up and I broke into giggles, because I knew that wouldn't work.
"I have to be on my knees," I said. (I learned this from getting out of the bathtub). So I more or less fell forward on my knees, from where I could shove myself up. It is humiliating to be so clunky. With some practice, I may get better, although I'm not optimistic. I'm going to be making ugly exits from now on.
I've lost 9 pounds. 15 to go. Pat on my back.