It was windy last night and our little boat did not fare so well along the choppy rivers. The thousands of drunken speed boats zooming through the ignored NO WAKE zone didn't help, either. Wave after icy, oily, brown wave sloshed over the side and tinged my Penn State socks brown.
"It's ok! Just keep rowing!" The coxswain encouraged us, as most people had stopped moving to stare at the white caps rushing toward us. There is no better reminder of how tiny you are and powerless against nature than a two foot wave zooming at you while you are perched atop a Fiberglas shell that is narrower than your hips. I was in the advanced boat again, though, and we were working on power strokes anyway. Bridget in the stroke seat just kept on rowing, even when the water dipped out from under her and her oar stroked the air.
When we got out and turned the boat upside down to carry it back into the boat house, it occurred to me that, as the shortest person, in the bow end of the boat, the entire contraption was angled down toward me. I heard and then felt the water from the bottom of the boat crashing down on me. I was soaked, a drowned river rat. Glasses in my mouth felt clean and hygienic compared to the bacteria I imagined now swirled on my skin. I did the only thing I could think of when I got home.
I gave Corey a big hug and started smacking him with my wet Penn State socks.