Greetings from “Harness the Wind: Learn to Sail and Learn to Lead,” an interim course in St. Petersburg, Florida. Like many a Calvin student, I chose to be a deserter in the annual war against winter. I was drawn by a desire for adventure and the need of PER credit, so I joined a group of nineteen other students to learn the art of sailing.

We began simply enough, by memorizing basic terms and maneuvers. If you bow in the front, exposing yourself, the people in the back will become stern. Sailing the five-person, moderate-sized Colgate 26s mostly consisted of making sure the sails were properly trimmed, not running into things and taking selfies. Then we moved onto the 420s.

We would be using these winged coffins for racing. The 4.2 meters boats held only two people, one to steer and command and the other to act as mobile ballast. Each person also controlled a sail, which often resulted in a shortage of hands.

My partner and I were compatible, but different. When she took the lead we expertly navigated every turn with speed and placed well in practice races. When I led, we went aground, nearly capsized, and spun around in circles. On one occasion, I also drew blood from my partner by knocking her in the head with the boom, the horizontal beam attached to the mainsail and mast that violently swings like an irate toddler when the person steering is a complete nincompoop.

Before I sound like an incompetent, wilted pansy, please note the difficulties of steering a 420. During turns, the tiller and mainsail work deviously together to rip themselves from your hands. Letting go is an option like spinning, flipping and decapitating your teammate with the boom are options. On top of all that, you must maintain an optimal angle to an ever changing wind, while avoiding the other bewildered newbies zigzagging in and out of your blind spot and charging towards the same point as you. Everyone ends up becoming a Pollock painting of scrapes and bruises. There is no forgiveness.

I do recognize that I was at no risk of dying. I was at risk of swearing. A lot. Which is like dying on the inside. Slowly.

In true Calvin fashion, the professors introduced themes of increased self-awareness into the class. I thought that those were unnecessary. After all, I didn’t need to be thrown into a speeding fiberglass shell of doom to know that I am generally risk-averse and have the coordination of a newborn Thomson’s gazelle. I am an adult now. I make casseroles. At this point in my life my personal epiphanies are minute — finding a new freckle would be a huge discovery. Yes, I know, some readers are thinking, “Just wait until you start making goo-goo eyes at some guy, forward your career, get a house, have ‘future Calvin students,’ change jobs, have a midlife crisis, miss a car payment, and get a puppy, etc.” How about no.

For now I am happy learning that I enjoy working on sailboats, just not skippering the little ones.