July 2, 2010
By Sarah Wegmueller
Some sailors and scientists maintain regular workout routines to prepare them for the physical effort needed for halyard hauling, sail furling, and line coiling. Dave Murphy and Giora Proskurowski practice lunges, straight-backed, one in front of the other like ants, from the foredeck to the quarterdeck and back. Colleen Allard has an enviable routine for abs, balancing on her back as the ship bends with the waves. The foredeck is often busy with people exercising: Roman Shor can be spotted doing push-ups, Meg Cronin and Ben Schellpfeffer are stretching, and Jenan Kharbush, Marina Cassio, and I do leg-lifts and planks.
I have adapted a yoga sequence for the ship that, though far from polished, has become part of my daily routine. It helps my mind as well as my body. I begin by acknowledging the sun. Facing it for a series of sun salutations, I sync my breathing with the ocean swells rolling under our boat. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and promptly lose my balance and fall over.
The ocean breathes unpredictably: one swell crashes into the hull of the Cramer, dousing the foredeck and me with chilly, salty spray. The next swell rolls lazily under the ship almost unnoticed; another gasps and unapologetically pushes the boat out of the way, toppling any unsecured items, such as myself, leeward. The swells do not come regularly. Sometimes, like a bathtub (as in the first days of this voyage), none come at all.
Regardless, I have found that breathing with the sometimes erratic ocean allows my thoughts to close in on the present: Sargasso Sea, plastic pieces, science, and sailing. I close my eyes as I transition to Downward Facing Dog where my hands and feet are on the deck and my hamstrings are stretched. At first I feel like a mangy three-legged dog. I haven't been particularly clean for weeks, my hands are stiff and calloused from sail handling, and my balance seems non-existent. But I am a stubborn dog. I grind my feet into the deck, breathing with the swells. Crash, exhale; lift, inhale.
I move to Cobra. My legs are straight behind me on the deck and my chest is lifted toward the sun. A gentle trough dips the boat and deepens this pose, straining my triceps. As I stretch, I have more confidence in my muscles' ability to move smoothly with the moving water. Warrior Poses One, Two, and Three are next. I balance precariously on legs outstretched, reaching my fingers toward the sky, then to the horizon. As I take the Inverted Triangle Pose, a wave spills onto the deck. The windlass anchor system, an unforgiving rock in the center of the foredeck, catches my fall and decorates my body with bruises. I recover and return to Downward Dog and then to Child's Pose, where I rest my body over my shins.
Thirty minutes after I start, I bid the sun and the ocean adieu and head below for breakfast. Walking aboard a rocking ship is no easier than my stretch routine, yet I find that humbling myself to respond to the ocean's movements with my own inspires patience and strength.
