thesaltysister

It´s been 3 days of walking so far on the Camino de Santiago, and while I´m still feeling like a bit of a newbie at this whole pilgrimage thing, it´s been a real treat. Unreal scenery, fantastic hospitality, and after walking 25 km, food and wine never tasted so good! Here are some of my pilgrim awakenings to share with you all:

1) While learning to sew may have seemed trivial in junior high school, it´s a useful skill when it comes to blister care.  After a dibillitating walk yesterday wherein I resorted to bandaging my ENTIRE feet in medical tape, some fellow pilgrims and I had a little sewing bee.  This involves sewing through each blister and leaving the thread in it to drain while you have a glass of wine.  Excellent medicine I think.

2) In Spain, if you want to win a woman´s heart, you need to first grow a mullet, then buy some jeans which are very tight, and finally, you must stand nonchallantly in front of a running bull until the last possible moment when it´s finally allowed to run like hell.  Go figure!

3) Lunch on top of a midieval ruin is just plain cool!

4) It´s understood that a balanced breakfast is made up of cafe con leche and a pain chocolate.

5) Middle aged men snore. Alot.

6) Fanta and wine…who knew?

7) It´s okay if you´re so covered in sweat and sunscreen that dozens of little black flies get stuck to your skin, in your hair, and in your cleavage…because they´re stuck to everyone else too.

8) No matter how much you think you´re suffering on this trip, someone else is suffering more. Case in point…husband and wife team pushing their 4 year old over a mountain in a baby pram.

9)  Fast and salt taste goooood.

10) Camino style comprises a large dorky hat, a walking stick which makes you feel a bit like Gandalf, bits of string hanging from your feet as you treck, feet slathered in vaseline, and a scarf draped over your shoulders like a cape. Why don´t more boys like me?!

A slight departure this week my friends, because my lovely twin sister and I are leaving tomorrow for a month on the Camino de Santiago in Spain.  Yup, it’s our 30th birthday present to ourselves…a month away from work, stress, family, and the world in general to walk across northern Espana on a 1000 year old pilgrimage.   A wise coach told me once that it’s good to take time out from the things that generally fill our day, and so this will be a month away from sailing, coaching, and all the rest of the hubub that gets cluttered in my brain.

To be honest, I’m nervous.  I think it’s natural to be nervous of a 700km walk.  I’m definitely nervous of that, but there’s a wee little part of me that wonders if I can actually do this.  Only because almost exactly a month ago, as I drove to work on a sunny April morning, a car ran its stop sign and I in turn ran into it.  Hmmm…I’m thinking I forgot to mention that last month didn’t I? Oh well, the rants were much more fun at the time.  Everything turned out fine in the end, but there were ambulances, blood, stretchers, and a lovely five hour stint in a neck brace while I hung out in the ER and waited for my X-rays.  Then there was a lot of walking really slowly, coupled with some fuzzy headedness from a nice collision between my head and the airbags.

Sometimes though, we need wake up calls like this.  In the end, as I said, everything was fine.  My truck sacrificed itself for my well being, and I got a bit of a reality check.  Now it’s time to test my mettle against a month of walking 25+ km each day.  Should be heaps of fun, and a good challenge to manage blister mania.  I’ll definitely try to keep you updated on my various areas of chaffage, the status of my feet, and, for those of you who know and love me well, the quality of my ‘pre-games.’ Heh heh.

As I sit here on the eve of my adventure, I dedicate this trip to my dear friend Meggie, who originally wanted to join Meg and I because she turned 30 just after us. But Spain will have to lock up its doors for two curly haired and mildly crazed girls rather than three, as Miss Meggie is not up to the trek at this point, so that Meggie can wage her battle with Melanoma.  Hmm…this is more personal than I’ve ever been here on the SS, but I promise not to make too much of a habit out of it!

Will make as many updates as I can while I’m away, including finishing off the boat handling video posts.  In the meantime, my brother in law put it perfectly: Yo VIP, let’s kick it!

Hugs,

Jen

The last in our series of four-twinkie boat handling vids, although this one focuses particularly on boat prep.  Now that we’ve had our fill of 420 goodness, let’s go sailing!  Well, you can. I’m on a dirt road halfway between Pamplona and Santiago de Compostella…or somewhere on kilometre number 250…and my feet smell gooooooood.

xoxo

Jen

Time for some nice medium wind footage. Those I 420 folks, they’re just plain old crafty with these nice instructional vids…especially since we don’t have to scroll through dozens of home grown gopro vids of the helm’s butt!

A short post this week my friends, because the video speaks for itself.  Just a nice little instructional vid on light air sailing, produced by the International 420 Class Association which goes over key boat handling concepts. It’s part of a 4 part series, so I’ll post all four vids over the week for you and then double them up in Nerd Factor so that they don’t dissapear!

Okay team, I’m chapped.  There seems to be a mysterious culture afoot wherein sailors, coaches, and various other members of the community sit around and lament the state of our sport…but they never actually DO anything about it. Case in point:

“My coach never taught me properly, and now I go to the big clubs and get killed. It sucks”

“Yeah man, and, like, how am I ever supposed to win (fill in the blank with your own local championship event), sailing is so unorganized…”

“Why do all those other kids at (fill in the blank with your local annoyingly successful program) win all the time. Man, if I had rich parent, I bet I could win too because they could, like, buy me stuff.”

Insert pesky fluffy haired blond chick “Hey folks, there’s a two day camp this weekend, you’re invited to come train.”

“Uh, I’ll see.  I think my twice-removed great aunt is coming to town and I’m supposed to hang out with her.”

“Oh, training costs $25? Oh man, what a rip off. I’m going to the mall with my friends anyway, I have to buy some new skinny jeans.”

What the hell!?!!?!  When did it become okay to sit around and whine about your community, your federation, and, worst of all, your coaches and fellow athletes when you don’t even partake? That’s like complaining about the obesity epidemic while pounding Cheetos. If the folks above, and let’s face it, we all know people like this, spent even a third of the time being proactive  that they spent whining, can you imagine how much further ahead they would be? Can you imagine how much further ahead we would all be?  Go for a bloody sail already.  It takes ten minutes to rig up, and after five minutes on the water with your mates, you’ll have forgotten about what a moron your coach/boss/that dude who always beats you is, and you’ll be enjoying yourself.   You’ll also be improving. What a concept.

So don’t come and whine to me about the state of your sailing.  I mean, by all means, if you actually want to go out and GO SAILING then sure, whine to me all you want.  Whine to me if you want to if you want to buck up and provide opportunity to youth, underprivileged sailors, and athletes aspiring to better themselves and perform.  But if you’re just going to sit around in your wingback chair and sip scotch/beer/hot chocolate/juice box and tell me that our sport is more dead than the Spanish economy then I’m out of here.  I’ll see you on the water…well probably not actually.  And here’s some career advice for those of you who aren’t inclined to act: leave the water for those of us who actually use it and consider getting into politics.

The other day a beautiful thing happened.  Every single sailing coach or instructor on my humble little Vancouver Island got together for a weekend of professional development and sailing.  Two talented coaches ran the weekend, one from Manitoba and one from Alberta.  Yours truly sat in an easy chair and sipped coffee from a mug that read “Thunder Bay is for Lovers” and took it all in.  The rules were simple: you had to sail with someone who was from another club or city, you had to ask any question that was on your mind, and you had to try something new that you’d never done before.

Over the course of the weekend a magical thing happened…we began to act like a community.  For two days, we managed to shed the “I’m from this club and you’re from that club” mentality, or worse, the “your from WHAT city/province/country”?!  Folks just went out, introduced themselves to a stranger, and then went and rocked some drills.  It was very obvious that there were discrepancies in experience levels and technical knowledge, while some people flashed deer in headlights when asked to run a start sequence, others were practising their pumping skills off the startling-to the chagrin of anyone who had no idea what pumping was.  But, the point is that over the course of the weekend, these gaps were reduced, and the knowledge was spread out from competitive programs to sailing hamlets and vice versa.  Best yet, people made some professional contacts and, heaven forbid, some friends.  Funny that eh?

I was chatting on the phone with my twin sister the other day, and reminiscing about the 90′s and the vast array of style that surrounded us at the time.  Picture two girls, recently relocated from above the 60th parallel, showing up to their first sailing lesson dressed in cut off jean shorts, hypercolour t-shirts, and toting fanny packs and walkmans with MC Hammer cassette tapes inside.  Kelowna…lock up your sons…

As we chatted about those good old days floating around on the lake, Meg chuckled and confessed that “the only reason I ever stayed in sailing was because I thought that the instructors were cute, eventually I ended up liking it.”  Hmm, as I tried to remember my instructors beyond their mullets and grungesque gen X plaid, I got thinking.  Why did I end up liking the sport that I did anyway?  Between soccer and fieldhockey, between rugby and and rowing, and in spite of the myriad arts programs that we both participated in, sailing ended up winning out.  Why was that?

Many kids end up sailing because it’s where they belong.  Sure I played lots of other sports, but let’s face it, I was never a particularly stellar soccer player, and was frankly insulted when I joined the girls rugby team and they called me a hooker.  At twelve years old, I was allowed to drive my very own vessel.  At 16 I was travelling all over the province with my boat…sans parental unit!  It was a sport that I was finally good at in a sea of sports where I was only just good enough.  The best part? Beating all the grown ups when I got back to my own club.

Sailing offers the affiliation of a team, but a level of independence that many kids don’t get to experience until they grow up and move out on their own.  Sailors get to travel, they’re responsible for their own boats, and they experience mother nature at her finest.  At my school in the 90′s, most people were excited about the AAA boys basketball team, and no one was excited about Laser 2′s.  Funny thing is, none of those folks are still playing, and they occasionally end up in my sailing classes because it’s something they’ve always dreamed of doing.

Yes back in the early 90′s, Meg and I stuck around in part because our instructors were dreamy (truthfully, because Mum kicked out butts), but after that first time out on the wire, the first time I ever felt my boat plane, I was hooked and am still to this day.  It’s not my instructors that keep me here…it’s the sensation of the sport itself.

Here is a nicely detailed report following last month’s skiff testing in Spain.  Looks like the girls are pushing for the Mackay FX and the RS 900.  Both very nice choices.

http://www.thedailysail.com/node/61798

A funny thing happened this past weekend while I was coaching.  During lunch, I wandered over to a circle of dudes standing around a Melges 24, some writing feverishly, others gazing in awe of the sailor giving the clinic.  This is perfectly understandable, as the sailor in question was Melges 24 World Champion Richard Clarke who was giving a briefing on tuning and boat setup.

As I stood there eavesdropping on the tuning talk, I sensed something strange.  What was it?  Just couldn’t quite put my finger on it until I realized that what I was sensing was “Man Crush.”  Oh yes, Man Crush.  There it was in plain daylight…a group of professional and sucessful guys, standing on the ground, literally looking up at their personal sailing God, wishing that they were even a fraction as cool as this particular salty, briney sailor.  In all honesty, it was borderline cute.

Man crushes.  Dudes woshiping their sport heroes.  Girl crushes.  Standing in the boat park when suddenly Lobke Burkhout, four time 470 World Champion, asks to borrow your phillips head screwdriver, and all you can do is fumble and drop it on her foot.  Oops.

But that’s one of the biggest things that sailing can offer which other sports can’t.  Accessibility to our heroes.  In what other sport can you pack up your gear, truck on over to the next world championship event, and start on the same line as the pros, the regining world champion, or the reigning Olympic gold medalist?  That’s just plain rad.   Our sport is often seen as inaccessible to the public, but it’s one of the few sports where the elite are actually very accessible.

So who is your sailing hero?  Does this person make you want to go out and shred?  Do you know who today’s sailing heroes are?  This past weekend, Richard Clarke inspired half a dozen Melges 24′s, or about 30 people, to leave their chores, their kids’ soccer games, or that nagging spring cleaning, and go train.  Would this have happened otherwise? Probably not.  Sure, these folks could have gone out and practised on their own, they could have also used the tuning guide to set up their boats; but that’s not the point.  It’s that little bit of bro-mance, that brushing shoulders with glory and the person with the courage to live their dream, that gets the rest of us out for some much needed practice.  Long live man crushes, and long live bro-mance.