I've spent almost six years believing that I couldn't kayak.
In the summer of 2011, Birdman -- the guy I was dating very seriously at the time -- and I had a Groupon to Kayak Pittsburgh, so we tried it. Where "tried it" equaled "we got fitted for paddles, we got in a tandem kayak, and he told me I wasn't very good." Because I couldn't keep up with his paddling. Which, in retrospect, should not have been a surprise, considering I'd never paddled in my life. And he had nearly a foot on me.
So like many other things in our relationship that he implied or flat out told me I wasn't good at, I simply believed over the past six years that I couldn't do it.
But desperate times call for desperate measures, so when I started looking for a non-foot-using cardio activity, a friend suggested rowing. In my head, rowing was like paddling, so back to Kayak Pittsburgh I went. I signed up for a beginner's class, and eagerly anticipated that Wednesday evening.
I was apprehensive, for sure. I was the only single woman there, and the one with the least experience. And the only one the boat outsized.
"You're tiny!" one of the volunteers exclaimed as she checked my footing. "I'm really not," I said.
She paused. "Well, let's just say that you're tiny compared to the boat."
And then it seemed to take a while for my brain to click about which way the paddle was supposed to face. And for me to figure out how to get going straight once we were in the water. And I felt like I couldn't keep up with the rest of the group. And I felt like the only idiot.
I was convinced that Birdman was right. Because so far, this wasn't good.
It turns out that like most other things, Birdman was wrong about this one.
"You've got good form!" my new BFF said as we were heading onward.
I stared at him like a deer in the headlights, and shook my head no. "You don't believe me," he commented.
"No, I really don't. Because I don't see it."
Just like how I didn't see how "tiny" I was compared to the kayak, I suppose.
"You're really ready," the guide said as we headed further out, and I noticed how I, another guy, and the trip leader were much further ahead of anyone else. So he showed me some refinements, and I kept paddling. I joked that after all of these weeks not being able to run, apparently I had some pent up cardio in me.
We got to the tunnel, and it was still just me, Other Dude, the trip leader, and this other guide, my new BFF.
"Are you keeping an eye on them?" the trip leader jokingly asked as we waited for the rest of the group.
"Keeping an eye on them?!" my new BFF laughed. "I can barely keep up with [CollectingBlues]!"
Apparently I can paddle.
"I still can't keep up with you!" my new BFF said. "Right. I need to remind myself that this isn't a challenge," I teased him back.
And that was how the second hour of the class went. Me, my new BFF, Other Dude, and the guide leading the way. With me getting to lead the class through the tunnel in both directions.
"You've been out before," my new BFF insisted as we circled the island to head closer to the dock.
Not really, I explained. This was my second time.
It was amazing, and empowering. And damn, it was so much fun. I couldn't believe that I easily landed the kayak back on the dock. "Remember this: You aimed perfectly into something this small!" the trip leader said, complimenting my form.
I beamed from the time I got my stuff off, and all the way home. I'd been told that I couldn't kayak, and not only could I kayak, but I could kayak better than most of the group. I'm not saying that I'm grateful that I couldn't run these weeks, but I'm glad that it forced me to try something new.
And 90 minutes after getting home? Still beaming like a fool.
This girl can paddle.
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