Before the next race, Steve Madden, another New England fleet guy, who went on to win the silver fleet, explains to me that I need to lean out of the boat and hike it flat to make the turn. When the opportunity arrives in the following race, it’s the same, with the race committee and observers and a seemingly small gap, but now there are other boats around as well. It’s like going into a corner in NASCAR. It may not look pretty or aerodynamic, but I’m hanging halfway out of the cockpit. I have to pinch to make the mark, which means I’m slow, with less apparent wind. Boats zip past me as if I’m on the side of a highway, passing 18-wheelers spraying me with slush. Still, I make it around, learning how to tame this thing one day and one race at a time. I can’t wait to sail and race again, but sadly, spring is here.