It’s been a nine month figurative drought. Fortunately the months of yearning, as I saw M head out with his surfboard, are over. Now water is rushing, splashing, smashing over me again. After recovering from 5 surgeries on my right eye due to complications from retinal detachment, my surgeon gave me permission to “resume my normal activities” including bodyboarding. With the stern caveat that I am careful and don’t “knock my head.” Hmm! That presents a challenge as bodyboarding requires the rider to glide along the face of a wave that is moving at roughly 23 miles per hour.
The propulsion for board and rider is the energy created by the leading edge of a cresting wave. It’s crucial to match your momentum forward with the speed of the wave. As I look back over my shoulder to see the lacy tendrils of white foam forming at the peak, I paddle and kick like a crazed turtle to find that sweet spot where the wave’s energy pushes me forward. A few seconds out of synch and the foaming crest crashes over my head, my prone body gets sucked up backwards resulting in a “heels over head” reverse somersault. In surf lingo, it’s called “going over the falls.” The “lip” of a wave can apply between 250-6,000 pounds of pressure per square foot depending on the wave’s size. A typical 3 foot high wave can punch a whopping 1,100 pounds of water down on your head. Though it’s not a solid force, the experience can be teeth rattling. It was after just such a pounding that I first noticed the black curtain in the lower left quadrant of my right eye that led to the aforementioned 5 surgeries.
And why you ask did I decided to learn to bodyboard at the age of 57. You may be wondering why I voluntarily subject myself to this particular potential danger. From my earliest memories, I have always loved floating on water or submerging like a dolphin undulating forward to feel the water rush past my skin. Equipped with a new, more sagacious perspective, I didn’t rush back to the beach upon returning from my check-up. I waited until my favorite surf app predicted an early morning 3’ swell on an incoming tide. On that day, M and I loaded up the car and headed to the beach. Just feeling the dense black sand squeeze between my toes as we walked the half mile down the beach felt delightful until the sand merged with the multitude of ocean smoothed rocks varying in size from grains of rice to footballs. My feet had lost their hardy resistance and I tenderly picked my way through stone-strewn stretches. Arriving at our favorite entry point, I set my board and fins against an enormous piece of tortured driftwood. Scanning the horizon, I could see the blue surface rising and falling as the swells neared the shore. As the corduroy of swell lines passed over the shallowing water, the closest line pulled up tall and white foam erupted from the southern end of the wave with the curl of the falling crest rushing northward. As a surfer rode on the face, I thought of a foam pillow full of macerated sponge being slowly unzipped. The spongy bits pouring over as the zipper opened with the surfer pulling it along like the tag.
I watched as surfers caught waves and looked for the rhythm of the sets wanting to find a lull in the swell. With a little patience and a cooperative lull, I could paddle to “the outside” ie beyond the breaking waves without getting pounded on my way out there. After years of committing epidermal abuse by rarely applying sunscreen, wearing skimpy bikinis, and cheap sunglasses, now, getting ready to go in the water is like suiting up for a space walk. My surf hat looks like Gilligan’s (only with ear flaps), wrap-around surf goggles, a long-sleeved rash guard, surf tights, socks under my fins to protect against abrasions and finally, I adjust the velcro my board leash to my arm. Ready for action.
I sat for a long time watching. Then wading into the shallow water, feeling the mild warmth surrounding my calves, I felt like I was coming home. During the previous months, I had vowed to immediately embark on an exercise regimen to increase my upper body strength. I even watched a few YouTube videos wherein nimble athletes employed stretchy bands and Pilates balls to increase core strength and stability. I planned to be ready for my return to the water. However my vows did not translate into any significant action. With the result that my initial burst of enthusiasm soon gave away to breathless exertion and I wished that I hadn’t so creatively procrastinated my physical preparation. I slogged away determined to get out to where the surfers were floating.
In between a good set of waves, it’s a real gossip fest out there and I wanted to catch up on the latest news. However, an interesting chat could be cut in mid-sentence as a friend would give an intense look at an on-coming wave, rotate his board towards the shore and slide away. As the morning progressed, I floated in the swell, greeting friends, watching the waves come in. I’d be offered a wave and I gladly offered it back. Anxiety, thoughts of what could happen swirled in my head. I didn’t want the fear of “what could happen” paralyze me. Yet making the commitment to catch a wave was intimidating. Then, the perfect wave came my way. My timing and exertion matched its momentum and I found myself gliding along the smooth surface of blue water. The sensation was exhilarating. All my doubts melted away as I navigated my board along the length of the open face. I could hear the rhythmic “slap slap” of the bottom of my board skimming along the water’s surface while keeping an awareness of the cresting foam catching up behind me. It was 15 seconds of pure joy with the lasting realization that “I can still do this.” One good wave is all it takes.
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