Time for the Kayaking Story

I mentioned this last week...but here's the real story:

So after the fun kayaking trip, even with all the people, I was ready to hit the water again. All I needed was a kayak, paddle, PFD (personal flotation device, or life-jacket, for normal people), and someone to go with.
By Tuesday night, despite having the terrible horrible no-good stomach virus that immediately followed the fun kayaking trip, I had been talking kayaks to everyone I met. I'm sure I was annoying. Sorry. (did that sound sincere?)
What I learned was that I'm way behind the curve. Not only does half the church kayak, but they didn't know that anyone else did. So now I have two projects: learn to kayak and get a group together. I left a meeting Tuesday night with the promise of a loaner kayak and a date for kayaking on Thursday morning...and off I went.
It was a little breezy, but so much of the water here is sheltered that we didn't let that stop us, although perhaps we should have. I took every bungee cord I owned and manhandled the loaner kayak onto my Camry and drove about a mile to the hardware store to get more, before the thing took off (this is, of course, after I'd tried to find a way to cram the thing in the car. It wasn't a big/long kayak, but it was not going. Not at all.)
We walked the kayaks to the water and had a pretty good time for the first 2/3 of the trip. It was apparent to me as soon as I saw it that the loaner kayak was not created equal to the rental I had last week, but I reasoned that this would be a good thing, as I could test various models and decide which one I might like to buy. We paddled through the light chop around a small island, learned that if we stopped paddling, we'd move backwards, and called a church member to come out on his deck and wave at us as we paddled on by.
So far, so good.
Except. Ah, there it is: the bad word. Except.
Except that the loaner kayak was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. First I noticed that there wasn't any real back support, which was a little annoying but really not the problem I feared it could be. Oh well, I thought, something to remember when I'm buying my own: definitely want to invest in a kayak seat. No big deal. But (the other bad word), by the time we'd gotten around the island and past the church member's house, my legs were hurting. Not too much, but in a really uncomfortable, you-may-not-be-able-to-walk-later, why-did-I-drag-my-arthritic-self-out-here kind of way.
I kept telling myself that if I could just tolerate it a little longer, I'd be able to get back to the ramp where we put in and the trip would be over. I said it over and over again, my own little pain mantra, until finally I snapped. I told my friend that I was in trouble, and she pointed out a little beach in a neighbor's backyard (yes, it's much like paradise here). I promptly slid out of the boat and found immediate relief.
The relief lasted, incidentally, just as long as I stayed in waist-deep water. As soon as I got close to the little sandy spot where I'd come out of the water, and especially as soon as my legs had to support all that weight instead of the water, I began to notice that all was not quite as well as I'd thought. It was a long, painful afternoon last Thursday. I was okay, only wincing occasionally, until after my shower, when I sat down for lunch, and thought I might not get back up again.
I did, and I'm moving, and now free from pain. And call me a glutton for punishment, but I'm anxious to go out again.
I'm taking a kayaking class next week, in fact. Renting a kayak, from the nice people I went out with the first time. And ready to go.
Want to join me?