“ Protest laser 192036!”,“ Head up, keep it up! Don’ t go in there!” Screams of protests and fouls filled the quiet space over the bay. Two hundred, fourteen foot, fiber glass hauls fought for the best point on a line no more than a quarter mile long. Gulls circled overhead calling out to each other like fans cheering us on. But all of the excessive noise began to fade out as the sails luffed in the eighteen-knot breeze. Each sail had its own unique movement, like a thousand white hands waving if you were watching from the committee boat. Lasers began to claim their positions as vigilant eyes scanned the line for openings or slivers of space to make a move. Three long blasts of the committee boat’ s horn signaled three minutes to the start. My sense of sound was completely drowned out as my sight and touch began to heighten. My actions became crisper and tactics clearer. Ocean spray would coat my body as waves crawled over the haul of my white laser from all directions, leaving me to occasionally licking my salt-crusted lips as I finalized my plan of attack. Chaos from all of the boats competing for the ideal spot kicked up an uncontrollable chop. Holding my position on the line became of feat in and of itself. Every so often, I would eye my competition but only saw mouths moving and sails spastically luffing. Still no sound followed their movements, but all of that changed in a matter of seconds. Another blast from the horn signaled one minute, and the gears

inside my head were rewound. My body tensed up as my frantic looking competition found their voices and my sail howled from the passing wind.

Time continued to count down, roughly thirty seconds to the start. My heart began to throb uncontrollably to the anxiety that grew within me. My muscles flexed and relaxed repeatedly as I did my best to hold my position on the line. The start determines a good majority of any race, and knowing this, I wasn’ t about to blow it. We reached the last ten seconds and sailors’ watches began chirping like crickets. Watching the countdown as if my life depended on it, my heart picked up in rate. The sound of it pounding against my rib cage began to ring in my ears. The pounding grew louder and louder until one second to go. And then as if I had hit a wall, everything stopped. The fast paced world around me seemed to slow down to what felt like an eternity and then left in the matter of a second. But within that eternity, I remembered that even if I may fail, I will see myself through to the finish line.

Beeep! The horn on the committee boat blew. I sheeted in my main sail with a grunt, feeling like I was hauling a boulder with an inch-thick rope. My butt slid to the edge of my laser with a single thrust of my legs and the tops of my feet hooked around my hiking straps to balance out. The leading lasers, distinguished by their black, six-digit number across

their main sail, took off like a pack of horses charging over a blue plain if you watched from the shoreline. Our boats jumped at the acceleration from the wind, and only our transoms and thighs bulging from the strenuous hiking could be seen from a distance. Cries of starboard could be heard about the fleet as a boat would try to port tack the rest. Only to the dismay of those on port tack, the reality was they’ d have to tack to starboard at some point to avoid a seven-twenty foul. About half way through the first upwind leg of the race, I looked back to compare my standings to other boats. I fell about mid fleet during the current standings I had thought to myself, my first laser regatta ever, and to have already been beating half the fleet. Sailors from around the world, Junior Olympics, and beyond were sailing thirty yards in front of me. The way they commanded their boat was as if they were riding their steed, full of pride, yet modest knowing they’ d be pushed to their limit. So there I was, the pushing force, giving them a reason to become better, and a reason they’ d help me to become better.

As I rounded the windward mark to head downwind, I sailed into a puff that picked up to twenty five knots and knocked my laser over before I had any real time to react. My body immediately tensed as I hit the cold water and I let out a yelp at the shock that ran down my spine. I emerged from the salty abyss beneath my capsized boat and without any

thought I swam to the haul of my laser. I latched on to the centerboard and quickly pulled myself up, courtesy of the adrenaline that was pumping through

An Ominous Front Michael Benvenuto‘ 16