A Weekend in Rosemary - May 14, 2011

It’s been pretty hectic at work lately, so we needed a weekend away.  We decided to take our boards to a cute little beach village just 20 miles west called Rosemary Beach. 

 

"The Green" at Rosemary
Photo Credit: Travel 30A

Developed in the ‘90s, Rosemary was one of the first planned communities in this area of the panhandle.  It’s built around a town square and embraces the concept of a walkable community.  So everything – the post office, town hall, shops, and restaurants – are within walking distance from the residences.  The village stays true to its name with rosemary bushes lining the bike-friendly lanes and surrounding the many greens that are used for farmer’s markets, concerts, and weddings. 

 

The craftsman architecture has a beachy twist with organic elements like crushed shell paths winding through the canopies of old scrub oaks.  The upscale homes capitalize on plenty of windows to bring the outdoors in, and there is wood everywhere: wood-trimmed windows, wood flooring, wooden garage doors.  It’s certainly not your typical Florida beach town with chintzy rattan furniture and flamingo-themed upholstery.

My favorite tree - coastal scrub oaks

We rented a carriage house that was a shell’s throw from the gulf, and we could smell the salt air from our front stoop.  After we got settled, we walked our boards down a sweet little path to the gulf.  It was a beautiful afternoon with slow moving waves gliding up to the shore.  It wasn’t a lot of push, but it was enough.  So we surfed until the sun was low in the sky and our empty tummies began to remind us that there were tapas waiting just over the dunes.


After we washed the salt off, we walked to La Crema, a “tapas and chocolate” restaurant (I know, heaven has an address in Rosemary Beach, Florida).  We delighted our pallets with all sorts of treats: serrano-wrapped figs in honey, eggplant with basil and “aged goat cheese,” and lamb lollipops with rosemary (way better than a tootsie pop, for realsies). http://lacrematapas.com/



The owners of the place decided to open the restaurant after a trip to Spain, and that inspiration has led to a hugely successful business.  Not having much exposure to Spanish wine, Ted took this opportunity to introduce me to tempranillo, which is akin to a hearty pinot noir, but with more punch to keep you interested.  We rounded out the experience with a dark and white chocolate fondu that I’d swim back to Rosemary just to have. 

Strawberries?  Good.  Pound cake?  Good.  Strawberries and pound cake dipped in chocolate?  Gooooood. Thank you Joey Tribbiani.

We took the “long way home” (so, a block or two out of the way), in an effort to walk off our small plates.  We walked to one of the boardwalks that goes down to the beach so we could get an idea of what the surf would be like in the morning. 

It was gorgeous – seeing the stars out over the dark, expansive sea.  Rosemary is a tiny village with very few street lights to compete with the stars, so we could see what seemed like thousands of stars strewn across the sky,  much more visible than what we are used to seeing back home.

We went to sleep that night to the sound of waves rolling up onto the shore, and we dreamt of riding them.  It was a perfect getaway – a weekend at the beach was exactly what we needed.

And that's...how it's done.

Last Day in a Wetsuit - April 16, 2011

There was really no surf forecasted for this weekend, but I was anxious to get back out on a board after returning from California.  So when I first opened my eyes this morning, I called the local surf report hotline. 

“Good morning Panama City,” the voice on the recording called out to all the hopefuls dialing in.  As my head was still resting on the pillow, I heard the best few words I could have asked for, “It’s a beautiful day out here on the beach.  Grab your long board because the sets are coming in clean.”

WHAT!!   I sat up immediately.

Within minutes I was out the door and on my way to Ted’s.  Once there, we donned our wetsuits for the last time (spring is here and summer is just around the corner, soon we’ll only need our rash guards) and jumped in the truck. 

The surf report didn’t lie; the gulf was gorgeous.  The waves were coming in sets from the southeast, the light breeze out of the north was keeping them clean, and the sky couldn’t have been prettier. 

Because why not?

There were already a few surfers out in the lineup and one, we noticed, was doing a headstand on his board – not kidding.  We ended up sharing waves with him for the morning and it turns out he’s both a surfer and a sailor, and wicked good at both.  However, he had already transitioned out of his wetsuit for the season but his boardshorts didn’t quite fit…if you get my drift.  More than once, he surfed by us in the lineup, and it was a whole lot more under-the-kitchen-sink than you would expect when out surfing.

We also met a woman in her early 40s who was camping at the state park with her family.  She grew up surfing but had been away from it since her children were born.  Now both are teenagers so she’s returning to the sport.  On this particular spring morning, her husband was with the kids so she could score some beautiful waves – cheers to cultural progress!

Ted and I had a really good morning, catching tons of nice rides.  My paddling work must be paying off because there were several slow rollers that I would have missed a few weeks ago, but this morning I was able to get in front of them.  They had a decent height, almost as tall as the ones we caught in La Jolla, so I was able to enjoy some gratifyingly long rides.

As it got closer to midday, the winds shifted around to the southwest so the waves were becoming more hip than shoulder high.  Ted decided to trade in his board for the video camera so he could film some of my popups.  That way, I could see the progress I’ve made since the fall when he last filmed my surfing. 

Tell me there’s a notable difference in my capabilities…

 

Breakfast on the Water - April 2, 2011

Ever since I began this glorious sport, Ted has charmed me with stories of his early morning surf sessions at Ocean Beach, then grabbing breakfast at the café on the pier.  So it can only be expected that one of my must-do's before heading home was to enjoy a little break-y at the café and watch the surfers in the lineup below.

An Ocean Beach landmark - the OB Pier Café
Photo Credit: SanDiegoDigitalPhotos.com

This morning was the day, and we drove down to the coast in the fog.  San Diego is typically foggy in the morning until it warms up enough to burn off the fog, but today it seemed denser than normal.  As we walked down the pier to the cafe, surfers who were initially hidden in the fog were slowly unveiled in the gray water.

Lined up in their black wetsuits, the surfers wait for their turn on the waves.

The café didn't disappoint.  It maintained the hole-in-the-wall feel that Ted remembered from years ago, and the portions were heroic.  We got a Spanish omelet (with chorizo for a punch of authenticity) and mango pancakes.  Those were delish, and delightfully tropical.  I've had blueberry, banana, and chocolate chip (duh) pancakes, but I've never had ones embellished with mango.  I felt like Jack Johnson was somewhere making a mental note.

When we finally gave up the fight and put down our forks, we paid our checks and walked to a spot on the pier where we could watch the surfers for a while. 

As we observed the waves rolling in under the pier, it became clear they had been building throughout the morning.  It was such an interesting vantage point, watching surfers from above.  We got to see them duck dive under, paddle for, and ride on top of these powerful waves.

It was a perfect way to round out our trip.

See you back in Florida.

Boot Camp - April 1, 2011

Yesterday while Ted was in his conference, I took the car and did one of my favorite things: explore…and maybe get a little lost.  This really isn’t as risky as it sounds because when you get lost in a big city, all you have to do is get to an interstate (assuming all of the interstates intersect at some point…oh, and it helps if you know which one your hotel is off of).  Plus, I had my cell phone with me if things got really bad – no, it doesn’t have GPS, but that’s why I have a map. 

Can you say, "map," boys and girls?  No, not "app." "Maaaap."

No sooner did I pull out of the parking lot did I see a group of people in a park doing boot camp-like exercises.  So I of course had to investigate.  It turns out this group (San Diego Fit Club) meets in a park overlooking Mission Bay and the lessons are taught by Matt, a certified personal trainer.  He told me they were meeting again the following afternoon, so I made plans to come back.

Matt-the-Drill-Sargent, making his rounds...

When I arrived today, Matt met me with a clipboard of forms to fill out.  There was a lot of legal jargon about promising not to sue if I got hurt.  That sounded a little eerie.  I didn’t know what to expect (I’ve never taken a boot camp class before) but I had a good feeling about the calorie burn that was about to unfold.  With the Olympic level of eating I’ve been partaking in the last few days, I needed some kind of camp…preferably one with boots. 

 

"I didn't ask to be a role model."

At 4:00 on the dot, we each got a 5 lb. weight and circled up.  5 lb. weights?  I’ve got this.  Then we got into a plank and for the entire duration of a Katy Perry song (“California Gurls,” how apropos), we supported ourselves with one hand, while we passed the weights to our neighbor with the other…all to the beat of the song.   Next, Miley Cyrus came on and we then circled the weights in the other direction.  By the time it was over, my triceps were beginning to tremble. 

After we put our weights away, we were instructed to run up two flights of stairs that led from the park up to the road overhead, then run back down the steep hillside, which became quite slippery with all of us running/sliding on it.  The first jaunt up was fine; it was the second, third, fourth (eventually I lost count) trip that brought my heart rate up to 500.  I definitely didn’t want to be the new girl who quit, but nausea was starting to set in.

“Are you there God?  It’s me, Maureen.”

We weren't given a set number of laps, so I had no idea how much longer I had to hang in.  Just as I was beginning to make deals with the big man upstairs about getting me through this, Matt called us back to circle up.  I’ve never heard such sweet words.  Even though I was seeing spots, I was smiling, knowing I'd see another day.

Man I love Google.
Photo Credit: martialarts.iweb.bsu.edu

Evidently, my smile betrayed my near-death state, because then he had us partner up to do deep squats.  You know the kind of exercise I’m talking about.  Ones where you and your partner have to sync up timing and your pull on each other – otherwise, if you lean too far back, you’ll fall flat on your butt…which just so happens to still be trembling from running up a dozen flights of stairs.

And so it continued for another 45 minutes.  We did walking lunges, walking high kicks, enough planks to build a wooden ship, and so on – all to the beat of Ke$ha and the like.   This guy really had an affinity for dance/pop.

How about some Lincoln Park to give us the false confidence that we’re tough enough to get through such grueling workouts?  I’d even settle for Eminem as long as he’s not singing about abusing his girlfriend…Creep.     

By the end of it, I could feel the lactic acid building up in my muscle tissue like the iron building up in the pipes of my 1940s-era home.  I knew I'd have trouble walking the next day, but it was oh-so needed after all the indulging I’d done, and how fun, working out in such a pretty place!  

Ventura Cove Park on Mission Bay

After I thanked Matt for the solid kick in the tuckas, I walked back to our hotel.  Along the way I began thinking, I wonder where we’re going to eat tonight…

The Hoff - March 31, 2011

Continued from previous post:

After our surf  lesson, we walked up Avenida de la Playa to grab some fish tacos.  Luckily the restaurant had patio seating so we could wear our wetsuits while we ate.  It felt glorious, sitting with the sun at our backs, warming us up.

Papalulus Restaurant - San Diego 

Once we were refueled, we rented some epoxy boards from Surf Diva, which were much closer to what we use, and headed back out into the water.  The swell had built to about shoulder high while we were at lunch and the waves had a lot more power than what we’re used to back home.  Keep in mind, most of the waves in the gulf form from wind, whereas waves in the ocean originate from the much stronger forces like tides and currents that have traveled for thousands of miles.

I got to experience this power first hand when I was caught sneaking up too far forward on my board.  The waves had no problem picking me up and pitching me over the front of my board.  The “washing machine” effect that I’d feel when getting tossed around in the wave was much stronger than I was used to, but admittedly more fun (like the scary type of fun that roller coasters are known for). 

The lineup was getting more and more crowded as the day wore on and we were having trouble getting a spot to surf.

With lineups like these, you better stay sharp.

Luckily though, we were beginning to get the hang of things and scoring more waves, in spite of the crowds and more intimidating sets.  It was so cool, surfing in the Pacific.  This was something Ted and I have daydreamed about for almost a year now, ever since that first day out on a board.  It was neat being surrounded by so many other surfers (not just sunburnt Alabamians standing right in your surf path). 

Cousin Eddie - there's nothing more to say.

After a couple of hours, we heard commotion down the lineup and saw two rescue jet skis roaring up to a surfer just to the south of us.  That’s it!  I knew there was some sea life (Read: shark) just waiting to have its way with one of us surfers!  We sat up on our boards and watched as the lifeguards pulled the surfer up on the sled and towed him back to shore. 

Example of a Jet Ski Rescue - Compliments of Explore.org Rescue

Oddly, there wasn’t any more fuss with the other surfers…and everyone returned to normal, so we began to think it wasn’t a “whitie” after all.  So we returned to looking for, and occasionally riding, more waves and enjoyed our time in the water.

After we came in for the day, I was at the showers rinsing off our wetsuits while Ted returned our boards to the shop.  While I was there, the injured surfer came up to one of the other showers, so I of course took this opportunity to subtly check for any gashes or tears in his wetsuit.  I didn’t see any so I asked him what the rescue was all about.  It turns out the guy had just dislocated his shoulder – which shows some epic commitment to a strong paddle.  Good for him!  

So maybe it wasn’t as dramatic as I was thinking, but either way, it was cool to see some real Californian lifeguards in action.

Yes, I did.

Surf Diva – March 31, 2011

Today was my first surf session in the Pacific!  I booked a one-on-one lesson through Surf Diva (http://www.surfdiva.com/), a San Diegan surf school that’s owned by two sisters.  Their shop is right in the heart of La Jolla, so after we got our boards and wetsuits, we walked a few blocks down to the beach.

This is where we met our surf instructor Zak (without a “C”…Ben Folds Five, anyone?  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZgXwA3c8YWc).  This dude was awesome.  What he lacked in height, he more than made up with in his enthusiasm.  He had a bright red Surf Diva ball cap (that was more the shape of a trucker hat than anything you’d wear on the ball field), and at the bottom of the legs of his wetsuit, there were slits that he cut; yes, like what we used to do with jeans about 15 years ago so they'd more easily fall around our boyish Doc Martens.

Winning.

He was smart about protecting his skin - he wore the same sun block stick we use for our nose and ears (Headhunters), but his was tinted.  The thing is, Headhunters is so thick that it doesn’t get fully absorbed by the skin.  Since his was tinted, it looked like he was wearing makeup.  I guess that's better than the alternative - working on the water all day, every day, would lead to skin that resembled John Candy's in Summer Rental.

After a quick water safety intro, we headed out.  The difference in power between the Gulf of Mexico and the Pacific was amazing.  With every wave that rolled in, it was a struggle to hold my footing, let alone make progress to walk out.  At one point I began to wonder if I would be able to make it to the outside.  How embarrassing would that be, “Ugh, so does a tow out come with the lesson?”

Luckily, it wasn’t soon after this bout of self-doubt that I made it out – hallelu-yer.  When the next wave that looked to be about the right size approached, I took it.  As with most things in my life, the beginner’s luck didn’t fail to come through. 

I turned my board into the shore, began to paddle, popped up and rode a nice hip-high wave back toward the beach.  It was thrilling, catching my first wave in the Pacific.  Unlike the sand-dune lined coastline back home, La Jolla Shores is a bowl-shaped cove flanked by 100-foot cliffs on either side.  In between the two dramatic cliffs was the beach, which gradually slopped up the hillside, revealing the stunning homes tucked in the mountain.  It was an incredible sight.

Photo Credit: suite101.com

However, like all my other beginner’s luck gems, it faded with this too.  After I got back to the outside, I tried wave after wave but I kept missing them.  I never thought I’d have an issue with the waves rolling up under me out in the Pacific, but this was obviously an issue with my form, not with the amount of power in the waves.

Who doesn't remember these!?

Dear Zak kept showing me how to really dig with my paddle and, I must say, that petite man had one hell of a paddle.  He dug so fast that his whole body got into it and he looked like a wiggle worm!  I’ve never seen anything like it.  But man, when he decided to take off for a wave, the guy took off. 

I tried and tried for the remainder of the lesson to catch another wave, but sadly, my first wave ended up being my last.  Maybe it was because of the crazy heavy foam-top rental board that I wasn’t used to, or maybe it was because I didn’t wiggle.  Either way, I paddled back to the beach with a wave riding thirst that needed to be quenched…

California Dreaming – March 29, 2011

So…we’re moving here, seriously.  This has been the best 24 hours EVER.

After the Geff Experience, we checked into our gorgeous hotel overlooking Mission Bay (and Mission Beach beyond that).   From our balcony, we saw several crew boats rowing underneath a bridge below and we later learned that there is a competition going on in the bay this week. 

View from the Mission Bay Hyatt

One of the must-see places on our list was The Wave House (http://www.wavehouse.com/) in Mission Beach. It’s a wave park with two different pools that create standing waves which can be altered to suit either surfers or body boarders.  When we first walked in, a group of body boarders were in the main pool and MGMT’s “Kids” (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aBd46BbdTfs) was playing on the sound system.

So. Cool.

We ordered a couple of Mexican beers and watched a girl boogey-boarding for a while. She made it look so easy!   

Then we moved on to the small wave pool where the learners start out.  A group of Canadian kids were trying to surf and we quickly realized this is where the real entertainment is.  While most high school guys execute any new activity with reckless abandon, one guy in particular went at it with seemingly no fear, regardless of how beat up he got.  This was amusing enough to film so I feel it should be shared.

Mission Beach at Sunset

After we shared some laughs at the poor kid’s expense, we walked down to the water to join the locals watching the sun dip below the horizon.  I had no idea how celebrated of an event this is for Californians.  Ted explained that it’s common for people to meander to the water’s edge each evening to watch the sunset – it’s their neighborhood gathering place.    

We watched as a couple of shortboarders caught their final waves before heading in to greet their families.  Their wives had wheeled their baby strollers out into the sand for their older children to play as their fathers surfed.  It was such a precious sight seeing how they adapted their new family life to coastal living.

For dinner, we found a fabulous Mexican restaurant (http://www.elfandangorestaurant.com/) in Old Town – the settling place for the first Europeans who came to California.  Now a neighborhood made up of authentic Mexican restaurants, boutiques, and museums, Old Town is considered to be the birthplace of California. 

El Fandango's Patio

We sat on the patio under a canopy of blooming bougainvillea; I hadn’t seen that vine so prolific in an area since I left Sicily.  Our server brought us homemade tortilla chips with fresh salsa and guacamole before we even ordered.  The guacamole, in particular, was phenomenal!  We could have made it into a meal…I guess we technically did; we were full before our meals even arrived.

So the next morning, I made up for it.  While Ted was in his conference, I set out for a jog around Mission Bay.  I love running in new places because it always leads to exploring areas I never would have otherwise.  It’s like a privileged vantage point into a place that the tourists never get.

I found a bike path that ran alongside the bay and past sweet bungalow-styled homes.  It was so interesting to see the creative ways the residents turn their backyards into great outdoor living spaces.  The artistic outdoor furniture, the pergolas entwined with wisteria, the little gardens (both flower and vegetable) – it was the epitome of delightful.

The path eventually reached the Pacific, where it curved north and began to parallel the ocean.  As I rounded the bend, I saw a few surfers out in the lineup, so I sat on a park bench to watch them for a while.   

Just then, an old van pulled up and several surfers in bare feet and unzipped wetsuits got out.  They circled coats of new wax on their boards and then walked down to the water’s edge. 

It was so…Californian.  A group of professional-aged men were surfing in the middle of a Tuesday morning instead of cranking out spreadsheets in a cubicle somewhere.  This is one of the images I’ve had in my mind when I think of California.  God bless it for not letting me down.

San Diego, Baby! – March 28, 2011

I’m here!  I’m here!  I’m here!  I’ve wanted to see San Diego for years now, and I’m finally here!  I’ve accompanied Ted out here for a week-long conference and we arrived yesterday.  Ten years ago I visited much of the California coast but I didn’t go this far south.  This is unfortunate because I’ve been told by many that it’s my kind of place.  The whole organic/locally grown movement, the wide variety of outdoor rec opportunities – I would totally fit in here.



Hodad's - best burgers in OB!

Truth be told, it’s the idea of surfing here that has most allured me.  This is where Ted learned and he’s been tempting me with stories of morning surf sessions in the Pacific, followed by breakfast burritos out of a food truck.

Within our first hour in the state, we made our way down to Ocean Beach to watch the surfers by the pier, then stopped into South Beach Bar and Grill (http://southbeachob.com).  We ordered our tacos with wahoo and baja fish, which is much different than the mahi or snapper fish tacos we’re used to in Florida. 



Fish tacos and a couple of pints of Pacifico?  Yes please! 

We sat at the window looking down Newport Avenue and as we were immensely enjoying our snack, we got to experience my favorite moment of the trip so far.

A man in what looked to be his late 60s came walking by in a shorty wetsuit that had more miles on it than Ted’s '82 Saab 900 (that had a real hang up with going into reverse) and he was carrying a bag with his name on it.  Geff (with a G) appeared to have stepped right out of Woodstock, N.Y., cir. 1969.  He looked a little wobbly in his step, if you get my drift, but maybe he was hitting the wall after a long surf session...or something.

I think these flips were at Woodstock...

About 20 minutes later, Geff-with-a-G came walking back from what was evidently the public showers.  Ted bet me that he was walking back to the 30-year-old VW camper van that looked like it hadn't been moved in a decade.  Seriously, you should have seen how low those tires were!  

I didn’t take him up on the bet; Geff and the Vanagon were clearly destined for each other.  Sure enough, this rail of a man slid open the 50-lb. door with one great heave and climbed into his (truly) mobile home.  Before closing it behind him, a menagerie of "house" wares that he'd obviously been collecting since the Nixon administration was visible from our perch across the parking lot.

The Vanagon.

Before we could process this bizarre scene that had just unfolded, a guy on a bike with more modifications than I've ever seen, rode by.  It had kid's bike-sized tires, yet the frame was long enough to fit an adult.  The seat - a banana seat, no less - hovered further back over the rear wheel than normal, and the handle bars...oh the handle bars… they were the ape-hanger type I'm used to seeing in my unfortunate hometown when Bike Week is full blast and muffin tops squeezing out of leather chaps are on the back of every third or so Harley.  //sigh//  But I wasn't in my home town - where this type of tacky is commonplace - so I had to take a picture.

Ape hanger handle bars...WITH a banana seat.  Winning.

Wow, not even a full afternoon in the region and I'm already brimming with stories.  I LOVE this place!!

Cupid Hit the Surf Shop - February 14, 2011

Happy Valentine’s Day!!!  What better way to spend a beautiful February day than to take off from work and go surfing?!



The surfer in this pic obviously knew the value of a hood



For the love-centric holiday, Ted and I gave each other the gift of neoprene.  I gave him booties and a hood (as he already had gloves), and he gave me gloves and a hood.  I can’t begin to describe the difference it makes when your head and hands are warm – especially if you take into account my Reynods Syndrome (a fun little condition that causes my capillaries to close for business when I get cold, thereby causing my hands and feet to turn a shocking shade of white). 

While I’m an avid believer in not shying away from experiences that toughen me up, I was bordering on hypothermia in some of our sessions.  It's gotten so cold lately that we’ve only be able to be in the water for 40 minutes before crying uncle.  So keeping our extremities warm will make a marked improvement on our surfing experience.

When we first stepped into the water, Ted couldn’t believe how much warmer his feet were; when we first began to paddle, I couldn’t believe how much warmer my hands were.  When we were both completely submerged (the point that every cold-weather surfer dreads), we relished in the fact that our hoods shielded us from the jolt of cold water flooding into the back of our wetsuits.

It was a great day to be in the water – the sun was out, the sky was a brilliant blue, and the beach was relatively empty with the exception of a couple of snowbirds who stopped to watch us as they were walking by.  Ted suggested I take Olive for another spin since the waves were pretty small and it was perfect for a push session.  Since I didn’t have to worry about catching the waves on my own, I could just practice popping up on my new board. 

My first ride was great!  Because it was such a small day, I could scoot forward on my board without having to worry about pearling the nose into the wave.  So with his push and using my feet still to pop up, I could easily get up on the board.   We knew that on bigger days (read: non-push session friendly), I would have to move back down on my board, meaning I’d have to pop up using only my knees, but I could work on that at home.  We figured that by the time it was warm enough to surf without a wetsuit (when I wouldn’t be encumbered by all the neoprene), I’d be able to do a shortboard pop up.  In the meantime, this little push session was important for me to start getting the feel for riding a shorter board.  As I was enjoying the short rides into the beach on Olive, it was clear that it was definitely a more maneuverable and responsive board than Greenie.  



For the first time in three months, we were comfortable (thank you, Cupid, for the gift of warmth), so we actually found it hard to pull ourselves away from the surf.  But warmed pressed sandwiches and tomato soup from our favorite sandwich shop were to be had, and who could resist that?

Until we meet again…

Crybear Comes Out - January 17, 2011

Today was one of the prettiest days we’ve had all winter.  The skies had cleared from days of rain and the temperature had warmed up into the 60s.  I had watched the swell charts all week and a hopeful bump on Friday remained a constant promise.  So I was determined to kick off early and go surf. 

Around 2:30, I skeedattled out of the office and grabbed my board and wetsuit.  I decided to take Olive because I had been practicing my shortboard pop-up and was getting better. 

Once at the beach, I hastily unpacked the board, yanked up my wetsuit’s zipper and tugged on my booties – I couldn’t wait to get down to the surf!  Just then, I heard a car in the all-but-empty parking lot and I turned around to see Ted driving up.  I was delighted!  Even though I was allured by the adventure of surfing by myself, there was something comforting about having him there.

He just came to watch and I was so excited that he was going to see my first ride on the board he gave me for Christmas!  However, as we walked up the boardwalk, I began noticing how windy it was.  When the surf came into view, we both uttered, “wow.”  The wind had whipped up the gulf to the point that there was no clean form to the waves – just chop, whitewater, and a lot of churn. 

It reeeally wasn’t the best of surf conditions and it certainly wasn’t a good day for giving Olive another shot.  But the wetsuit was on, so I was committed.  That’s the rule.  When I have children and their ski bibs and jackets are on, there’s no chickening out at that point, they’re slapping on the skis and getting in line for the chair lift.  When that zipper’s up, it’s up.

Thank you Google Images

Ted quietly marveled at my bullheadedness as I surveyed the best place to paddle out.  Then I strapped on my leash, picked up my board, and walked with purpose into the water.

Yikes!!  It was cold.  Even with the full suit and booties, it was suck-the-air-right-out-of-your-lungs, cold. As much as I dreaded the thought of lying on my board, where the water could freely wash around me, I had no choice but to hop on and paddle out.  



The waves were coming in from all directions.  There were no defined sets of waves (usually they come in threes), they were just mashing up against each other, creating a lot of white water.  This is like St. George, only 40 degrees colder. 

When I got out to where I thought I could start catching waves, I sat up on the board.  Within seconds I spotted one that I thought would do.  So I lay down, paddled a few strokes and popped up.  Ok, not true.  I tried to pop up.  The board shot out from under me and I went tumbling into the glacial water.

It made me gasp – the water, not my poor performance – and I quickly clamored back up onto my board.  I tried to exert a little more patience and select my next wave more judiciously.  I focused on recreating the pop-up that I had so diligently practiced for weeks and thought I was getting better at.

As I waited, I began noticing the fact that my feet were going numb and my hands weren’t that far behind.  I tried to circle my legs under the board just to keep moving, and I rubbed my hands together as if over a fire.  My hair was a cold mop tangled around my neck and I was wearing out from the intense shivering.

Just then, I saw a wave pressing up from the southwest and I thought, this is it – this is going to be my first ride with Olive.  Four strong paddles, hands to the board, quick pop up and I’m up! I’m on the board!!!  Only, oh, the wave rolled up under me…and now I’m losing my balance.  Back into the water I went. 

The worst part wasn’t the cold, watery death that I decided I was going to have that afternoon, it was the fact that just before I plunged back in for oh, the third time, I saw Ted (and his Cheshire cat grin – unbelievable that I can see that from out here!) with some bystanders watching me from the beach.  Oh good, an audience.

Ok, now I’m mad.  More than mad, I’m St. George Pissed.  I get pretty frustrated when I can’t do something (it comes from being the little sister who got left behind when she couldn’t keep up with her brothers) but I reeeaallly get frustrated when others are there to witness my inability. 



Oh it’s freaking ON.  Again, and again for what seemed like an hour (though I’m pretty sure it wasn’t more than 20 minutes) I fought the waves, I fought the wind, I fought the lack of an extra six inches of my board, and they all just fought right back.  After my second-to-last failure, I let out the guttural yell that I hadn’t unleashed since the cracked rib incident back in the fall.



September 20th, 2010 - A day that will live on in infamy.

 This sucks.  My board sucks.  The waves suck.  I suck.  I’m evidently NOT meant to be a surfer.  Finally, I allowed Mother Nature to have her win and I paddled/drug my board in.  Ted was still grinning as I was walking up because even though he knew the dramatic scene that was about to unfold, it must have been soooo worth it to see the hilariously pathetic show I put on in the water. 

“Hey baby!” he greeted me. 

“Well that was a waste of an afternoon,” I replied leering through my icy hair plastered across my face.  “I’m so glad I took off early!”

The LG flip phone...love that baby.

See, I’ve been told recently that I’m allowing myself to be “consumed by my work,” and I’ve heard the word workaholic used to describe me more than once now.  But up until this job, I thought “workaholics” were executives who wear $200 shoes and sport blackberries on their hips.  But I neither am an executive, nor have $200 shoes – and my un-smart phone was $19.99 when I bought it two years ago!  I just have a, you know, work ethic, so as my work continues to grow, taking off early can be pretty tricky.  But I’m not allowing my job to consume me!

Back to the beach.

As I huffed my board – and my attitude – up the sand, I realized how exhausted I was.  Even with the seething rage that normally gives someone super hero-like energy, I was utterly spent.  So I did what any reasonable, almost-30-year-old does; I dropped my board, then my body, onto the sand, and crossed my arms over my face.

That’s when it happened, that’s when Crybear came out…in full force.  With the ridiculous tears coming out of my eyes, I dramatically uttered, “Why does everything have to be so hard?  All I wanted to do was ride one wave!”

It was so sad.  I knew it was sad…which just made it sadder – as if that were a word.  Standing over me with his rolled-up chinos, Ted didn’t really know what to say, though I’m pretty sure he was trying not to laugh.  Instead he reminded me that I almost got up “that one time” and told me how impressed he was that I was willing to get out in that water.  He thought it showed heart. 

Bless that man. 

So we talked about my placement on the board and ended up working on my form.  Before I knew it, I was smiling again, practicing pop ups on the beach.  The blood had returned to my extremities and the sky was beginning to pinken with the forthcoming sunset. 

Today was an ok day.