(Mis)Adventures in Paddle Boarding

I can't stop thinking about it. It's a reoccurring thought and though I try to erase it from my memory, it sits there like a parrot on my shoulder. (Apparently I'm a pirate in my imagination.) A couple weeks ago, when we photographed a wedding in Hawaii, we decided to paddle board on Waikiki. This might not seem like a big deal, but I haven't swam in the ocean for four years…not since I almost drowned.

I took a deep breath and paddled toward the crystalline waves. Seated, I straddled the board to make my way past the waves, but on my way out, my eyes fell upon three dark…rocks (no, they don't float)…pieces of wood (no, this is Hawaii, not Yosemite)…things? They floated near me and just before they brushed against my left leg, I noticed it was poop. Should I say that last part again? POOP.

Four years of waiting to venture back in the ocean and I'm greeted with fecal matter. Internet, WELCOME TO MY LIFE.

I spent the rest of my inaugural paddle boarding experience determined to remain standing for fear of accidentally falling into Hawaiian logs. And, why? Why am I telling you this story? I have no idea…none other than I wanted to share it with someone so the mental picture can sit on your shoulder like a parrot.

It's no fun being a pirate by yourself.