Tuesday, 5/9 - Day 16 at Sea

Where is Royce? Click to sail along! ⛵

​Surfing down the waves,
Wind is howling through the shrouds,
Flying through the air.

We have never covered 200 miles in a day. This will break our streak, 16 days in. We’ve never gone faster. The sailing has never been livelier. And still…

Alejandro and I give each other blank stares. We have discussed our lethargy. Our desire to sit. To rest. To cool down. By midday, when the sun is at its zenith, the boat turns into an inferno. To go above decks means to bake in the sun. To remain below, which is usually the decision, you sweat in your bunk trying to get comfortable under your fan. The wet bunk. The heat. The still air.

This gimbled oven we’ve called home is now lively because of the higher winds and following seas. What is helping us get to our target faster, is also our greatest torment. The heat, without the shifting boat, pitching and yawing below us, would be too much. Together, they are unforgiving.

It’s 4:30 in the afternoon. We lost an hour again today, which only extends the length of our suffering. My roommate and I are sitting at the settee below, the cabin fan aimed at the back of my neck. It’s cooled down a little, coagulating the sweat and sunscreen on my body. I’m sticky. My Garmin watch has alerted me to a “Detraining”Status, whatever that means. It can’t be healthy.

I’m already dreading the excited questions I’ll get from friends and family upon Re entry. “How was it”?! “Was the trip so amazing?!” “What was it like out there?!” I’m concerned these last few days of introspection and external suffering will skew my response. How can I possibly sum up more than 2 weeks of an ocean crossing in a manner that excites the interviewer, or gives any credence to its mental and physical demands. I can’t. I don’t have the energy to respond.

Earlier today, Mia and Chris were talking about a sailor they know who spent 306 days circumnavigating the Americas, non-stop. “Why would you do that”, Chris challenged? “What are you trying to prove, and to whom, by doing that?”, he added.

He’s right. Stopping at all of those countries along the way would make for a more rich experience, and less of a hardship. But then, why climb a mountain, or complete an ironman, or sail across an ocean? I suppose to have survived the hardship of it. Stand at the summit, the finish line, the beach - look down, or back, or across and be proud of your accomplishment. Tell your friends how hard it was.

I’m feeling like it’s mile 23 of the the marathon. So close to the tape. It’s no longer a physical journey. You need to will yourself forward. I’ve been there - I know the feeling. The body in absolute pain. It’s done. It want’s to be done. I’m feeling that now. I’m exhausted. Will I ever find motivation again? Will I ever look at another boat and want to climb aboard? Unlike the marathon, I have no choice, physically. I’m going where Falken goes. But now is not the time to give in, mentally. Overlook the heat, the exhaustion, the lethargic indifference. Try to soak it up - it’s coming to an end.

I started my 4th book yesterday. I can’t figure out this new Kindle - I never know how much progress I’ve made or what chapter I’m on - how much farther do I have? I’m just in there somewhere. Swept up in the story - a wave pulling me along. Similar waves are bringing this adventure, this marathon, this hardship to an end. I can picture the beach. I can taste the beer. I can imagine the feeling…

I just crossed an ocean, and it was good, I’ll tell my friends.