Living in Ames can be tough on an outdoorsman like myself. Having lived in California and Colorado, I fell in love with the mountains and rivers of this land at an early age. Ames is a long way away from Pikes Peak, and it is difficult for someone like me to find the same thrills I feel on a Rocky Mountain summit or rafting down class III whitewater, around here.

Not to worry; Outdoor Rec to the rescue!

On the way to my usual grind at the Human Memory Lab, I chanced upon a flyer from the Outdoor Recreation Center. In it were advertised a multitude of thrilling outdoor activities like rock climbing in Wyoming, backpacking the Superior Trail and canoeing down the rivers of Iowa. I had found my release.

Kayaking caught my eye as I reviewed the upcoming workshops. I pictured my friends and I paddling down the great rivers of the Midwest like French fur traders 300 years before us — back when men were men, women were men and buffaloes were sacred. We would camp out on the river’s edge, listening to the music of nature while we played river tunes on the banjo.

It would be just like “Deliverance” only without all the sodomy and murder. I, too, would command the torrents of water that shape the land and free us from the burden of excess nitrogenous run-off.

I decided to reinvent myself and be reborn a paddler!

I sat in the Outdoor Rec office with eager anticipation as I awaited the profound knowledge my mentor would give me regarding proper kayaking technique like an aqueous Yoda. I was not alone. Three other intrepid souls, two of whom were cute girls, sat anxiously with me. Hot girls and water sports — I was convinced me that kayaking was my sport.

We watched a video that must have been made during the valley-girl days of the mid-1980s when words like “heinous” were not an exclusive descriptor of human rights violations on CNN. A woman with a speech impediment guided us along our journey toward becoming experts of the kayak roll.

You are upside down underwater. Think fast. Left ear to left shoulder, snap your hips, “C to C”, right ear to right shoulder, you are upright again and ready to take on Snake River Canyon like some freak from ESPN’s “X Games.”

Once in the pool, it was not quite as easy as that. We were strapped in the kayaks by our splash skirts. After learning how to “wet exit,” a procedure by which one disengages the splash skirt from the kayak while underwater, we were on our way to the roll.

My instructor had a typical cool guy name like “Juble” which, in hindsight, is probably Hebrew for “water torturer.” His nipple ring and swimmer’s chest reminded me that no matter how bad things might get, this would be a worthwhile experience. Women would want me and men would want to be me. In spite of my adversities, I would persevere.

The kayak roll is tough. I have never been fully drowned, but if it is anything like being partially drowned, like I was at one time during the practice (note to self — remember the wet exit technique), I would like to avoid it like I avoid Indian food on a first date. The rolling procedure takes time, patience and cajones, all of which my kayaking cohorts and I were fortunately well endowed with.

Following a quick game of kayak polo, at the end of it all, we were out of the pool. Water logged, eyes burning and noses filled with the chlorine enriched goodness of a public swimming hole, we felt like soldiers after our first victory under hostile fire.

In spite of a rather difficult time attempting the kayak roll at the workshop, I have decided to go ahead and sign up for the Kayak III workshop, which is a real-world tour down the Boone River. Some may call it bravery; I call it insanity.

Nevertheless, as an adrenaline junkie I need my fix, and if this is what Ames has to offer, then shoot me up.