Until recently, the only kayak I’d ever had firsthand experience with was the travel site.

Always wanted to try it but opportunity never presented itself until hitting Elkhart Lake, Wisconsin. Beautiful, spring-fed lake that looked like water, as opposed to the waterways I was acquainted with that sported a rainbow sheen — sadly, not from any fish.

So there I was raring to go. A regular Robinson Crusoe. Oh, wait, that’s a canoe. The difference is supposed to be in the keel, whatever that is. These kayaks were so high-tech, they had foot pedals that helped steer the boat. All I had to do was paddle. How hard could it be?

Hey, if it was that much of a breeze, why did two people tip over even before I got started?

The instructor helped me position my feet on the pedals just so, and gave me a push. Whaaa? The slight current had me going places. Like right into the path of fellow kayakers. Cue music from Jaws, my runaway kayak dominating the screen. And me starting to get more than a little excited. Despite all my yoga practice, my core was off-kilter.

I was pushing the pedals so hard, I thought my feet were going to go through the floor. Left was supposed to help steer the kayak right. Or something like that. Nothing doing. Going, going … Whump! Brushed the kayak of someone I’d been on good terms with. And wanted to keep it that way. Miraculously, we both remained upright.

Yoga be damned. My paddling got more frantic. Said other kayaker was laughing at me. In nervousness because he was trying to extricate his kayak from mine. Meanwhile, everyone else was gliding by.

I actually started yelling for help. I was afraid to even turn my head; thought I’d spill over. This roadway menace wanted out. The instructor towed me in.

Since none of this potential disaster was caught on camera, you’re just going to have to scroll back up to the picture and imagine the kayak turned the other way at the end of my very short excursion.

Hey, I’d loooove to try it again. Sometime.