When in Rome

For over a month now, I have watched surfers at the beaches in Malibu. They have always been part of the back drop - an interesting diversion when I look up from building a sand castle with the girls or pulling Noni back from the water. Last week it was suddenly different. Perhaps it was exhaustion from our family going through several nights of the stomach flu, but watching the surfers on the beach suddenly reminded me of all the activities I had given up since having children - the snowboard sold at a yard sale, the paints dried up in their tubes. I looked out at the surfers and thought, I want to be there. I want to be riding on a wave, feeling free and independent, even if just for an afternoon. I mentioned the idea of taking surf lessons to Toby and we realized that, with his brother and sister-in-law in town, it was the perfect opportunity to spend a few hours at the beach away from the kids.

A few days later, I found myself pulling on a wetsuit and grabbing onto a surfboard. As we walked over to the beach, some apprehension began to sink in. Our instructor told us how he had grown up in northern California, surfing while surrounded by sharks, but that in recent years there have been more sightings in southern waters. I have two friends, both reasonable and fairly brave people, who are so scared of sharks that they won’t set a foot in the ocean. I don’t have that type of phobia, but I have never liked the thought of floating in murky water with tasty pink toes dangling beneath me. Growing up on Lake Champlain, I spent a lot of time waterskiing. As soon as I was up on the skis, I always started to worry about being back in the water. I wasn’t afraid of crashing. It was the thought of sitting in the cold, dark, lake water while the boat slowly circled around, with lamprey eels swimming below my feet. A friend had been bitten by one and had to go to the hospital with the eel attached to her body in order to remove its clenching jaws. Walking along the beach with our instructor discussing surfing with sharks, I wondered if maybe I just needed to know I had the freedom to take the surfing lesson, but didn’t actually need to go through with the plan? This thought passed quickly because as soon as we hit the water, I found that I didn’t have time to worry about sharks. I was too consumed with water pounding me and trying to avoid being slammed in the head by my surfboard or another surfer.

I wasn’t sure how surfing would feel. I imagined it like snowboarding, the feeling you get when you are riding down a mountain in deep powder. There are a lot of similarities, but surfing is a lot more raw. Unlike snowboarding, where the mountain is a constant and you can stop or start at your own will, in surfing you are at the mercy of the wave, which dictates when you start and how fast you will go. Because of this, it’s also a lot more fun. Every time I started paddling to “catch” a wave, my heart would start racing. Half the time I would end up tossed off the board with salt water rushing into my ears and nose. Once, the board slammed into my back and neck, giving me pause for a moment before getting back on the board. But on the times when I did get up, it was a great feeling. Our instructor warned us that once you start, surfing becomes addictive. Even after an afternoon spent doing face plants, I can see how that happens.

The best thing about the afternoon was that for two hours I thought of nothing else but the waves and my surf board. It was a great escape from the daily routine of life with kids. I even liked it how our instructor told Toby and I that if we just surfed a couple of days a week for the next two months, we’d totally have it down. If he had seen us walking to the beach three hours before, buckets, shovels, umbrella, five towels, sunscreen, lunches, snacks, sippy cups, stroller, and three kids in tow, he would never have mistaken us for a couple who had the time to spend a couple days a week surfing. But for an afternoon we were.

When we walked back to our spot on the beach, with the girls running around like sandpipers in the waves, I was perfectly content to look out at the surfers from my spot on the sand and know that at least I got a chance to give it a try. I am happy to say that even if I left Southern California today I could say, yes, we survived an earthquake and yes, we learned how to surf.