Giovani e incoscienti, con i genitori furiosi per quella barca a vela con cui andare fino ai Caraibi. Poi la tempesta notturna, il rischio di non farcela, la sopravvivenza.
Estate dopo estate, costume dopo costume, sorriso dopo sorriso, Nyle DiMarco batte sempre tutti.
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Sailing does your soul good. It made me think a lot about what happened when I was 20. My four deaf buddies and I decided to buy a 1975 27foot sail boat for $2,500 and sailed out of Maryland to Florida with hopes to voyage to the deepest Caribbean we could navigate until it was time for Fall semester…, testing our and the boat’s willpower and grit. I can’t count on both hands how many interventions parents held with us, telling us to reconsider the trip due to our sheer inexperience. We persisted and said we were certified in sailing— which we took a course in Puerto Rico during spring break… just weeks before. We were kids wanting to drink up the world so there weren’t anything they could reason with us. I remember when we were in the middle of Chesapeake bay. We had just begun. We were so excited that a friend shotgunned a monster energy drink. What an idiot. But anyway — the Bay was massive that it looked like we were out in the open, in the middle of Atlantic Ocean, with absolutely no sight of land. “Fuck yeah, we’re sailing!” we thought as we brought out the jib. But then there was a storm at 2am in the morning. Thunders cracked. Rained cats and dogs. The waters were choppy as it dangerously breathed up and down, above and then below us. The tiny 27foot felt like it was about to tip. As we braced for our final moments of life, we stayed up all night fighting the storm… in a bay. Obviously we survived. That event gave us confidence in this wee boat, that it would indeed take us to the Caribbean. We pushed down south via the intercostal waterway. Unfortunately, after a long month, the engine faltered in Florida, the very last city before venturing out for the Caribbean. We were broke as a heck and couldn’t afford a new engine so we had the boat up for salvage and went back to our respective homes. Over the years — it’s been 11 years now— we would group-text and wonder if the boat would survive the Caribbean. After my recent legitimate sailing experience out in the open of the Pacific Ocean to Catalina Islands, I realized that… We would’ve died.