I'm sorry, Heidi

Yeah. I said it.

Over and over again. But I’m not sorry. I didn’t do anything wrong. I thought she needed to hear it. She probably did.

It didn’t make a difference.

I’ve spent the last week trying to balance mollifying Heidi and kicking off the next project at work. I’m tired.

Heidi is pissed – understandably so. So, she cut me off (sex wise) which is OK – I probably deserve that. I think we’re sort of falling into the classic definition of “we can still be friends” state – which means we can go out and spend my money, but I will never touch her body ever again.

I don’t know where we are. She comes over, but acts like she doesn’t want to be there. We’ll go out and I’ll get the silent treatment.

So Sunday I decided to ignore her. I woke up at 4 a.m. and my mind was racing the way it used to. Going over the Lynn break up over and over again. Wondering what I did wrong. What could I have said that would have made things come out differently. What did Tim have that I didn’t have? Why? Why? Why?

I thought I was past this. Probably comes from seeing her again.

Of course, when this happens, I know I need to roll out of bed and do something. Otherwise it will never stop and I’ll be depressed for a week. So tired and grumpy, I rolled out of bed. I decide to go paddling. I made a thermos of French roast and grabbed a few granola bars and some fruit and head out to the truck to load up the kayak. I usually paddle in the bay, but the sun wasn't yet up and wouldn’t be for a while, so I decided to go down to Santa Cruz. Dawn will breaking by the time I get there.

There’s a small dock in the yacht harbor near Aldo’s where folks launch their kayaks. There’s some kayak storage nearby, so occasionally I’ll see another paddler. I was surprised this morning, when at 5:30 someone was out on the dock setting up their boat. The streetlights were still on, it was fairly foggy out, but a dull gray light was starting to make its way through.

I pulled my boat down and hauled it down to the dock and said “hey” to the other paddler. I think I startled her.

“Morning” she says.

“Good day for a paddle”

“Yeah” she snorts. “Whatcha got there, a 16?”

“Yeah, good eye. Zoar sport. Plastic.” I nod at her boat “18?”

“18-5” she says with pride. “Glass” (fiberglass construction, she means) Show-off, I think to myself.

I almost quip “size doesn’t matter” but it seemed too flirty and well, with kayaks, size does matter. The longer the boat the faster you can go. Of course, fiberglass goes faster than plastic.

“Where you going?” I ask her.

“Up past the wharf, past the lighthouse, probably to bridges (beach park). Maybe 3 miles out.”

“Want to paddle together?” I ask.

“You should know, I’m only 17” she has her arms crossed.

Seriously, I was not trying to pick her up. I suddenly realize I’m more than twice her age. OMG, I’m getting damn old. “You look older.” She really does – 25 maybe. Her face is – weathered maybe.

“Yeah, I can get into bars without getting carded.” She smiled (I think for the first time)

“Anyway, there’s no age limit on paddle buddies. You shouldn’t paddle alone.”

“You sound like my mom.”

Feeling even more ancient “Yeah, well, your mom’s right. It’s rough out there and you should have a paddle buddy.” Frankly, under these conditions I was going to stay in the harbor. It’s too rough for me to go out solo.

“Well, I paddle fast. Are you up for a workout?”

“Sure, I think I’ll be able to keep up.” Old man that I am.

She was one hell of a paddler. She set out at a really fast pace and kept if for the whole paddle. We went six miles. Going west, we were against the wind and waves, it was hard and she kept a fast pace. Returning, she settled in between the crest of two waves and surfed back. It was easier, but still took a lot of effort. You have to paddle fast enough to keep up with the waves – but they do give you a bit of a push. The whole time we were too out of breath for small talk. We finished in just over an hour (OK, say Wow! here) My arms were burning as we pulled back into the dock.

“Wow, you’re quite a paddler” I said through gasps for breath.

“Thanks, I’m surprised you could keep up.” old man - I suspect she was thinking this, but was kind enough to leave it off.

At least she was seriously out of breath, too.

“Are you training for the Olympics or something?”

“Or something…” she replied. She pulled off her paddle jacket – her fleece layer was wet with sweat and she was literally steaming in the cold air.

“What the hell are you doing going out in conditions like this solo?” I asked still gasping. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

She looked off toward the surf “No one cares if I live or die.”

“You’re got your whole life ahead of you” but then I remembered writing those same words in my blog. “bad break-up?” I asked. Or was it just suicidal teenaged angst.

She swung her head towards me, surprised. From the expression on her face I knew I was right. Oh, man, how bad can a break-up be at 17? “Yeah.” she admitted.

“And you paddle like hell to dull the pain.”

She nodded slowly “Yeah. It works for me.”

I reassured her that folks do care about her and do care if she lives or dies and that when she looks back on her life she’s going to wonder what all the fuss was about. I regurgitated much of what folks have been telling me – life coach stuff. Funny, I thoroughly believed that what I was saying to her applied to her – but not to me.

“So what are you doing out here so early in the morning?” she asked me.

I scoffed and shook my head “Bad break-up, can’t sleep, paddle like hell to dull the pain.”

“I thought you told me you had a girlfriend or something” I had mentioned Heidi.

I gave her a scowl, “It’s complicated.”

“It always is” she replied. Damn, she’s wise beyond her years.

“Help me with my boat?” I asked. My arms were burning and there was no way I could lift it onto the truck by myself.

She shook her head. “You use your arms too much, you need to get your power from your torso. Here…” she grabbed her paddle and demonstrated a proper forward stroke. “As you come around you’re pulling with your shoulder. Like this. You’ll never get decent speed like that.” She tried to show me where I was doing it wrong. She’s had some serious coaching.

“Got anything left in that thermos?” She asked after helping me load my boat onto my truck.

“You drink coffee?”

“Yeah”

“It’ll stunt your growth.”

“It will not,” she said as I poured her some coffee. “I stopped growing years ago.”

After she gulped down some coffee I helped her load her boat onto a 20 year old Subaru and watched her drive away.