Welcome to my weird and watery new world.

Brooklyn, NY - Last month I was a normal, slightly bland, American bachelor. I lived in my quiet New York City apartment with my cat. I ate eggs and drank tea and consulted the Red Sox schedule taped to my refrigerator. Sometimes I listened to music or NPR. I ran every day in the park. Then one day my old friend Antonio called me. He is a gutsy, impulsive, and strange man, and a singlehanded sailor from Barcelona. He invited me to join him as crew on a doublehanded race from France to Brazil, in something called the Transat Jacques Vabre. Now I'm not a fearful man. I get out there, I take bruises happily, I get knives and fangs flashed at me. I remote places. I feeled compelled. But I ain't no Chichester neither, no Shackleton, no Krakauer, certainly no Plimpton. I'm underweight. I read books and watch two movies at a time. I've never punched anyone, and only been kicked once - by an Argentine exchange student in the 5th grade.

But I love a real damn challenge. And caroming across the Atlantic is a whopper. So like any man would who feels he's reached a standstill (dark realization of the summer: I share my routines with my cat), I accepted Antonio's offer, and set in motion the dismantling of my normal life. I am going to race across the indifferent and violent tumult of the Atlantic Ocean, skit the African coast past over the equator, and swing into Brazil. Race starts November 5.