Pie de la Cuesta, Pt. 1

A glorious part of my Mexican adventure is Pie de la Cuesta. A little street lined on one side by the sea and on the other by a blue-blue lagoon. Small hotels line the beach, each with their own set of beach chairs and hammocks. Warm sand. Warm sun. Warm water. And me… looking like an ass-hole.

I was unequipped for the beaches near Acapulco. After the perfectly calm and luxuriously paradise-like waters of Thailand, I took for granted the awesomeness of the ocean. Perhaps it was the force of the waves, but I’m betting my sand-burn on my fatness.
No no… before you judge, hear me out. M.I.P. had no problems maneuvering the incoming waves. But I had twice the physical resistance as he. The waves would crash against my thighs and my stomach forcing me backward. With no waste-line to make me aerodynamic, all I could do was ride the wave backward.
This force wasn’t the problem. It was the out-tide moving under the incoming wave. I was off balance and could easily have found my balance again if the current at my feet wasn’t pulling my bottom half in the opposite direction as my heavier top half.
There I was, rolling in the ocean like whale in a dryer with M.I.P. laughing at me. Later, I could feel where the sand had stripped layers of skin off my legs. It felt like an invisible sun-burn. But at the time, my stubborn nature kicked in. I did not roll once, but continued to get back in the damn ocean again and again.
Oh, the ass that I am.

The waves weren’t the only way that I ass-ified myself. While kayaking in the lagoon, I was pleased with myself for learning so many years ago to put sunscreen on my exposed legs. A nasty sunburn on a fishing boat with my grandfather is the reason for my caution. But alas, I got bored with the whole process and instead of continuing the coverage to all my exposed parts I globbed some around my ankles and then couldn’t be bothered to get between the straps of my Tevas.
For the next few weeks I walked around with a painful, blistered, retarded looking sunburn on the tops of my feet. My favorite was the globby part around my ankles where I had crooked lines of red by white.
It is a good thing some people find my ineptitude endearing. But I often wonder, how have I survived this long without major incident to myself?
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