week 22

letting go

I had my second kiteboarding lesson this week, and it was so hard that my body is still sore, several days later. I have not yet gotten on the board but have learned some safety procedures on land and practiced kite control on land and in the water. The first time I was handed the kite, my instructor introduced me to the bar that I would hold onto in order to control the kite in the air. “I’m going to tell you something important about the bar and the kite, and you’re going to end up doing the opposite,” he said. Wanting to be a good student, I thought try me, and focused my full attention on the lesson. “When you feel the kite pulling hard against you, you need to push the bar away from you or completely let go of the kite. Whatever you do, do not pull the bar in towards your body, because that will just make the kite get more powerful.” I nodded. Push away or let go, got it. “Even though I tell you this, your instinct when you feel a strong pull is going to be to yank the bar toward you. But the kite will then drag you.”

On land with the trainer kite was one thing, but then I got into the water and lasted about thirty seconds before a gust of wind hit the kite and I instinctively yanked the bar toward me. The kite flew off, dragging me face-first into and then across the water for about ten feet.

“You just body-dragged, and are already jumping ahead to the next lesson!” he laughed, reminding me “when you pull back on the bar, the kite will get stronger and drag you.”

I stood up, slightly embarrassed, but figuring that the lesson was thoroughly learned and ingrained in my body. Three minutes later, as I tried to get my kite from 12 o’clock to a 45 degree angle, another burst of wind hit, I pulled the bar and slammed into the water.

“When you pull back on the bar, the kite will drag you.”

Two minutes later: slam.

“When you pull back on the bar, the kite will drag you. You want to release the bar, gently push it away from you, unless you can’t control the wind strength in which case drop the bar completely. Dropping the bar will let the strings go slack and the kite will simply drop in the water.”

Three minutes later: slam.

“We learn from our mistakes, yeah?”

It wasn’t the last time that I would faceplant by pulling the bar and trying to control what I need to just release. There’s definitely a life lesson in this, I mused, even in my moments of embarrassment and frustration. I’ve never been great at loosening my grip or giving up control.

I got scared on the next exercise and immediately dropped the bar the second I felt a wind shift. My instructor laughed, kindly imitating me throwing the bar at the first sign of wind pickup. “You can do it, gently hold the bar and move slowww-ly. Slowww-ly.” (From Morocco, his accent is very enchanting, especially when he says the word slowww-ly as he’s apt to do). And then I got it to fly, started progressing to flying the kite one-handed, and flying the kite while walking in a few feet of water. At the end of the lesson my face hurt from smiling and laughing so much— as did the rest of my body from the full body workout.

There’s something incredibly freeing about reconnecting with my body, and also having a physical pursuit that takes all of my concentration. After all, is very little room for self-criticism when you feel like you’re wrestling a bear. The exhaustion at the end feels so peaceful and complete, like the satisfied fullness from eating a delicious meal after hungering for a long time. As I start my lessons by wondering what in the hell am I doing?, I end my lessons by reveling in the sensation that it’s one of the best things I’ve ever done.

I have a feeling that I am going to learn in this sport the most by failing again and again and again, and that just maybe the lessons I learn will be useful in my life on land, too.