Flying through the pain barrier
Kite-boarding lesson today. Suffice to say, I believe I seriously underestimated the level of physical fitness required to do this.
No wonder they call it an extreme sport, my fucking arms nearly got pulled out of their sockets!
We had wind. On my way to the lesson I was like a sailor of a hundred years ago, not because I was familiar with scurvy and weevils but because I was watching the tops of trees, flags and windmills (not that sailors could see trees and windmills, but you know what I mean) to see if we were going to get any wind.
We did, others were on the beach too and so it was all systems go for a lesson.
Lesson one, fly the kite. Up it went and it was like trying to steer a stage-coach. Lesson two, dip it into the wind, lesson three, scream in agony. After fifteen minutes of this my arms felt like spaghetti and I was about to throw up when I thankfully crashed the thing.
For the next three hours I flew kites, nearly passed out from pain and listened to my instructor scream 'not in the puddle' at me.
Then I jumped on a board, and the kite filled and powered up and awayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy we went. For about ten glorious seconds. the board went from zero to about MACH 8 and I was so pleased that I nearly fell over.
And that was the end of the lesson. Of course, walking off the beach we say a six year old doing it quite competently. I rather wanted to kick the kid but apparently this is considered to be bad form. Oh well.
In brief, the highlights of kiting are that you are actually supposed to skid down the beach - when you're being dragged and controlling it that's a good thing. Also, when you sit down and plant your arse, you can get better control but when the kite drags you you then get half of the beach inserted into your bottom, shells included. Finally, when you get it al right at once - it's great.
So well done the Cool Air school of kite tuition - experience, expertise and enthusiasm in equal measure, but patience by the bucket load.
No wonder they call it an extreme sport, my fucking arms nearly got pulled out of their sockets!
We had wind. On my way to the lesson I was like a sailor of a hundred years ago, not because I was familiar with scurvy and weevils but because I was watching the tops of trees, flags and windmills (not that sailors could see trees and windmills, but you know what I mean) to see if we were going to get any wind.
We did, others were on the beach too and so it was all systems go for a lesson.
Lesson one, fly the kite. Up it went and it was like trying to steer a stage-coach. Lesson two, dip it into the wind, lesson three, scream in agony. After fifteen minutes of this my arms felt like spaghetti and I was about to throw up when I thankfully crashed the thing.
For the next three hours I flew kites, nearly passed out from pain and listened to my instructor scream 'not in the puddle' at me.
Then I jumped on a board, and the kite filled and powered up and awayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy we went. For about ten glorious seconds. the board went from zero to about MACH 8 and I was so pleased that I nearly fell over.
And that was the end of the lesson. Of course, walking off the beach we say a six year old doing it quite competently. I rather wanted to kick the kid but apparently this is considered to be bad form. Oh well.
In brief, the highlights of kiting are that you are actually supposed to skid down the beach - when you're being dragged and controlling it that's a good thing. Also, when you sit down and plant your arse, you can get better control but when the kite drags you you then get half of the beach inserted into your bottom, shells included. Finally, when you get it al right at once - it's great.
So well done the Cool Air school of kite tuition - experience, expertise and enthusiasm in equal measure, but patience by the bucket load.
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