In my last post, I said I'm craving "riding a wave runner until my body aches." I was speaking figuratively, but Braeden didn't get the message. As we were riding on Lake Chelan this weekend, he jumped a wave at about 30 MPH and then skipped into another one sideways. I flew off the back of the wave runner.
The ensuing moments are still a bit blurry, but a few highlights stand out.
After my third skip across the water I thought, "Wow. Braeden's a long way away already."
After my second summersault, I was hoping that I'd tied my shorts.
After four seconds or so underwater waiting for my life vest to bring me back to the surface, I realized that every part of me that could hurt did—and still does.
At least it is a happy hurt.
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