Sand, sand, everywhere

So in keeping with the idea of 2012 being a year of new experiences, I signed Le Boyfriend and myself up for a sandboarding trip a little while ago, and we finally got around to it on Saturday morning.

Now, I'm not a total clutz, but I'm also not the kind of girl who, when you look at me, you automatically think 'adventure sports lover', so this was always going to be an interesting morning in the dunes. While Le Boyf got the hang of standing up speeding down a dune strapped to a plank quite quickly, I bit the sand at least three times before I mastered it. There's a somewhat amusing video of my more spectacular bail out, too.

Of course, once I'd figured out how to do it, I didn't want to stop. The problem then, is that dunes, unlike ski slopes, do not have chair lifts. Which means that after 20 awesome seconds of hurtling down the sand (upright, for a change), you need to hike your way back up to the top of a soft sand dune to do it again. Which at the time didn't seem too terrible, but your quads know all about it the next morning. I'm still having trouble with stairs. Lord only knows how I'm going to manage my strengthening session at Sports Science at lunchtime.

But enough with the whining. Sandboarding was, all in all, really pretty rad. Radder still, was showering afterwards. A windy day in the dunes (yes, okay, and tumbling down them with your ankles over your head a couple time) means you have sand in all kinds of special places, where one should never have sand. Getting undressed (which I did standing in the bath) produced my own personal beach. I'm pretty sure there's still a grain lodged somehwere behind my right eyeball, and I keep accidentally winking at people while trying to dislodge it.