becauseihavenowife.com
| following Andy Polley as he travels around the world... |
I tend to get bored pretty easily. I don’t think it’s that I’m hard to impress
(although I am)…it’s just that I’ve done so much! And after a while, I just
get tired of “the way things have been done.” Sometimes that provides
some sweet new opportunities in life, and other times it leads to…well…
So I have grown up around a boat for as long as I can remember. My first
memories are with a pea green Sea Ray ski boat. I would always ride at
the very front of the boat. I couldn’t sit back in the soft cushions of the
rear or middle. I had to be the lead man, the guy looking for objects in the
water. My eyes never stopped searching for big logs, bloated fish, and of
course, just the beautiful scenery of water and land. I was six years old.
As I grew up, I experienced other boats, as well. The pea green boat had
seen better days, so my family moved on to another one. Mark Twain,
actually. Frankly, as with the man himself, this boat had seen even better
days. So we moved on to yet another, which is where this story all comes
to play…
And seeing that we had a boat, the logical conclusion is that we “go
boating,” as we call it. You know, as just a sidenote, life would sure be a
whole lot more enjoyable and easier if we just added “-ing” on to the ends
of objects to describe what we do with them. We could grab our keys and
go legging out to our vehicle where we go carring, grab some aviators from
the glove compartment and go planing, or find an Amtrak for some
training. But this is the English language, and we have no such luck.
So anyway, we go boating. It all started out at Clinton Lake, about an hour’
s drive with the pea green machine. But then we moved, and the lake was
at our proverbial backdoor. A five-minute drive, and we were there. Which
made it pretty easy to make excuses to head out to the lake.
So growing up, I found myself out on the lake quite a bit. I rode tubes, I
learned to ski, and I mastered each quite well. Which is where my
gift/curse comes in. You see, after you learn to balance yourself on two
skis, you get bored. Well, at least I do. I mean, I am being towed by a
rope behind a boat. What fun is that?! All I am doing is standing. So
gradually, over the course of years probably, I learned the intricacies of
skiing. I would venture outside the wake, then back in. Wow! At least for
a summer. But then next summer comes around, and I am bored with
going in and out of the wake. So I dodge buoys. I try to get as close as I
can without completely losing valuable body parts. One time I wasn’t so
lucky, but that’s for a different story…
But I was discontent with skiing straight, and I was unhappy with going in
and out of the wake. So what next? Well, why not get two people behind a
boat? That worked incredibly easily. So we moved up to three. Then
four. Then five. Then six. Again, great things to try, but eventually you
master them. And so it becomes time to move on.
Enter story time. My family and I found ourselves in the heart of Lake of
the Ozarks, my family’s vacation stomping grounds for a number of years.
Grandma and Grandpa owned a cabin on the lake, and we had a boat, so
it was a perfect fit. A week’s worth of skiing, tubing, eating at restaurants
on the lake, playing Skip-Bo with the family, flirting with tan gas station
attendants on the water, and wondering which aunt was going to yell at
which aunt in a heated cabin battle. Needless to say a delightful family
experience!
At this particular vacation, I had convinced my family to invite along one of
my closest friends, Jared. We were literally attached at the hip. The first
few days were more of the same. Some skiing, some tubing, some family-
ing. See how well that worked?!
But as we have learned by now, things became well…old.
And so I found myself out in the middle of the lake skiing again. Well, six
people aren’t always readily available for skiing, so I was content to do a
double with Jared. We were pulled up easily enough, and we spent a good
deal spraying each other with our water tails. Stuff I have all done before,
of course.
Well, in typical Andy Polley fashion, I figured it was time to try something
new. Grabbing the handle with my teeth sounded like a good idea, but you
will quickly learn just how bad of an idea that is. I opted to keep my pearly
whites that day. I thought about holding the handle with a ski. Nah, not
today. I thought about barefooting. I’ll wait. Then I had an idea!
Why not bend down and ski with the handle between your legs?!
Well, that sounded easy enough, but it was a gesture far-removed from
just holding it upright. So I bent my knees, took my left hand off the
handle, hung on with my right, and tried to grab the handle with my left
hand through my legs. Hmm, this wasn’t working so well. The handle was
too far forward for me to grab onto it without my left arm pushing in on my
left calf (which would not make for a good day on the skis!). So rather
than give up on the idea, I opted to give me some slack…
I stood back up, took my left hand and grabbed the handle, then took my
right hand off and reached forward on the rope. I grabbed on tight to the
rope and then proceeded to bend back down. A quick glance showed
Jared watching intently at my every move! This was going to be good!
Now I was in position to grab the handle. The handle was now dangling
within reach, and my left hand could reach it. After grabbing it with my left
hand, I let go of the rope with my right hand, held on tight with my left hand
to prevent my arm from going into the back of my calf, and brought my
right hand around the back! I was now skiing with the rope between my
legs! A feeling of exhilaration now filled my body! This sure beat the
normal everyday boring way of skiing!
After a short period, I had had my fill, and so I let go with my right hand and
reached around the front of my body to grab the rope again. Once I had it
in my hand, I now had the slack back for my left hand.
SPLASH!!!
Let me first say that there are times when skiing or tubing that everything
can be going perfect…and then change in the blink of an eye. You may
lose your weight to one side of a tube and instantly find yourself skipping
across the water. You may clip just the tip of your ski into the water and
instantly find yourself face-planting the concrete surface. You really may
not have a clue what has just happened, but you only know that you were
once moving but now you are not.
Which is where I found the problem.
You see, I had been skiing literally for years at this point. And I have taken
many tumbles. I have face-planted, I have barrel-rolled, I have had skis hit
me in the head, I have hit bodies with other people, I have skipped
effortlessly across the water. But in each of these instances, I noticed a
significant fact of physics. I stopped. After a brief tumble, after a skip (or
two or three), my momentum was done. I was being acted upon by an
outside force (the water), and my movement was finished. I could only wait
for the boat to come back and pick me up.
So about that problem. Well, I went down. I am not sure why I went down,
but I went down. I either lost my balance, or buried a ski, or clipped my ski
on the water, or simply couldn’t hang on by just the thin rope. I just knew
that I went down.
But physics didn’t kick in.
Because I found myself still moving. And in that mysterious part of life that
few of us are granted, my mind was able to process everything in an
instant. In just a split second, I realized that I was no longer being pulled
by the rope. Rather, the rope was pulling me. But here is the problem. I
was not hanging onto the rope…the rope was hanging onto me!
And so the mysterious overdrive function kicked in. I can only remember
the idea to push down on my left ski which was still on to try to make me
skim across the water rather than be drug through it. I do not know how
much that helped, or how well I was able to do it. I only know that is the
only action my mind told me to do.
And then physics decided to catch up. Only it was a little late. I had just
been dragged through the water by a 115 HP boat by my hand. Somehow
or another the rope came off, even before my grandpa could turn the boat
fully around to take off the pressure. I still have a flashbulb picture of the
sideview of that boat, angled sharply from the steep turn, so that I could
look into it, grandpa looking back with a very straight face.
And I just floated there. Then came the question, “Are you OK?”
Jared had seen everything. It is a little known fact in multiple-person skiing
that when one skier goes down, you all go down. This prevents the rope
from getting tangled in your skis or from hitting you as it bounces across
the water. But it also allows the boat itself to slow down. You need a good
speed to ski, and when a boat has to return to pick up a skier, you cannot
drive fast!
So Jared sees me go down, so he lets go of his rope. But as Jared tells
the story, he says, “I saw Andy go down, but then I saw him keep on
going. And I’m thinking, ‘Now that can’t be right.’”
No, no, it was not right.
“Are you OK?”
Now let me just clarify a little about this question. This is coming from a
friend who has been at my side for the past couple of years. He saw me
through a concussion to my head as I drove off of a loading dock. I told
him I was fine. He saw me through a possible concusssion to my head as I
was kicked by an out-of-control swinger. I bled out of my nose for more
than an hour. I even lost a liver in the sink of a Hardee’s. I told him I was
fine. He saw me through numerous snow-skiing falls, numerous nut shots,
and numerous other various injuries. Jared had seen it all. And I always
told him that I was fine.
“Are you OK?”
I didn’t know what was happening. I only knew that I had been pulled by a
boat. And I knew that something was not right.
“Are you OK?”
Concussions. Nosebleeds. Bean shots.
“No, man. No.”
The words surprised even myself, but I needed Jared to know that this was
no joking matter. Something was wrong with my body, and I needed help.
Except I was floating in the middle of a lake.
Seconds later, the boat arrives. They are frantic to see how I am doing. I
don’t even remember the conversation, but I hold my hand up. It has
grown…considerably. And it has blood at various parts.
I have to be lifted into the boat, as I cannot use my hand, yet I am still with
them mentally. Of course, in typical fashion, I ask my sister to take a
picture. I hold up my hand in the back of the boat, and I muster a smile. A
very fake one, I might add, but there is no sense having a sad guy in a
picture for the rest of my life!
And then we head back up to the cabin. I walk up to the cabin. My hand is
severely swelling. It has grown to at least twice its normal size. I no longer
have any knuckles on my left hand.
They sit me on the deck outside. Grandma goes inside to get some ice.
They start asking me questions. I answer who I am, where I
am…meaningless questions. And then I close my eyes. The pain starts to
increase unbearably.
My hand has grown to almost three times its normal size. The ice is
applied. What a terrible idea. Someone should be shot for even thinking
that ice was a good medication. I sit there and listen to my family members.
“He’ll be fine.” “That is nasty.” “Look at the size of it.” “You should take
him in.” “Let’s see what it does first.”
“Andy, open up your eyes!!!”
“Nah, I’m good.”
My body is seriously starting to act up. I start to sweat profusely. But it is
not “Hey, I just worked out sweat.” Nope, no dripping of any kind. Rather, I
have about a million beads of sweat all across my body. EVERYWHERE.
“He’s going into shock!”
“Andy, open your eyes.”
It took all I had to keep my eyes open.
“Get him in the car, we’re going to the hospital.”
And sure enough we did. I was able to walk to the car, I was able to stay
awake on the way to the hospital. But the pain was pretty rough. And the
size of my hand was unbelievable. At least three times its normal size.
We had to wait at the doctor’s office for a bit, but we finally get in. The
doctor orders X-Rays as he is sure that something is broke. And I am told
that they have seen this case numerous times. “Did you get towed under
water?” “No.” “Normally when you get towed by a rope, you get drug deep
under the water.” “Hmm…nope, not me.” Boy, was I thankful! I was
pleasantly amused, though, that a hospital considered this to be a
relatively common occurrence. That’s life on the water, I guess.
Well, the X-Rays come back, and to the surprise of the doctor, nothing is
broken. My years of drinking a half-gallon of milk each day have obviously
paid off great dividends. But the doctor goes on.
“Your hand is probably never going to fully recover. At its size, I would not
be surprised to see you have swelling for the rest of your life. The swelling
will go down over time, but you will most likely have larger fingers than you
did before.”
I am telling you, my hand was HUGE! And then I learned something else.
“Your cuticles have all popped. The pressure build-up was so great that
every single one of your cuticles burst.”
Sure enough, a quick glance at my hand showed the details. Just below
every single one of my fingernails, I had blood which had burst forth. Now
that is really somethin’.
I was put in a cloth and sent home. Just some pain medication was all I
needed. The following week would be move-in day for college. I was
going to be a freshmen. Needless to say, I was not much help with
moving. Some of my earliest friends at college remember me as the guy
having the huge hand.
But my hand has recovered. The scars have faded, and I am happy to say
that my hand is back to normal. Skiing normal. Of course, I have hopped
back on the skis. I have slalomed, I have ramped from one wake to the
other, and I have skied with friends again. Just like nothing ever happened.
I only have one regret about the entire story…
The picture my sister took did not turn out.
And believe me…that kills me.
(although I am)…it’s just that I’ve done so much! And after a while, I just
get tired of “the way things have been done.” Sometimes that provides
some sweet new opportunities in life, and other times it leads to…well…
So I have grown up around a boat for as long as I can remember. My first
memories are with a pea green Sea Ray ski boat. I would always ride at
the very front of the boat. I couldn’t sit back in the soft cushions of the
rear or middle. I had to be the lead man, the guy looking for objects in the
water. My eyes never stopped searching for big logs, bloated fish, and of
course, just the beautiful scenery of water and land. I was six years old.
As I grew up, I experienced other boats, as well. The pea green boat had
seen better days, so my family moved on to another one. Mark Twain,
actually. Frankly, as with the man himself, this boat had seen even better
days. So we moved on to yet another, which is where this story all comes
to play…
And seeing that we had a boat, the logical conclusion is that we “go
boating,” as we call it. You know, as just a sidenote, life would sure be a
whole lot more enjoyable and easier if we just added “-ing” on to the ends
of objects to describe what we do with them. We could grab our keys and
go legging out to our vehicle where we go carring, grab some aviators from
the glove compartment and go planing, or find an Amtrak for some
training. But this is the English language, and we have no such luck.
So anyway, we go boating. It all started out at Clinton Lake, about an hour’
s drive with the pea green machine. But then we moved, and the lake was
at our proverbial backdoor. A five-minute drive, and we were there. Which
made it pretty easy to make excuses to head out to the lake.
So growing up, I found myself out on the lake quite a bit. I rode tubes, I
learned to ski, and I mastered each quite well. Which is where my
gift/curse comes in. You see, after you learn to balance yourself on two
skis, you get bored. Well, at least I do. I mean, I am being towed by a
rope behind a boat. What fun is that?! All I am doing is standing. So
gradually, over the course of years probably, I learned the intricacies of
skiing. I would venture outside the wake, then back in. Wow! At least for
a summer. But then next summer comes around, and I am bored with
going in and out of the wake. So I dodge buoys. I try to get as close as I
can without completely losing valuable body parts. One time I wasn’t so
lucky, but that’s for a different story…
But I was discontent with skiing straight, and I was unhappy with going in
and out of the wake. So what next? Well, why not get two people behind a
boat? That worked incredibly easily. So we moved up to three. Then
four. Then five. Then six. Again, great things to try, but eventually you
master them. And so it becomes time to move on.
Enter story time. My family and I found ourselves in the heart of Lake of
the Ozarks, my family’s vacation stomping grounds for a number of years.
Grandma and Grandpa owned a cabin on the lake, and we had a boat, so
it was a perfect fit. A week’s worth of skiing, tubing, eating at restaurants
on the lake, playing Skip-Bo with the family, flirting with tan gas station
attendants on the water, and wondering which aunt was going to yell at
which aunt in a heated cabin battle. Needless to say a delightful family
experience!
At this particular vacation, I had convinced my family to invite along one of
my closest friends, Jared. We were literally attached at the hip. The first
few days were more of the same. Some skiing, some tubing, some family-
ing. See how well that worked?!
But as we have learned by now, things became well…old.
And so I found myself out in the middle of the lake skiing again. Well, six
people aren’t always readily available for skiing, so I was content to do a
double with Jared. We were pulled up easily enough, and we spent a good
deal spraying each other with our water tails. Stuff I have all done before,
of course.
Well, in typical Andy Polley fashion, I figured it was time to try something
new. Grabbing the handle with my teeth sounded like a good idea, but you
will quickly learn just how bad of an idea that is. I opted to keep my pearly
whites that day. I thought about holding the handle with a ski. Nah, not
today. I thought about barefooting. I’ll wait. Then I had an idea!
Why not bend down and ski with the handle between your legs?!
Well, that sounded easy enough, but it was a gesture far-removed from
just holding it upright. So I bent my knees, took my left hand off the
handle, hung on with my right, and tried to grab the handle with my left
hand through my legs. Hmm, this wasn’t working so well. The handle was
too far forward for me to grab onto it without my left arm pushing in on my
left calf (which would not make for a good day on the skis!). So rather
than give up on the idea, I opted to give me some slack…
I stood back up, took my left hand and grabbed the handle, then took my
right hand off and reached forward on the rope. I grabbed on tight to the
rope and then proceeded to bend back down. A quick glance showed
Jared watching intently at my every move! This was going to be good!
Now I was in position to grab the handle. The handle was now dangling
within reach, and my left hand could reach it. After grabbing it with my left
hand, I let go of the rope with my right hand, held on tight with my left hand
to prevent my arm from going into the back of my calf, and brought my
right hand around the back! I was now skiing with the rope between my
legs! A feeling of exhilaration now filled my body! This sure beat the
normal everyday boring way of skiing!
After a short period, I had had my fill, and so I let go with my right hand and
reached around the front of my body to grab the rope again. Once I had it
in my hand, I now had the slack back for my left hand.
SPLASH!!!
Let me first say that there are times when skiing or tubing that everything
can be going perfect…and then change in the blink of an eye. You may
lose your weight to one side of a tube and instantly find yourself skipping
across the water. You may clip just the tip of your ski into the water and
instantly find yourself face-planting the concrete surface. You really may
not have a clue what has just happened, but you only know that you were
once moving but now you are not.
Which is where I found the problem.
You see, I had been skiing literally for years at this point. And I have taken
many tumbles. I have face-planted, I have barrel-rolled, I have had skis hit
me in the head, I have hit bodies with other people, I have skipped
effortlessly across the water. But in each of these instances, I noticed a
significant fact of physics. I stopped. After a brief tumble, after a skip (or
two or three), my momentum was done. I was being acted upon by an
outside force (the water), and my movement was finished. I could only wait
for the boat to come back and pick me up.
So about that problem. Well, I went down. I am not sure why I went down,
but I went down. I either lost my balance, or buried a ski, or clipped my ski
on the water, or simply couldn’t hang on by just the thin rope. I just knew
that I went down.
But physics didn’t kick in.
Because I found myself still moving. And in that mysterious part of life that
few of us are granted, my mind was able to process everything in an
instant. In just a split second, I realized that I was no longer being pulled
by the rope. Rather, the rope was pulling me. But here is the problem. I
was not hanging onto the rope…the rope was hanging onto me!
And so the mysterious overdrive function kicked in. I can only remember
the idea to push down on my left ski which was still on to try to make me
skim across the water rather than be drug through it. I do not know how
much that helped, or how well I was able to do it. I only know that is the
only action my mind told me to do.
And then physics decided to catch up. Only it was a little late. I had just
been dragged through the water by a 115 HP boat by my hand. Somehow
or another the rope came off, even before my grandpa could turn the boat
fully around to take off the pressure. I still have a flashbulb picture of the
sideview of that boat, angled sharply from the steep turn, so that I could
look into it, grandpa looking back with a very straight face.
And I just floated there. Then came the question, “Are you OK?”
Jared had seen everything. It is a little known fact in multiple-person skiing
that when one skier goes down, you all go down. This prevents the rope
from getting tangled in your skis or from hitting you as it bounces across
the water. But it also allows the boat itself to slow down. You need a good
speed to ski, and when a boat has to return to pick up a skier, you cannot
drive fast!
So Jared sees me go down, so he lets go of his rope. But as Jared tells
the story, he says, “I saw Andy go down, but then I saw him keep on
going. And I’m thinking, ‘Now that can’t be right.’”
No, no, it was not right.
“Are you OK?”
Now let me just clarify a little about this question. This is coming from a
friend who has been at my side for the past couple of years. He saw me
through a concussion to my head as I drove off of a loading dock. I told
him I was fine. He saw me through a possible concusssion to my head as I
was kicked by an out-of-control swinger. I bled out of my nose for more
than an hour. I even lost a liver in the sink of a Hardee’s. I told him I was
fine. He saw me through numerous snow-skiing falls, numerous nut shots,
and numerous other various injuries. Jared had seen it all. And I always
told him that I was fine.
“Are you OK?”
I didn’t know what was happening. I only knew that I had been pulled by a
boat. And I knew that something was not right.
“Are you OK?”
Concussions. Nosebleeds. Bean shots.
“No, man. No.”
The words surprised even myself, but I needed Jared to know that this was
no joking matter. Something was wrong with my body, and I needed help.
Except I was floating in the middle of a lake.
Seconds later, the boat arrives. They are frantic to see how I am doing. I
don’t even remember the conversation, but I hold my hand up. It has
grown…considerably. And it has blood at various parts.
I have to be lifted into the boat, as I cannot use my hand, yet I am still with
them mentally. Of course, in typical fashion, I ask my sister to take a
picture. I hold up my hand in the back of the boat, and I muster a smile. A
very fake one, I might add, but there is no sense having a sad guy in a
picture for the rest of my life!
And then we head back up to the cabin. I walk up to the cabin. My hand is
severely swelling. It has grown to at least twice its normal size. I no longer
have any knuckles on my left hand.
They sit me on the deck outside. Grandma goes inside to get some ice.
They start asking me questions. I answer who I am, where I
am…meaningless questions. And then I close my eyes. The pain starts to
increase unbearably.
My hand has grown to almost three times its normal size. The ice is
applied. What a terrible idea. Someone should be shot for even thinking
that ice was a good medication. I sit there and listen to my family members.
“He’ll be fine.” “That is nasty.” “Look at the size of it.” “You should take
him in.” “Let’s see what it does first.”
“Andy, open up your eyes!!!”
“Nah, I’m good.”
My body is seriously starting to act up. I start to sweat profusely. But it is
not “Hey, I just worked out sweat.” Nope, no dripping of any kind. Rather, I
have about a million beads of sweat all across my body. EVERYWHERE.
“He’s going into shock!”
“Andy, open your eyes.”
It took all I had to keep my eyes open.
“Get him in the car, we’re going to the hospital.”
And sure enough we did. I was able to walk to the car, I was able to stay
awake on the way to the hospital. But the pain was pretty rough. And the
size of my hand was unbelievable. At least three times its normal size.
We had to wait at the doctor’s office for a bit, but we finally get in. The
doctor orders X-Rays as he is sure that something is broke. And I am told
that they have seen this case numerous times. “Did you get towed under
water?” “No.” “Normally when you get towed by a rope, you get drug deep
under the water.” “Hmm…nope, not me.” Boy, was I thankful! I was
pleasantly amused, though, that a hospital considered this to be a
relatively common occurrence. That’s life on the water, I guess.
Well, the X-Rays come back, and to the surprise of the doctor, nothing is
broken. My years of drinking a half-gallon of milk each day have obviously
paid off great dividends. But the doctor goes on.
“Your hand is probably never going to fully recover. At its size, I would not
be surprised to see you have swelling for the rest of your life. The swelling
will go down over time, but you will most likely have larger fingers than you
did before.”
I am telling you, my hand was HUGE! And then I learned something else.
“Your cuticles have all popped. The pressure build-up was so great that
every single one of your cuticles burst.”
Sure enough, a quick glance at my hand showed the details. Just below
every single one of my fingernails, I had blood which had burst forth. Now
that is really somethin’.
I was put in a cloth and sent home. Just some pain medication was all I
needed. The following week would be move-in day for college. I was
going to be a freshmen. Needless to say, I was not much help with
moving. Some of my earliest friends at college remember me as the guy
having the huge hand.
But my hand has recovered. The scars have faded, and I am happy to say
that my hand is back to normal. Skiing normal. Of course, I have hopped
back on the skis. I have slalomed, I have ramped from one wake to the
other, and I have skied with friends again. Just like nothing ever happened.
I only have one regret about the entire story…
The picture my sister took did not turn out.
And believe me…that kills me.
| What Not To Do With a Ski Rope #2 |
