The Start of a Quiver - July 20, 2010

After my Roxy failure, I made two determinations: 

1)   Don’t get a soft-top.  While it would give a little if it were to sail into my noggin, my knees couldn’t take it.  After an hour on the thing, they looked like those of a nine-year-old who had fallen off her bike. 

2)   Don’t get something too narrow.  Admittedly, trying to remain upright while sitting on the board was a fun way to stay occupied when waiting for a wave (I mean, who doesn’t like a challenge?), but it wasn’t so fun when I’d miss a wave because I had inadvertently rolled over right in front of it.

So I decided to look at some boards at a surf shop to see what they had in stock.  But, before I had a chance to go, Ted stopped by Mr. Surf’s to get some recommendations. 

“The salesman suggested a fun shape for your height and skill level,” he told me.  “Maybe we should borrow a board to see if it’s a good fit.”

I liked the idea; that way we’d know what to keep an eye out for in the used board inventory, but the only problem with borrowing a store’s board is that you can’t put wax on it.  Still, I could at least get an idea of how the size worked.

The next day, there was some small surf—perfect for a push session—so he was going to pick up the board from the shop and we’d hit the beach after work.  He came into my cube just before I packed up for the day and as we were chatting about something, he pulled out of his pocket a bar of what looked to be soap and started smelling it…intensely.  Now, he does the same thing with citrus (something about growing up in Miami and smelling the grapefruit hanging from the trees in his grandparents’ yard), so I blew past it at first, but then the deep inhalations became distracting so I asked what he was smelling. 

“It’s Mrs. Palmer’s surfboard wax, tropical scented,” he explained between sniffs.  I assumed it was for his board since we couldn’t wax the one I was going to demo, but he ended that assumption when he told me it was for me.

“What do you mean it’s for me?” I asked cautiously.  “What did you do?” 

He didn’t answer my question, nor did he let me peak in the surf bag in the back of his car as we drove to the beach, but when we got to the sand and unzipped the bag, there it was—my new board.  I can’t explain it, but I just knew it was going to be a keeper.  It was a real board, no soft top here; it had a good size to it (7’6”), but most importantly, it was GREEN—my favorite color! 

He showed me how to wax the board so that the riding area is evenly covered and it was during this time that I was able to admire the beauty of it.  At the nose of the board, it’s lime green with a dark green trim and it fades to white with yellow trim at the tail.  NSP is the company that made it and it’s more durable than traditional boards because it’s made with epoxy instead of fiberglass-covered foam, which gets dents and dings relatively easily.

Once the board was covered with a healthy layer of wax, we walked down to where the waves were breaking nicely.  It was definitely a small day but having someone push you can compensate for some pretty weak waves.  When the first surfable wave came, my boyfriend told me when to start paddling and then shoved the board.  When I felt the small wave start to pick up the back of my board, I popped up and rode it in toward the beach.

The board felt great!  It’s a foot smaller than what I’ve been learning on so it’s faster to paddle and faster to ride, and it feels a little more maneuverable.  I rode wave after wave until the sun sank down below the horizon and people started packing up their beach chairs.  I can’t believe I have my own surfboard.

I think I’ll call her “Greenie.”

The 7'6" NSP Funboard

 

 

Practicality Schmacticality - July 16, 2010

I’m a pretty practical person.  I still pack my lunch even though I left elementary school a long time ago, I once paid my electric bill with money my dad and stepmom gave me for an Easter dress; and I bring my own, typically healthy, snacks to the movies.  So when the idea of me having my own surf board was brought up, I thought, but those are expensive and we can just share.

Yet, the idea did appeal to me.  I never spend money, real money, on anything indulgent like this, and my parents gave me cash for my birthday a year ago specifically intended for something recreational.  So after mulling it over for a while, I decided I would start perusing local shops for a gently used board.  

The Roxy Foam-Top

However, Ted had a different idea and two days after my birthday, he found potentially the icing on the cake.  When I went over to his house that afternoon, I set my purse down before walking into the kitchen.  When I turned back around, his eyes were a little wide but I didn’t think much of it.  We chatted a bit; then when I went to get something out of my bag, it caught my eye.  There was a big, pink, Roxy surf board hanging from the wall practically screaming “Happy Birthday Maureen!!!” 

“Omigod!” I blurted out.  “What is this??  What is this on your wall??” 

He teased me about not having the self-proclaimed could-be-a-spy-if-I-wanted-to sense of observation and wished me a happy late birthday.  It was an adorable 7-foot soft‑top which he borrowed from a shop that sells used boards and it was mine if I liked it.  So we took it for a spin the next day. 

Even though I tried to look casual as I carried the board down to the beach, it was all I could do not to break into a trot to get to the water’s edge.  As I paddled out, I felt more anchored on the board because it wasn’t as smooth as the fiberglass one I’d been learning on.

Soft-top boards are made with rugged foam so they are easier for learning (plus if it bonks you in the head, it doesn’t hurt as much), and it has more friction so you never have to worry about slipping around on it when paddling.  Also, we thought a soft top would be more buoyant so it would also be easier to paddle out.  I didn’t notice much of a difference with that but then again, all I was focused on was catching that first, perfect wave on my new board.

There was a decent easterly wind so I had to keep paddling down the beach to hold my position, but it quickly became obvious that paddling was going to be easier than sitting on the board because the darn thing kept rolling over!  I don’t know what it was.  Maybe because this board was much shorter than the 8’6” that I’d gotten used to and quite a bit narrower, or maybe it was the shape of the board, but I just couldn’t stay on the thing!

A Prime Example of a Pearl

What began as funny quickly turned into frustrating because when a potential wave would come, I’d try to turn my board to face the shore but instead I’d roll it over and miss the damn wave!  Then on the waves that I did get in position for in time, I ended up pearling the nose into the water when I went to pop up.  This would send me face forward into the wave where I’d inevitably get tumbled about before I could come up for air.

To make matters worse, my typical knee bruises I’ve grown used to since picking up this sport were becoming more like mild road rash.  I realized it was from rubbing against the foam top, and the salt water only added to the problem.  Even my ridiculous boy-length board shorts weren’t going to protect my knees from the strawberries that were forming.

But if it’s one thing I have, it’s heart (or a stubborn nature), so I kept trying for that illusive perfect wave.  Over and over again I tried and I was either too far back on the board causing the wave to roll up under me or, as was more often the case, I was too far forward and I would pearl the nose, ending all chances of a ride. 

On what ended up being my last wave, I got impatient and leaned too far forward.  The front of the board dipped into the water and the back of it got lifted up by the wave…into the washer machine I went.  As I was getting “maytagged” underneath the wave, the oh-so buoyant board shot straight up out of the water spinning around, which caught the attention of everyone on the beach who were now appreciating the Roxy logo in all of its bright-pink glory.

After I paddled back to the beach, all the while focusing on not rolling off the board and embarrassing myself in front of the tourists, I picked up the “soft” top and hobbled up to the surf bag.  I finally got to survey my scraped-up knees up close and it became clear:  maybe this isn't "my board" after all.

Lesson Two - July 9, 2010

All I’ve been thinking about lately is getting back out on a board.  Let’s face it, I’m hooked.

Luckily it wasn’t but a few days after my first lesson that the winds kicked up a little surf, so one morning before work I had Lesson Two.  It was fun loading up the board just after sunrise and driving down to a quiet beach while most people were still sleeping.  It felt so…surfer-esque.  I mean, this is what surfers do, right?  They hit the waves before the rest of the world hits their snooze button.

There was an energy in the air as we rounded the corner to the first gap between beach houses where we could see the waves.  I couldn’t wait to see what my new playground was going to bring me that morning and I was hoping for a repeat of Lesson One. 

Oh.  The waves are actually much bigger today.  Now, by “much,” I mean double the size, so 2-4 feet instead of 1-2.  It certainly wasn’t huge, but it was enough to get tossed around in; so as I strapped my leash around my ankle, a feeling of insecurity washed through me.

Two things about bigger waves: 1) They make it much harder to paddle out to the lineup and 2) they are scary when you get pounded by them and all of their force. 

When we went out the first day, the surf was so small and gentle that we didn’t really cover any paddle-out tactics.  So it wasn’t until this next lesson when I started paddling, that I realized I had no real plan for what to do when a wave came and broke on top of me.  The first time this happened, I just held onto the rails of the board and closed my eyes.  Come to find out, this isn’t the “recommended way” to get to the outside (I know, weird).  Instead of charging through the waves, the waves charged through me.  Each time a wave would come, it would push me back toward the shore and I’d lose most of the ground I had just gained. 

For those of you who haven’t experienced this plight of a beginner surfer, it’s maddening.  Paddling with everything you’ve got, only to get smacked in the face with a wall of water and pushed back, then knowing you have to do it all over again, is not the most gentle way to wake up.  Somehow, I didn’t anticipate this frustration as we were excitedly driving down to the beach (probably listening to Bob Marley’s “Could You Be Loved”).  But there I was, with the sun coming up over my left shoulder, trying to get to the outside of the break as I was quickly wearing out.

In spite of this flawed plan, I somehow got out and started looking for waves that seemed promising.  However, each time I tried for a wave, I pearled the nose under because I was too far forward on the board.  This is the part where I learned lesson #2:  It can be scary when you get tossed about in these waves.

The tumbling around part is half-way fun in relatively small surf, but it’s the uncertainty of where your board is in relation to your head, and when you’re going to take your next breath, that worries a person.

After a little while, the thought occurred to me that maybe these were too big for my second lesson, so I came in closer to the beach to surf the white water.  That too proved to be chaotic because I got knocked around in the turbulent water, but most importantly, I was exhausted.  I just didn’t have any gas left in the tank and the sun was getting higher, which meant the work day was closer. 

Sunrise over the gulf

So I grabbed the surf bag from the sand and chalked it up to a learning experience about gauging wave size in relation to surf skill.  As I walked up the stairs over the dunes, I took one last glance back and saw the sun, now much higher over the horizon, taking its stance above the gulf for another beautiful day. 

Still, this isn’t a bad way to start the morning.

I LOVE This Sport! - July 4th Weekend 2010

Today was phenomenal!  After much ado about surfing, Ted took me to the state park for my first lesson and HOLD ME BACK!  I’m in love with it!  After trying for a few waves that didn’t pan out, I caught one that took me all the way into the beach—I think I actually may have heard him yell, “Jump off! You’re going to run the fins into the sand!” 

There were some other rides that were almost as good and in between those were (what I thought were, anyway) raving successes. I was successfully popping up on the board!  That’s a success even if I did lose my balance shortly thereafter—right?

In between waves, my partner-turned-surf coach explained how sets work and what you look for when trying to spot a wave.  He told me what the shoulder is and what it means to be too deep or too shallow.  I practiced turning my board by moving my feet under water and learned the importance of really digging in as I paddle.

St. Andrew's State Park

The day was perfect and the gulf was beautiful.  With white sandy bottoms and aqua water, I could see everything from my comfortable perch atop my board.  Due to the teeny, tiny waves, there weren’t any other surfers but there were even surprisingly few swimmers, given that it was a holiday weekend.  I felt a little like the water was my own playground, even if only for that mid-summer morning.

When I reached my maximum sun exposure (while we may be the Fighting Irish, we win very few battles when it comes to skin cancer), we decided to head in for the day and go over to the local surf shop to outfit me with “real board shorts and a rash guard that fits.”  Evidently, I looked like a poser in my Columbia fishing shorts (Hey—they had built-in sunscreen!) and my borrowed rash guard.  So we drove a few miles down the beach to the local surf shop, Mr. Surf’s (www.mrsurfs.com), where I was outfitted with real board shorts and a, rash guard that fit.

Finn's Island Style Grub - Panama City Beach, Fla.

Now, what came in as my second favorite moment of the day, behind the ride of my life of course, was the ceviche and fish tacos we had at the snack trailer next door called Finn’s Island Style Grub.  We sat on a picnic table across the street from the gulf noshing on our island grub, and I have to say, that was the most phenomenal meal I’ve ever had.  The flavors of lime, cilantro, and jalapeno mixed together almost seemed to sing the words, “day at the beach” and even though the next day was a work day, I felt like I was on vacation. 

I’m sooo ready for my next surf session.

A Surfer is Born

I grew up on the northwest panhandle of Florida, about 20 minutes from the beach.  As a kid, I loved the water and often tried to convince my parents to allow me to sleep in my swimsuit.  Yet, I never learned how to surf.  I tried once as a 17-year-old but I can’t really call that a success.  After what I can only imagine was an arm flailing of a paddle, I miraculously stood up on the board long enough to let out a screech of delight before falling back into the water.

About 10 years later, I found myself once again on a board off the coast of Massachusetts.  I was visiting a friend who had a board and, thankfully, a wetsuit and she was willing to let me take both for a spin one day.  After she showed me how to affix the leash and demonstrated a pop up in her backyard, I took her board down to the beach for what I imagined was going resemble a scene from Blue Crush.  It wasn’t.  The waves were sloppy and blown out so even if I knew what the “outside” was, I don’t know that it existed that day.  But there was a dad teaching his 10-year-old son how to surf so I figured it was doable…right?

I could barely walk the board down to the water because the wind kept trying to rip from my clutch.  However, the lack of funds to replace her board strengthened my will to keep her board tucked under my arm.  I waded out into the white water until I was about waist deep.  At that point, I figured it was safe to get on the board and start paddling.  Okay, so that’s a little harder than it looks.  “Maybe I should just swim out and pull the board along side of me,” I thought.  Yeah, not only did that not look cool, that wasn’t without exhausting consequences either.  So I did a mix of the two and finally got to where I thought I should be to catch a wave.

After some pretty sad attempts to spot a wave, paddle for the length of time that seemed correct, stand up on the board, then actually ride a wave—all of which were failures—the father of the           10-year-old felt sorry enough to come over and give me a few pushes.  He had some very helpful tips, like stand up when you feel the board being pushed by the wave (duh Maureen).  After several tries, my feet hit the board for one brief, shining moment, but just as quickly as I stood up, I tumbled back into the cold Atlantic.  Still, I was delighted by what I thought was a raving success and was ready for another. 

Amazingly, I didn’t have another, and after a few more tries the man wisely resumed working with his son (where the return on investment was a little higher—read, the kid actually rode the occasional wave).  I tried for a while longer but after a shockingly short amount of time, I was spent.            100 percent spent.  I’ve been active my entire life and an “athlete” for a portion of that time.  I've hiked the Appalachian Trail several times (carrying on my back, the food I ate and the tent I slept in), competed in a sprint triathlon, ran a half marathon, but my God—I don't know that I've ever been so exhausted!  My arms and legs were jelly as I was trying to take off the wetsuit, and don’t even get me started on the booties.  I thought about cutting them off at one point but that would have led me back to the whole replacing surf gear thing for my friend.

As I fell asleep that night—at the ripe old hour of 9 p.m. I seem to recall—I dreamt of waves and I knew I had to get back on a board.

Finally, last summer, not long before my 29^th birthday, I got the chance to learn.  My boyfriend got into surfing when he lived in California but he hadn’t done much wave riding after he moved to the smaller, less frequent waves of the Gulf Coast five years ago.  After talking about it for months, we finally loaded up his 8’6” 3-stringer and headed to the state park.

It was the 4^th of July weekend and it was like the patriotic angels were smiling down on me.  We were blessed with clean, slow rolling, shin-high waves that were absolutely meant for learning how to surf.  After 2-3 attempts with my boyfriend pushing the board right as a wave came to give me a little extra speed, I stood up and rode one all the way into the beach.  I could believe my luck!  But more importantly, I couldn’t believe how naturally it came to me!  “Maybe this is my destiny,” I thought.  “Maybe I’ll get sponsored and travel to beautiful beaches all around the world to surf!”

It turns out, I’m not some Poseidon-blessed wahine.  I’ve been going down a road of bruises, cuts, and board rash ever since that first day and my boyfriend has seen a side of me that I didn’t know I had.  We’ll call it, “surf (or inability to) rage,” but my surf stoke hasn’t faded so I’ve decided to record my experiences in a blog.  

Shaka to the mada, bra.