In May as I walked along the OB Bluffs, I spotted hundreds of tuna crabs (pink miniature lobsters that look like tampon applicators) floating in the surf. El Niño! The water would be warm early this year and the waves would be better than average. How could I give up surfing?
The next day after work I drove to a small surf shop I had noticed in my neighborhood. It stood out because the owner had painted a mural of a breaking wave on the entire east wall. The shop featured row upon row of surfboards of all shapes, sizes and colors. A young and smiling blonde man was behind the counter.
“Can I help you?” he asked politely looking me over. He was puzzled that I was in his shop; I could see it in his eyes.
“I want to buy a surfboard,” I said.
“Really? That’s cool. I read the other day that women, especially older women, are going into surfing in a big way. Did you read it too? Is that why you’re here?” he asked.
“I can surf,” I replied thrusting out my chin and narrowing my eyes. “I’ve surfed for 20 years.”
“You go girl! I’m Jason. So what kind of board do you need? We have two kinds of boards – long and short boards. Long boards are heavy to carry but they are easy to catch waves with and to paddle. Short boards are generally for advanced surfers. We also have what’s called a fun board, a sort of hybrid between the two. It’s what I usually recommend to people new to surfing. But you probably know all that, right?" Jason amended as my assertion that I was a surfer finally sunk into his salt-addled skull.
“I ride a short board but I don’t surf as much as I used to so I’m a little slow paddling and I’ve gained weight in the last couple of years, so I’m looking for something a bit easier to paddle.”
“What’s your board’s dimensions?” He asked.
“It’s a 6’3” thruster and potato-chip thin.”
“Tight! I have one of those myself. So you want to go longer because you’re getting fat. Would you like to try longboarding now like all those gray-haired dudes out at Sunset Cliffs?
“Actually, I thought I’d just get a longer short board and maybe one that’s slightly thicker for flotation. This one looks pretty cool,” I said as I pulled out a white board that looked just like the one I had at home except for the addition of 9 inches of length and an extra 2 inches of width.
“That’s a good board,” Jason exclaimed. “I shaped it myself but you really have to know how to surf to ride that one.”
“I told you I can surf.”
Truthfully I hadn’t surfed in 8 months and had seriously contemplated giving it up over the past winter. I was nearing 50, and had gained 30 pounds in the past 3 years. I was too slow and heavy for my potato-chip stick. I had a chronic shoulder ache when I paddled for more than 30 minutes and it was hard to crane my stiffening neck backwards while I paddled to catch the breaking wave.
Jason gave me a great deal on that surfboard. He threw in the fins, a year-old Surfer Magazine, and some surfboard wax.
I drove home and put on my bathing suit, a pair of men’s surfing trunks, and a rash guard. I grabbed my wetsuit from the closet and headed down to the beach. Parked in the lot at Dog Beach, I struggled into my wetsuit. I had to tug viciously to pull the suit up over my ass and suck in my stomach while I yanked the zipper up. Zipped I was Gumby in black neoprene. How would I ever paddle my surfboard? I could barely move my arms! I rolled the wetsuit down to my ankles and kicked it off. I would brave the cold water. I bent down and applied the wax to my brand new surfboard.
If I had the cojones, they would have shriveled as I waded out into the cold ocean. But fortunately I had ovaries instead, malfunctioning ovaries that went into overdrive and lit me up like a furnace. Who needs a wetsuit when you have hot flashes?
I caught my first wave easily because of those 9 inches of additional foam. When I stood up the board tilted backwards, I lost my balance and, arms windmilling, I fell backwards into the water. On the second wave I paddled furiously and caught the wave as it was pitching out into the air. My board slid off the wave and I looked straight down into the trough while the lip of the wave harried my back. I hit the water limbs akimbo, the board slapped my butt, and I was ground rudely into the sandy bottom. I surfaced coughing up saltwater. The third wave I caught, I managed to make it to my knees and ride shoreward. As the wave dissipated in the shallow water, I collapsed onto my board, panting, with my arms dragging along the bottom like stone weights.
The problem, I realized, was that 10 of those extra 30 pounds had gone directly to my breasts. I was listing like the Titanic when I paddled. My center of gravity was too far forward.
On the last wave of the day, a smart bit of advice surfaced in my waterlogged brain. Look where you want to go. Paddling to catch the wave, instead of looking straight ahead, I looked farther down the wave to where I longed to be. I stood up and I was there! I rode that wave smoothly to shore.
As the summer wore on, I lost some of that weight, my muscles grew stronger, and I recovered my surfing mojo.
Surfing is more than catching waves. I like to paddle out into the warm and salty ocean after work to sit on my board and watch the pelicans soar overhead. I bob gently in the water with my legs dangling off the rails and my hands pressed into the board for balance. I scan the horizon for waves. If there are no waves, then I might scan the ocean bottom for sting rays or sharks. I play a game with myself. Would I rather lose my arms or legs if attacked? I then alternate balancing myself on the board with arms or legs up. Occasionally I fall off the board into the water. I pray for a wave to distract me from this game.
One night I listened to one young man instruct his friend in the Zen of surfing. “You must be dedicated; you must devote every waking second to surfing. You must concentrate and then you will learn how to surf, and one day you, the board, and the wave will be one gliding across the surface of the ocean. If you are not dedicated, if you do not concentrate, then you will NOT catch that wave. Also, you have to get beat up to surf. If you are not willing to get beaten up, then you will never really surf. On the next wave, give it everything, don’t hold back, you’re gonna get hurt and you’re gonna get right out there and try again.”
Yesterday Hurricane Hernán off Baja generated the best south swell of summer. It hit San Diego beaches exactly as predicted by the weathermen. I was ready for it, ready to take a beating.
(this was written in the summer of 2002)
