Surf or Die
‘What would Beyonce do?’ Asking myself that question out on the waves has really worked out for me. I have stood up. Again and again. Hi-five! And every time it feels awesome and sometimes I do double fist pumps on the board as I’m riding a miniscule wave into shore. All this has happened in the white wash surrounded by grommets so I have A LOT, ie, two years I’ve been told, ahead of me before I become Gilly Slater and rock up to the beach in my dream wetsuit.
Twice I have been out into what I would classify as real surf. Both times I have been paralysed with fear and done absolutely nothing constructive except paddle around, trying not to think about sharks and panicking about the how the hell I will ever be able to stand on land again. And me being me, both times I have done this it’s because of dudes. Typical.
The first time this happened, I had met a sizzling hot brunette at the beach and he told me he was also a beginner surfer. ‘Awesome, let’s get to know each other a little better in the surf!’ I was thinking. So we do that saucy zip up our wetsuits thing, grab our boards, stroll down to the beach and paddle out. Before I knew it I was out in the back row and thinking ‘WTF have I done?!’ I was so one-eyed in following the dude that I momentarily forgot that I couldn’t surf. Shizer. The swell was pretty big so I’m still wondering how the hell I managed to paddle out there. Amazing how motivating a bit of handsomeness is. I lasted all of five minutes before I realised it was not worth potentially killing myself, peeing in my wetsuit with fear or having a severe attack of tourettes, so started paddling back to be unceremoniously dumped every single time. My board was flying up into the air and tugging at my leg and my wetsuit even managed to unzip itself. I looked like a drowned rat and not a sexy Lori Petty in Point Break as I planned. I gave him a wave when I found myself back with the young kids and oldies and stayed there for the next few hours feeling like a goose.
So I’ve been sticking to the whitewash the past few times and my confidence has grown again. So much so that I realised I was ready to commit. Last week I bought Betty. My board. She’s so ugly only a mother could love her – picture pink and purple frangipanis – but we’re at the beginning of a beautiful relationship.
Betty was christened last weekend. Man mountain swimming partner took me out for a surf and I was pumped. I was interested to see his surfing prowess and I was curious to see how I’d cope trying to see at what point my cup of concrete would go soft. (ie, we call ourselves Club Concrete – ‘Pour yourself a cup of concrete and harden the f**k up’ is the motto. New recruits welcome.). It was only later that I realised we’d decided to surf at Suicide Point. No wonder I could feel my heart rate rising when I stood on the shore, Betty tucked under my arm. In about two steps the man mountain strode into the surf past what looked like to me a vicious looking dumper. I waded in and was slammed and rolled while he yelled at me to throw the board away from my head. Visions of being knocked out by my board and drowning flashed through my mind. But I rolled around, tried to not swallow sea water and finally paddled out into deep and what definitely felt like shark-infested waters. The sky was grey, the water looked ominous and I was surrounded by surfers who clearly knew what they were doing. I looked down at Betty for comfort and immediately resented the frickin’ frangipanis. Stupid flowers.
I have always had a thing about trying to keep up with the dudes – I think it’s because I’m the youngest of five and never wanted to miss out on anything. I also like to think I’m pretty tough at times and put that down to things like being taught how to swim – my big sister letting my floaties down in the deep end. Oh, how they thought they were doing me a favour but I remember the fear!
Anyway, the man mountain took one look at me and saw the look of sheer terror on my face. (I was thinking that I’m sure great whites can sense fear which didn't help.) Showing this kind of fear in front of a friend always does a quick recalibration of a friendship. It’s only happened to me a couple of times and I feel completely exposed and hope like hell they’ll do the right thing. Lucky for me he was super cool, stayed with me and gave me instructions of what to do – sit up on the board, watch for sets, paddle out a bit further blah blah blah. Actually I heard lots of blah blah blah as I lay flat on my board gripping it so tightly I pulled muscles in my neck. After a while I feebly attempted to catch a couple of waves but always pulled out at the last moment. Too chicken and I was irritating myself. I eventually pulled myself together and caught a wave into shore too bloody scared to even think about standing up. Galling. I didn’t buy a surfboard to use as a body board. I plonked myself down on the shore and stared at my frozen blue feet. After a while the man mountain came in and asked what I was doing. ‘Waiting for my balls to grow back,’ was my reply. Am not quite sure how long it’s going to take but I went into teeny tiny waves a couple of days later and am heading back in on the weekend. Surf, not die! is what I'll be thinking.
Yeow!
Twice I have been out into what I would classify as real surf. Both times I have been paralysed with fear and done absolutely nothing constructive except paddle around, trying not to think about sharks and panicking about the how the hell I will ever be able to stand on land again. And me being me, both times I have done this it’s because of dudes. Typical.
The first time this happened, I had met a sizzling hot brunette at the beach and he told me he was also a beginner surfer. ‘Awesome, let’s get to know each other a little better in the surf!’ I was thinking. So we do that saucy zip up our wetsuits thing, grab our boards, stroll down to the beach and paddle out. Before I knew it I was out in the back row and thinking ‘WTF have I done?!’ I was so one-eyed in following the dude that I momentarily forgot that I couldn’t surf. Shizer. The swell was pretty big so I’m still wondering how the hell I managed to paddle out there. Amazing how motivating a bit of handsomeness is. I lasted all of five minutes before I realised it was not worth potentially killing myself, peeing in my wetsuit with fear or having a severe attack of tourettes, so started paddling back to be unceremoniously dumped every single time. My board was flying up into the air and tugging at my leg and my wetsuit even managed to unzip itself. I looked like a drowned rat and not a sexy Lori Petty in Point Break as I planned. I gave him a wave when I found myself back with the young kids and oldies and stayed there for the next few hours feeling like a goose.
Lori = Hot Bitch Extreme
Oh so unattractive
Betty was christened last weekend. Man mountain swimming partner took me out for a surf and I was pumped. I was interested to see his surfing prowess and I was curious to see how I’d cope trying to see at what point my cup of concrete would go soft. (ie, we call ourselves Club Concrete – ‘Pour yourself a cup of concrete and harden the f**k up’ is the motto. New recruits welcome.). It was only later that I realised we’d decided to surf at Suicide Point. No wonder I could feel my heart rate rising when I stood on the shore, Betty tucked under my arm. In about two steps the man mountain strode into the surf past what looked like to me a vicious looking dumper. I waded in and was slammed and rolled while he yelled at me to throw the board away from my head. Visions of being knocked out by my board and drowning flashed through my mind. But I rolled around, tried to not swallow sea water and finally paddled out into deep and what definitely felt like shark-infested waters. The sky was grey, the water looked ominous and I was surrounded by surfers who clearly knew what they were doing. I looked down at Betty for comfort and immediately resented the frickin’ frangipanis. Stupid flowers.
I have always had a thing about trying to keep up with the dudes – I think it’s because I’m the youngest of five and never wanted to miss out on anything. I also like to think I’m pretty tough at times and put that down to things like being taught how to swim – my big sister letting my floaties down in the deep end. Oh, how they thought they were doing me a favour but I remember the fear!
Anyway, the man mountain took one look at me and saw the look of sheer terror on my face. (I was thinking that I’m sure great whites can sense fear which didn't help.) Showing this kind of fear in front of a friend always does a quick recalibration of a friendship. It’s only happened to me a couple of times and I feel completely exposed and hope like hell they’ll do the right thing. Lucky for me he was super cool, stayed with me and gave me instructions of what to do – sit up on the board, watch for sets, paddle out a bit further blah blah blah. Actually I heard lots of blah blah blah as I lay flat on my board gripping it so tightly I pulled muscles in my neck. After a while I feebly attempted to catch a couple of waves but always pulled out at the last moment. Too chicken and I was irritating myself. I eventually pulled myself together and caught a wave into shore too bloody scared to even think about standing up. Galling. I didn’t buy a surfboard to use as a body board. I plonked myself down on the shore and stared at my frozen blue feet. After a while the man mountain came in and asked what I was doing. ‘Waiting for my balls to grow back,’ was my reply. Am not quite sure how long it’s going to take but I went into teeny tiny waves a couple of days later and am heading back in on the weekend. Surf, not die! is what I'll be thinking.
You could always take up Bridge (the card type) as a contingency plan.
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