One of the things I got to do while visiting Carrie in Sayulita was swim in the Pacific. The Pacific is way more badass than the Atlantic, for those unfamiliar. The waves are mightier. The handful of times I have swum in the Pacific (gosh, has it only been 5 or 6 times in my whole life?) I have generally been shown who’s boss.
This time I think might have been the roughest yet; was finding sand in my drawers days after returning from the trip. Despite having changed into clean underwear, ha. One particular day of this trip I went in crudisima (way hungover) and lo, the Pacific actually made me feel better.
With one swift kick, actually, la cruda was beaten out of me. I went in, the water was nice; I waded deeper, to my waist, saw it coming, and BOOM. Tackled by a freaking washing machine and dragged 20 feet underwater. I felt the coarse sand skinning my knees as I was tossed around. Five seconds later I resurfaced, gasping and a new woman.
Walking down the street this morning, crudita (a little hungover), I found myself fantasizing about being thrown into the churning Pacific. It was nice.