I thought I was in shape until I went surfing yesterday with some friends. It was about the 10th time I had ever surfed in my life. The waves adjusted me like a chiropractor. I’m feeling sore today but am looking forward to getting back out there.
The spot we surfed is only accessible via a cliffside staircase. The steps lead to cold, choppy water. There is no beach, only a slippery rock bed at the base of the cliff. My friends, who are much more experienced, led the way over the rocks until we were deep enough to start paddling out. It was the most challenging surf I’ve experienced yet. I swallowed salty water, laughed and learned some lessons. My buddies are awesome for showing me the ropes.
After being humbled for an hour and eventually catching one great wave, I started to paddle back in to the closest landfall and, unfortunately, cut my feet on some rocks at the base of the cliff. With the sets continually knocking me around and no place to find stable footing, I was about to roll my ankle. There was no sand to sprawl out on, just rocks and white water. In my frustration I looked up to millionaires on massive porches. They did not throw me a ladder because they were drinking wine. I turned around and started to paddle out again so I could circumvent that area and hopefully reach the staircase we originally came from.
As I moved along with bloody feet and chattering teeth, I saw a shirtless guy sitting on an outcropping just above the water. He was sitting on a flat surface with plenty of room. I thought I could possibly stop there and rest, maybe make a new friend and laugh about my inexperience. But when I swam closer I noticed he was talking loudly to nobody. The only company he had was a smiley face drawn on the rocks. His hair was disheveled and he was shouting rapidly about the “treacherous sea!” I thought of Tom Hanks and decided not to impose. So I swam back to the staircase, to a night of pizza and HBO, wondering if the man was a hallucination.
