I cried in my pillow today.
Three quarters of the way around the world and the ache of muscles, mind and heart resound. Like a long-distance runner, ocean sailing is a solitary journey as what drives you here is personal and what keeps you here is private. The why? The challenges continue to confront you and you hate the stubborn need to plough on. One more reef, one more sail change, one more night shift...
And then you face the North Pacific and it throws everything at you. Big rollers, cold sea lashing you, bathtubs of water dumped on deck. Big men slip and fall and hit their heads or bodies and I see the flicker of uncertainty pass across their faces. The cold and damp permeate the multitude of layers you’re wearing as you guard the winch, or your freezing knuckles hold trim. You ache to grind or get on the helm to drive it out. You turn your head from the horizontal rain that strikes your cheeks like icy shards, and you blink the drops away. How many hours to go? This is endurance.
But no-one moans. A collective silence befalls your watch, digging in, carrying on, till a shout for “hot drinks? or a gentle “you okay?” breaks the gloom. These like-minded strangers you are travelling with know your pain and keep you sane. Their journeys are their own, but they are with you, on your side. We go below, seeking refuge and relief. Too short the break we know, but still, we share a joke, give a hug, offer a smile.
Before sleep I read an email from my son and the last words say “keep going” and I know I can, and I cried in my pillow today.