The Point Breakiest Blog Post, Brah
July 7, 2013
July 7, 2013
*If you’re reading this blog while you’re drinking some sort of alcoholic beverage, take a sip every time there’s a Point Break reference.
So it comes as no surprise that I am no fan of manual labor. In fact, it is uncharacteristic of me to participate in aerobic exercise or any sort of fast movement. Really, just roll me to the fridge in my desk chair.
However, last weekend I branched out. While in glorious San Diego, CA I took a surfing lesson. The FBI didn’t pay me to. I’ve always wanted to surf. Maybe it’s because of Annette Funicello or seeing Point Break too many times; either way, I decided to do it.
I wasn’t nervous about sharks or not being able to master the wave. The most nerve-wracking thing about the whole ordeal was trying to put on a wet suit.
After much wiggling and frantic hopping, I was suited up. I was assigned a surf instructor who had a very non-surfer name: Carl. However, Carl did have the typical surf body and all was quickly forgiven.
At first Carl seemed all business as we practiced on dry land.
Carl: “Surfing is just like riding a skateboard…”
Me: “Never done it.”
Carl: “Okay, well, what about a scooter?”
Me: “Dude, I’m 30. I’m not expecting much.”
Carl: “Let’s just get back to business.”
Man, I couldn’t even crack a smile.
[Side note: The most disheartening thing in life is when I can’t make you laugh. If I can’t make you laugh then I consider myself unsuccessful. Either that or you’re a robot, ROBOT.]
After semi-mastering moving my limbs into positions long lost on me we ventured into the ocean.
I didn’t stand up right away. But I did work on Carl. Carl began to warm up as I successfully managed to toss in a few Point Break references that earned me a smile. Imagine me saying, “God forbid I surf like Keanu Reeves!” and then tossing my head back to give a throaty laugh while running a hand through my snarled curls.
In time, Carl he became pretty chatty. He chuckled. Made a few quips of his own. I was pleased.
Jokes aside, I practiced my surf skill, appalled and not pleased as seven-year-olds hopped on their boards and stood with ease. I’ll admit it. I was jealous. Oh, to have the lightness and spunk of a child.
My very first try I fell off the board and jammed my arm on the bottom of the ocean floor. It tweaked my elbow but I pushed through. I must have operated on sheer adrenaline because for the entire session it didn’t hurt. I pressed up, slid my knees and stood. And fell. And repeat.
I held my arms up too high (thanks, Hollywood), I didn’t keep my eyes on the beach, I kept glancing back at my instructor for approval. I wasn’t too frustrated though. I didn’t have high hopes for myself. I knew I wouldn’t be a regular Johnny Utah but was still psyched to be out in the waves and trying something new.
And yet, through all this, the mistakes, the seaweed, the salty water in my mouth, idiot kids screaming “Shark!, I eventually did it.
As the session wound down, so did my upper body strength. My god, I worked muscles I didn’t know I had. I could barely press myself up on the last few waves. When we wrapped up, the trek to shore was a sweet relief.
Surfing is a sport/hobby I’ll do again. You pay for it the next day with crippled limbs and thighs, but it’s totally worth it, dude.
Somewhere, out there, Patrick Swayze is giving me a slow clap.