Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year. Describe it in vivid detail (texture, smells, voices, noises, colors). -- Author: Ali Edwards

This one stymied me a little. One moment? I think I just mentioned how I dread having to pin down superlatives, and I think this is even trickier for someone who hasn't journaled/blogged consistently this year. It's easy for the moments to slide by unexamined, unremarked.

Anyway, I decided that I would just go ahead and select a vivid, lively moment to memorialize, whether or not it was the singular moment in which I felt most alive.

But enough with the meta, throat-clearing bullshite. On with the story . . .

Saturday, September 11, 2010. I'd just joined a new kayak and sailing Meetup group and was diving right in for the first gathering.

This was kind of a big deal for me. 2010 has been a year of letting go of a lot of material things -- I'd had to ditch my beloved Subaru in May and had just sold my darling kayak a few weeks prior (in large part because with no car I no longer had a way to get it to water). It felt like a lot of loss, although I tried to keep my perspective. (You know: "it's only stuff, it's only stuff," my soothing mantra).

We arranged to meet up at a boathouse on the Potomac. I was a little cowed by the logistics of getting to the river with all of my gear. But I definitely felt like a total badass, trekking over to Georgetown on my bike with my life vest and my carbon fiber bent-shaft paddle stuffed in the panniers. (I must say, learning to get around almost entirely by bike has been incredibly exhilarating. That's been one huge benefit of having my car shit the bed so unexpectedly). And then the awkward greetings and introductions and preliminaries. But eventually we made our way out onto the dock. The shop assistant took one look at my fancy paddle and steered me toward a beautiful long, skinny boat. I slid into position, a little self-conscious as always.

And then the water. My god, it had been at least a year since I'd been paddling! My first few strokes were tentative, wobbly, nearly graceless, but I got my groove in no time. I snugged my knees up under the deck and just glided down the river with no resistance. Soon I was pushing those long-dormant edging skills, losing myself in the motion and moment for long stretches until I'd catch another member of the group glancing my way and revert to feeling goofy.

This was one of those days that DCers believe is our just reward for suffering so much oppressively heinous humidity and heat. Around 80° with a sky so clear and blue that you could call it "cerulean" and not be resorting to cliché. The Potomac was cool and dark and nearly glassy until we passed under the Roosevelt bridge -- then the motorboat traffic kicked up enough of a chop to get things rocking.

About an hour and a half into the paddle, I ended up drifting in front of the Kennedy Center for a good ten minutes. For once, I wasn't stressing my soft upper arms or my Buddha belly. I felt so strong!, was so conscious of the power coursing through me. Elation and serenity in equal measure. That's all.