Damaged

I've received significant correspondence on the title of my blog "The Damaged Diva". I feel compelled to clarify my choice for using the word "damaged". Damaged, in my view, is more of a term that represents "demoliton". I did toss around the idea of calling my blog the "Demoliton Diva" but it doesn't quite roll off the tongue as well. Then, I came across a contest where you send in a photo of yourself after you've crashed at some velocity and while damaged, managed to survive the experience. Well, this sort of struck a chord with me. The Damaged Diva blog was initiated.

The term "Damaged" has come to mean different things in today's language. My definition of damaged is a state where the final product no longer represents its original form. Take my car for example....a 2000 Subaru Outback that has seen better days. My husband will be happy to tell you that I am a fantastic driver as long as I don't drive less than 30mph and as long as I am traveling in a forward direction. I have had 3 or 4 fender benders, all of which occurred while I was going backwards. Let's face it, backwards is not my chosen direction of travel. However, we all must go backwards to go forwards sometimes. Turns out, you actually have to turn around and look at what's behind you. Hey, if I'm backing up....the children, the family dog and everything else know to run for cover. Unfortunately, parked cars do not afford me this luxury....Needless to say, every Subaru I have ever owned has a dent just above the right rear brake lamp. It's damaged, but it still goes 90 in a forward direction just fine...proudly I might add.

Damaged is a state that refers to being harmed without affecting function. I guess, I refer more to the "aesthetic" damage of a thing but a blog called "The Aesthetically Damaged Diva" also does not roll off one's tongue easily. I am proud of my damage. I have broken bones, lacerated skin, had concussions X 3, sprained ankles, replaced a hip, shredded the end of my finger, bloodied my nose numerous times, been tumbled in rivers, fallen down mountains, and been ripped in two by two adorable children. The wealth of these experiences I would not trade for a single cell that has been altered by these events. I am so glad to be "damaged". It speaks to a life of experience and a testament to my ability to bounce. I have the scars to prove it. Hence, damaged describes me well.

In today's vernacular, the term damaged has earned a new meaning. We refer to people who are "damaged" as mentally transformed in a negative way. For example,

"Dude, you do not want to date that chick. She is seriously damaged."

So "damaged" sort of refers to being a little high maintenance, which truthfully speaking, I am not far off from as well. Just ask my husband about my most recent cell phone drama....I am a brat sometimes. Of course, if AT&T was worth a darn and Blackberry could design a phone that works....we wouldn't be having this discussion.

There is one thing that bothers me about being "damaged". The definition of the term (according to Dictionary.com ) is, "Injury or harm that reduces value or usefulness."

Most of my damage has not reduced my value but rather has enhanced it. Despite my bumps and lumps, I am aging more like an antique or a fine bottle of wine and not a field of crops that got wasted by a storm. So technically, the term does not apply according to the original definition. I have looked the word up in other references and all of them have something to say about reducing the value or usefulness of the original material.

In the Spring of 2001, Marek and I were on a kayaking roll....(no pun intended). We had great water, and I was getting to paddle more and more Class V sections with very minor "damage" incurred. We paddled the upper sections of the South & North Forks of the American River, Pauley and Lavazzola Creeks, and the South Yuba in the Yuba drainage, The Tuolomne river, Burnt Ranch Gorge on the Trinity River, the Middle Fork of the Stanislaus and some other stout Class IV with occasional Class V sections. I was determined to get on Cherry Creek (Strong Class V) that summer as soon as water levels dropped and I was looking to paddle lots of hard stuff to train up for it. I had one such opportunity when a group of us decided to paddle the Upper Clavey River.

The Clavey River is a jewel of the Sierra Nevada. With large granite boulders and a wooded alpine setting of aspens and ancient forests, the river drops an average of 123 feet per mile. Two years prior, I shuttle-bunnied my husband (then boyfriend) and a group of friends to the put-in, deeply disappointed that my kayak skills were not sharp enough to join them. In spring of 2001, I was ready to see this gorgeous stretch of river with only one minor handicap. I did not own a creek boat. I had that year's version of a flat-bottomed play boat with a creek boat on my wish list. However, the opportunity to paddle with some of California's finest kayakers came before my bank account could support my gear needs, I felt the opportunity might not come again. So I rallied like any damaged diva would. The run was awesome. It was everything I had expected and more and I was so happy to be on the river with likes of Dennis Eagan, Jeremy Thomas, my husband, and Phil DeReimer. I portaged the biggest Class V's but ran a lot of hard Class IV rapids.

There was one rapid where I had to make a fairly stout ferry across fast current to get to the eddy where we took out to scout the downstream rapid. From upstream, all you could see was a big house rock and a horizon line which usually indicates a waterfall or large drop. It is customary and wise not to run anything without seeing the bottom of the rapid and knowing ahead of time where you plan to put your boat. Everyone but my husband had gotten out to scout. My husband, in all of his infinite wisdom, waited for me to make the ferry. However, I missed my ferry and flipped above the drop. I rolled up just in time to go over the drop sideways and slightly backwards. I found a small eddy but flipped trying to get to it. I rolled up once and saw a line of boulders and as I was adjusting my line, flipped again. At this point, I feared getting stuck in an ugly place, so I swam out of my boat. As the guys were yelling the line to my husband and scrambling to get back in their boats, Marek, chased after me. We recovered my gear fairly quickly. As anyone who has ever had this experience will tell you, swimming in Class IV/V whitewater is a little edgy. You have to make some pretty quick decisions about saving your own life and it tends to fire up the adrenaline a bit. Once settled on shore with all of my missing pieces put back together, it was very clear to me that I still had 6 more miles of intense whitewater to paddle. We were miles from anywhere and hiking out simply was not an option. Downstream was the fastest way to get home before dark, so I had to get my head in the game, quick-like.

The other issue was, I was the only girl on this trip. Kayaking with some of the best guys in California has an incredible "man-up" effect. I got back in my boat 'cause there was no way I was going to let the Y chromosome torch go out. One or two rapids later, I had to make a crucial move from river right to river left to miss a recirculating hydraulic of whitewater. I was close....but I got a piece of it and it slammed me upside down. After getting hammered through a couple of roll tries, I finally came up and made it to the bottom of the rapid. Two of the guys I was paddling with, Phil and Dennis, were sitting calmly, in a downstream eddy, watching me get a high sierra trashing, and one said to the other, "That girl's got some durability."

We made it safely to the end, before dark, I might add, and at the end of that day, Phil DeReimer came up to me, gave me a hug, and asked me if I felt the river was "over my head." I replied, "maybe a little, but worth it." He proceeded to share with me that I was "durable." While the hallmark of a good paddler is not to get trashed all day and survive, but rather to finesse and navigate effortlessly, I was still proud to get the durability award. Coming from these guys, it was an inspiring compliment. It would not be the first trashing of my kayak life, nor the last. However, my dream of running Cherry Creek that year was not realized as I found myself pregnant two months later. I have not kayaked Class V whitewater since.

The definition of durable is something along the lines of, "able to withstand wear, pressure, or damage." So for all of you folks that have taken the time to read my ramblings and been so kind to remind me that I am "far from damaged," I have chosen to rename my life's testament to "The Durable Diva." I offer you my appreciation for pointing out a very important distinction.

"Rolls" off the tongue quite nicely.......